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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a08517b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53758 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53758) diff --git a/old/53758-0.txt b/old/53758-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 229f929..0000000 --- a/old/53758-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6603 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Down South, by Lady Duffus Hardy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Down South - -Author: Lady Duffus Hardy - -Release Date: December 18, 2016 [EBook #53758] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN SOUTH *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - DOWN SOUTH. - - - - - DOWN SOUTH - - - BY - - LADY DUFFUS HARDY - - AUTHOR OF - “THROUGH CITIES AND PRAIRIE LANDS” - - - LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL - LIMITED - 1883 - - LONDON - R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR., - BREAD STREET HILL. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER I. - - Two cities.--Our home upon the waters.--Southward bound.--“Only a - brass star.”--At Ford’s Hotel....._Pages 1-13_ - - CHAPTER II. - - To-day and the yesterdays.--Richmond--Its monuments--Its - surroundings.--The sculptor’s studio.--Andromache......_Pages 14-28_ - - CHAPTER III. - - Fire and ruins.--Through sylvan scenes.--The Cave of Lwray.--A - jewelled city underground.--The white savages of Wise - County....._Pages 29-44_ - - CHAPTER IV. - - Through the great swamp.--Charleston.--A memory of the Old - World.--Blacks and whites.--Peculiarities of the coloured folk.--A - ghost of dead days.--Quaint scenes _Page 45-62_ - - CHAPTER V. - - St. Michael’s chimes.--Architectural attraction.--Magnolia - Cemetery.--A philosophical mendicant.--The market.--Aboard the - boat--Fort Sumpter....._Pages 63-83_ - - CHAPTER VI. - - The great Salt Marsh.--A break down.--We reach Savannah.--Fancy - sketches.--The forest city.--A gossip with the natives.--Cross - questions and crooked answers....._Pages 84-90_ - - CHAPTER VII. - - To-day and yesterday.--General experience of travel in the South.--The - associated Southern railways....._Pages 100-109_ - - CHAPTER VIII. - - _En route_ for Jacksonville.--A few words about Florida--Its - climate.--Its folk--Its productions....._Pages 110-121_ - - CHAPTER IX. - - Pine forests.--Arcadian scenes.--Strange companionship.--We reach - Jacksonville....._Pages 122-131_ - - CHAPTER X. - - Jacksonville.--Our hotel.--Greenleaf’s museum.--Floridian curiosities. - East winds and tropical breezes.--Strawberry packing _Page 132-143_ - - CHAPTER XI. - - Fernandina.--Romance or history?--Dungeness.--To Tocor.--On board the - boat.--Oddities.--A lovely water drive _Page 144-158_ - - CHAPTER XII. - - St. Augustine.--A land of the long ago.--A chat with a Spanish - antiquity.--Quaint streets.--City gate.--Fort Marion.--The old Slave - Market.--The monuments.--The Plaza.--Cathedral and Convent....._Pages - 159-179_ - - CHAPTER XIII. - - A chat by the way.--A steam bicycle.--Rough times.--At - Ocala....._Pages 180-188_ - - CHAPTER XIV. - - The “Okeehumkee.”--The Silver Springs.--The weird wonders of the - Ocklawaha....._Pages 189-203_ - - CHAPTER XV. - - Picturesque scenery on St. John’s River.--“Sickening for the fever - ma’am?”--The inland lakes.--A pair of elderly turtle doves.--Sport on - the Indian river....._Pages 204-221_ - - CHAPTER XVI. - - Retrospective.--A critical conductor.--Montgomery.--Train wreckers at - work.--Weird scenes in the moonlight.--Silent watchers.--“Wild Cat” - train to New Orleans....._Pages 222-237_ - - CHAPTER XVII. - - New Orleans, “The Paris of the South.”--French quarters.--Tropical - street scene.--To Carrolton.--The Levées.--Classical architecture.--A - coloured funeral.--The dismal swamp.--Lake Ponchartrain.--A gambling - population....._Pages 238-252_ - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - Atlanta.--A wilderness of bricks and mortar.--Lovely - surroundings.--Scarlet woods.--Memorial day.--Scenes in the - cemetery....._Pages 253-262_ - - CHAPTER XIX. - - Columbia.--Wright’s Hotel--Variegated scenes.--Past and present--A - Sabbath city.--The Penitentiary.--Sunday service.--A few last - words....._Pages 263-276_ - - - - -DOWN SOUTH - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - Two cities.--Our home upon the waters.--Southward bound.--“Only a - brass star.”--At Ford’s hotel. - -A dull haze hangs over the city; St. Paul has put on his cap of clouds, -and the great dome looms dimly on our sight; the mystery of twilight has -taken possession of the city, and shrouds the streets in the open day. -The fine old trees in the parks and in the squares are losing their -green foliage, and stand half naked, shivering in the damp autumn air, -while their yellow shrunken leaves are swept rustling along the ground, -moaning their melancholy protest against the wandering wind, and even -thus early in the season--for it is only late September--visions of -November fogs are looming in the near future. But we turn our backs upon -the dreary prospect, and send our thoughts onward towards the _City of -Rome_ whither we are fast journeying--not that ancient city which sits -upon its seven hills, like a discrowned queen, still ruling the world of -Art, swaying the minds of men, and, like a gigantic loadstone, drawing -the heart of the world towards herself, grander in her age of ruin than -her youthful pride; the glory of her dead days circles her with a halo -of poetry and romance which renders her immortal. Her ruined -palaces and temples lift their hoary heads and crumbling columns -heavenward--impressive, awe-inspiring, and time-defying, showing only -the footprints of the ages as they have passed solemnly onwards. The -stir and bustle of every-day commonplace life, the cavalcade of -nineteenth-century frivolities and fashions, have failed to drive the -spirit of antiquity from the place; it still sits brooding in the air, -permeating the souls and stirring the hearts of men with a passionate -enthusiasm for the days that are gone. There is no coming and going of -armies, no heathenish maraudings, no slave-trading, war-waging -population nowadays; no centurion guards, no glittering cohorts flashing -their arms and tossing their white plumes in the face of the sun; yet -they seem to have left their ghostly impression on the air, and in the -still evening hours we feel their presence revealed to us through (what -we call) our imagination, and the past marches solemnly hand-in-hand -with the present before our spirit’s eyes; and while we think we are -merely day-dreaming--indulging in pleasant reveries--the subtle essence -of ourselves is mingling with an immortal past. But it is not towards -this ancient city we are fast hastening; our _City of Rome_ is the -creation of to-day, it has nothing to say to the yesterdays; its kingdom -belongs to the to-morrows, which are crowded into the years to come. It -is not throned like its ancient namesake on seven hills, but rides upon -the myriad waves of a limitless ocean, and looks as though it could rule -them too--this floating city, which is to carry us three thousand miles -across the fascinating, fickle, and inconstant sea. Like a strong young -giant our noble vessel lifts its great black bulwarks into the sunlight, -and we climb its steep sides in the full confidence that much of the -nauseating horrors of a sea voyage will be spared to us. The Atlantic -steamers, as everyone knows, are all luxuriously appointed, but this is -the most luxurious; our state room has two windows draped with green -rep, a cosy sofa, and--luxury of luxuries--a reading lamp; one berth is -four feet wide, with a spring mattress, downy pillows, and plenty of -them; the upper berth is the usual size. - -It takes us some hours to explore the vessel from end to end, as we are -kindly permitted to do; occasionally we lose ourselves, and are picked -up by a stray hand and set in the right way. We stroll through the grand -saloon, where some frantic musician is already evoking solemn sounds -from the grand organ, while the passengers are clamouring for seats at -special tables, and the bewildered stewards are distracted in their -endeavour to oblige everybody. It is a case of bull-baiting--British -bull-baiting; the poor bull is on the horns of a dilemma; he manages to -extricate himself somehow, and things settle down to general -satisfaction. Descending to the engine-room, we seem to have a glimpse -of the infernal regions--such a rattle and clatter of machinery, -whizzing and whirling amid the blaze of a hundred fires, some lashed to -white heat, others blazing with a steady roar, their red flames leaping -over their fiery bed, lighting up the swarthy faces of the firemen, who -look like dusky gnomes flitting among eternal fires. By the time we -reach the upper deck the tender has departed, the anchor is up, and--are -we moving? We seem to be still stationary, but the shores of England are -receding from us, the long, curving lines of the shore growing dim and -more dim, the forest of shipping with its tall masts and fluttering -sails fades slowly from our sight, and as the twilight closes in we are -almost out of sight of land; it vanishes away till it looks like a bank -of low-lying clouds fringing the horizon; now and then a white sail -flashes out of the darkness and is gone. - -The night is simply superb, and the heavens are ablaze with stars, like -a jewelled canopy stretching over us as far as the eye can reach. Such -brilliancy above! Such a soft, hazy atmosphere around us! We seem to be -floating away into dreamland, as our giant vessel glides like a phantom -ship through the drowsy night; but for the phosphorescent waves which -run rippling at the side, or swirl in white feathery foam round the bow, -we should not know that we are moving--yet we are going at the rapid -rate of sixteen knots an hour, so steadily her iron keel treads through -the world of waters. Some of our fellow-passengers group themselves on -the deck, or stroll up and down singing old home songs or catches, and -glees. Lulled by these pleasant sounds and occasional echoes of the -sailors’ voices, we sleep soundly through our first night at sea. - -To some this voyage is a new experience, and to them everything is a -pleasure and delight; their senses are on the _qui vive_, and they -extract a keen enjoyment from the slightest matter; whether they are -watching the shifting colours of the sea and skies, strolling idly up -and down, or leaning over the bulwarks, straining their eyes over the -vast expanse, eagerly expecting a school of whales to go spouting past, -they are equally happy and content, seeing mountains where never a -molehill exists; the atmospheric changes interest them, the whistling of -the wind through the shrouds makes a new music to their ears, and the -life on board ship with all its variations has the charm of novelty. But -the novelty soon wears off and they gradually awake to the fact that a -sea-voyage is a most monotonous affair. This the _habitués_, to whom the -voyage is as an oft-told tale, realise from the first moment; they know -precisely how the next ten days are likely to pass, and at once set -their minds to enliven the monotony, every one contributing something to -the amusement of the whole. We are especially fortunate on the present -occasion, there being several of Colonel Mapleson’s company on board, -who are most amiable in their endeavours to amuse their -fellow-passengers. There is also an unusual amount of amateur musical -and dramatic talent on board, and they combine together and organise a -concert or some kind of dramatic entertainment every evening. - -About eight o’clock everybody turns out in pretty, simple toilettes, and -the stream sets towards the music-room. Great Britain is sparsely -represented, and I don’t think with the best specimens; the scanty few -seem manufactured for foreign travel only, and are not of the finest -workmanship, either of art or nature. - -On the evening of the first entertainment a gorgeous apparition appeared -in the shape of the master of the ceremonies, the only evident reason -for his filling that position being his possession of a swallow-tail -coat. He was a fair, slim young man, with his hair parted down the -middle. He was in full evening dress, with a huge artificial flower--a -sunflower--in his buttonhole, and white gloves too long for his fingers. -He was a British-Australian, we learned. When he opened his mouth he -dropped, not pearls, but _h_’s; he dropped them in one place and picked -them up in another, and in his attempt to announce the different -operatic airs he mangled the soft Italian language till it fell upon the -ear a mass of mutilated sounds. He had to run the gauntlet of a good -deal of masculine chaff, which he bore with a stolid equanimity born of -self-contentment; however, he unconsciously contributed to the general -amusement, and gave rise to some humorous illustrations which served to -beguile the time. - -The weather continues delightful, a balmy atmosphere brooding over a -smooth, grey sea. In quiet uninteresting calm the days pass by, but at -night nature rallies her forces and gives us some glorious sunsets, -filling the pale skies with cloud islands of golden light, while white -and crimson feathery plumes, like spectral palms, float hither and -thither across the sea-green sky. But nobody cares for a second-hand -sunset, it must be seen to be appreciated--no word-painting or most -brilliant colouring on canvas can convey an idea of it. - -About mid-ocean we fall into foul weather, and a violent game of pitch -and toss ensues; a clatter of broken china, contused limbs, and half a -score of black eyes are the result. There is a tough-fibred, -strong-brained missionary on board, whose very face in its stern -rigidity is suggestive of torments here and hereafter. He takes -advantage of the occasion and lifts up his eyes and voice in violent -denunciation of all miserable sinners, exhorts everybody to repent upon -the spot as the day of doom is at hand--the Lord has come in storm and -tempest to break up the good ship and bury her living freight at the -bottom of the sea! He aggravates the fear, and tortures the nerves, of -the weaker vessels, till several ladies are carried to their berths in -violent hysterics. Some few husbands, fathers, and lovers, expressed a -strong desire to have that missionary “heaved overboard.” We pitied the -poor heathens who would presently benefit by his ministrations. - -We pass out of the storm into genial American weather--blue skies, soft, -ambient air, and brilliant sunshine. A foretaste of the lovely Indian -summer greets us long before we reach the shore. Our vessel, owing to -its gigantic size, is a long time swinging round and entering its dock. -We are in sight of New York at three in the afternoon, but it is late in -the evening before we are able to effect a landing. - -Everybody knows what a New York winter is like. We plunge at once into -the hurly-burly, and for the next few months we “do as the world -doth--say as it sayeth,” and being bound to the wheel whirl with it -till the hard king, frost, melts and disappears under the genial breath -of a somewhat humid spring; then we turn our faces southward. - -It is impossible for the best disposed person to extract much pleasure -from a dismal drive across the plains of Pennsylvania, while the heavens -are weeping copiously, drenching the sick earth with their tears, and -dropping a grey cloud mantle over it. A heavy mist is hiding everything, -and moves like a shrouded funeral procession among the tall trees, as -though it had wrapped the dead winter in its grave-clothes, and was -carrying it away for burial in some invisible world we know not of. A -damp chillness clings and crawls everywhere; it finds its way to our -very bones; we shiver, and draw our wraps closer round us. The whole -world seems veiled in mourning for the sins of our forefathers; even the -buoyant spirits of the famous Mark Tapley must have gone down under -these dreary surroundings. - -There is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, but the pattering rain -upon the windows, and the snort or occasional scream of our engine, like -the shriek of a bird of prey, as it sweeps on its iron road. We look -round us; everything and everybody seems in a state of depression, -wrapped in a general gloom. The whimpering cries of the children sink -into a dismal rhythmical wail, as though they wrangled by arithmetic, -and wept according to rule. - -There was a small family of these human fledglings aboard, and the -parent bird was sorely tried in her endeavour to keep within bounds the -belligerent spirits of her flock; in vain she called their attention to -imaginary “gee-gees” and the invisible wonders outside--they stared out -into the blankness, discovered the deception, and howled louder than -ever. The cock-horse limped on its way to Banbury Cross, and even the -lady with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes made music in vain. -At last a mysterious voice issued from a muffled man in a corner, -offering “ten dollars to anybody who would smother that baby.” - -We all sympathised with the spirit of the offer, but perhaps the fear of -after-consequences prevented anybody from accepting it. The mother dived -into a boneless, baggy umbrella, which apparently served as luncheon -basket, wardrobe, and, I verily believe might have been turned into a -cradle; thence she abstracted crackers, apples, and candies--and cotton -handerchiefs which she vigorously applied to their little damp noses. - -This interesting family got off at Baltimore and left us for diversion -to our own resources, to feed upon our own reserve fund of spirits, -which afforded but poor entertainment. - -As we reached Washington there was a rift in the clouds overhead, and a -brilliant ray of sunlight darted through, lighting up the city, and -gilding the great dome of the Capitol with heavenly alchemy; it might -have been that some immortal eye had opened suddenly, winked upon this -wicked world, and shut again, for in a moment it was as dark and -cheerless as before. - -Here we change cars, and as we pass through the little waiting-room -there is a general rush, a clustering at one spot, and a babel of voices -clash one with another; we catch a few wandering words--“Here’s where he -fell, right here,” “Carried out that way,” “The wretch, I hope he’ll be -hung,” &c. We look down and see a small brass star let into the ground, -which marks the spot where poor Garfield fell; women prod it with their -parasols, men assault it with their walking-sticks. We have no time to -shed the “tributary tear”; the bell rings “All aboard, all aboard,” and -in another moment we are on our way to Richmond. The weather clears, a -few glancing gleams of golden sunlight stream through the broken clouds, -then the sun closes its watery eye and goes to sleep, with a fair -promise of a bright to-morrow. - -We roll on through the fresh greenery of Maryland till the evening -shadows fall and the death of the day’s life goes out in gloom and -heaviness. We spend the hours in anticipatory speculations till we reach -Richmond about ten o’clock; we drive at a rapid pace through the rough -stony streets till we pull up at Ford’s hotel, where we intend taking up -our quarters. A night arrival at a strange hotel is always more or less -depressing--on this occasion it is especially so; we pass from the dim -obscurity of the streets without to a still greater obscurity within. -Preceded by a wisp of a lad we ascend the stairs and pass through a -dimly-lighted corridor; not the ghost of a sound follows us, the echo of -our footsteps is muffled in the thick carpet, and swallowed up in the -brooding silence. - -Our attendant unlocks and throws open a door, flourishes a tiny lamp -above his head, then, with an extra flourish, sets it on the table, -inquiring with a hoarse voice, as though he had just made a meal of -sawdust, “do we want anything more”; as we had had nothing we could not -very well require any more of it. By the light of our blinking lamp we -inspect our apartment, which is at least amply supplied with beds; there -are three of them, each of Brobdignagian proportions--rivals to the -great bed of Ware--they fill the room to overflowing and seem struggling -to get out of the window. We are soon lost in a wilderness of feathers -and wandering through the land of Nod. It seems to me that the worst -room in the house is always reserved for the punishment of late -arrivals, which is bad diplomacy on the part of hotel proprietors, as it -frequently drives their guests away in search of better quarters. It -might have been so with us; but the next morning our smiling host -appears and ushers us into a delightful suite of rooms on the ground -floor, opposite the gardens of the Capitol, where the playful squirrels -are so numerous and so tame that they will come jumping across the road -to your windows to be fed, take nuts from your hand, and sit demurely by -your side and crack them. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - To-day and the yesterdays.--Richmond.--Its monuments.--Its - surroundings.--The sculptor’s studio.--Andromache. - - -It is at Richmond we get our first view of the South and the Southern -people. Although we are only twelve hours from the booming, hustling -city of New York, yet we feel we have entered a strange land. The -difference is not so much in mere externals, as that the whole character -of life is changed, and from all sides it is borne upon us that we are -in the land of a “lost cause;” it impregnates the very air we breathe, -and is written on the grave earnest faces of the people; it reveals -itself everywhere and in everything. - -A few hours in Richmond, and somehow we feel as though the war was of -yesterday. The victor may forget, but the vanquished, who have tasted -the bitterness worse than death, remember; it is ever “yesterday” with -the mother who mourns her dead. The passion for Virginia glows in every -Virginian breast, and a myriad hearts beating as one mourn with proud -regret for her noblest sons. Not Virginia alone; the generous North and -faithful South unite in yielding due reverence to the indomitable -Jackson and to Lee--the stainless gentleman and pure patriot. Here, in -Richmond, those names are household words, and every day we hear fresh -anecdotes of their lives and deaths. But the South does not waste its -time in lamenting over their graves; there is no greater mistake than to -imagine that it is frittering away its energies in vain regrets. The -past is past, the dead are buried; and on the ruins of the old life the -South is building up a new--in fact, it is recreating itself. New -railways opening, great factories arising on every side, bear witness to -the energy with which the South is throwing itself into the work of -restoration. The reviving South of to-day bears promise of fairer -fruitage, a far nobler future than could ever have been reaped from -their beloved and buried past. Now that the curse of slavery, the -inherited evil--not their crime, but their misfortune--has been torn out -of the fair land, at the root of whose seeming prosperity it lay coiled -like a canker worm--now that the blot is effaced, washed away in the -life blood of the best and bravest of the North and South--their -undaunted spirits are united in one grand effort to lift up their -beautiful land till it shall stand in the foremost rank among many -nations. - -No one visiting the South to-day can recognise a single feature of its -ancient self, so complete is the change that has swept over the whole -land, so silent the revolution that has worked in the minds of men and -the arrangement of things. It is like a creature that has been dead, -buried, and resurrected to a higher and nobler state of existence; in -fact, looking back upon its life among the yesterdays it can scarcely -recognise itself; the very atmosphere seems changed from a sultry -enervating air to an invigorating breeze, affecting the spirits as well -as the bodies of the people. - -Never was ruin so proudly met, defeat so grandly borne; there is no -useless looking back, no lingering regrets over the irrevocable -past--their eyes and their energies are bent on the onward march. But we -must hasten to take our first view of the city of Richmond. - -It is situated something like its namesake, our own English Richmond, -only instead of being laved by our broad familiar Thames, it is girdled -by the grand historic river “James,” which winds in graceful coils in -and out and round and round like a silver serpent gliding through a -paradise of green. The city stands on a series of low-lying softly -undulating hills; the Capitol, a building of pure classical -architecture, stands in the centre of the city silhouetted against the -bright blue sky, and is a landmark for miles round. Standing on this -Capitol Hill, the highest point, we have a magnificent view spread -panoramically before and around us, while on every side the landscape -blends all the softness and brilliant colouring of the lowlands with the -strength and majesty of the highland scenery, variegated by picturesque -near views of land and water, here a white sail flutters in the soft -breeze, and groups of grand old forest trees lift their leafy crowns -high into the cloudland, and are sometimes lost among the fleecy -cloudlets grey and white that are sailing by, leaving the azure blue far -above them; from this point of vantage, we look down, to where the city -fades away in ragged fringes of poor squalid-looking dwellings, -apparently inhabited by our brethren of African descent. The principal -residential streets are certainly fine and wide, with handsome detached -houses in varied styles of architecture, which redeem from any monotony -the quiet, dignified, and emphatically “gentlemanly neighbourhood.” -Looking to the left we see the shabby one-horse cars crawling along the -crazy up-and-down streets, running hither and thither, stretching away -till they are hidden in a wilderness of green or lost in the pale blue -mist of the distant horizon, and the public buildings, cathedral, and -many-spired churches are prominent features therein. The river -stretching away to the right widens and hides among the foothills, then -reappears again and again till it dwindles into a narrow thread, -seeming to sew the land and skies together. Looking round on this -imposing scene, so rich in memories of bygone days, our thoughts -naturally connect the present with the past, and wander through the long -line of dead years to a time more than two centuries ago, when the great -ships ploughed the breast of this river, and brought the first freight -of civilisation to what was then a wilderness. - -Away to the left, about two miles along the banks of the river, we -descry the spot where Powhatan wielded his sceptre and ruled his dusky -tribe as kings rule not in these days; we can almost fancy we see -Pocahontas launch her frail skiff upon the bosom of the placid water. - -All trace of the tribe and of their dwelling is swept away; only the -grand old trees marked by the finger of passing ages still stand, with -gnarled and knotted trunks, quivering leaves, and withering branches, as -though they were struggling in their death agony, and must soon lie low, -with the rest of earth’s perishable things. Only a stretch of fancy, and -we see Captain Smith surrounded by swarms of threatening faces, passing -under their green vigorous branches, as he believes, to a barbarous -death. - -Before descending the hill, we make a tour of inspection around the -splendid groups of statuary which adorn the gardens. First in public -favour and in general interest stands the Washington monument; a -gigantic and finely executed equestrian figure of George Washington, -mounted on an imposing granite column, rising from a star-shaped base; -beneath and around him, standing on separate pillars, are the full sized -figures of Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and sundry other heroes and -statesmen of past days; but of later and fresher interest, is the bronze -statue said to be a life-like portrait of Stonewall Jackson. This fine -production is believed to be the last and best work of the celebrated -English sculptor Foley; it bears the following inscription:-- - -“Presented by English gentlemen as a tribute of admiration for the -soldier and patriot, Thomas J. Jackson, and gratefully accepted by -Virginia in the name of the Southern people. Done A.D. 1875, in the year -of the Commonwealth.” “_Look! There is Jackson, standing like a stone -wall._” - -Yes; there he stands to-day, in dark and strong relief against the -burning blue of his own Virginian skies! Stands, every inch a chief, as -he will stand for ever shrined in the hearts of the Southern people--a -monument of all that is staunch and true in human kind; not more -immovable now upon his marble pedestal, than at that hour when the ranks -of his men in grey stood like granite under the Federal fire. In the -Capitol library hangs the Confederate flag, dusty and battle-worn, -proudly pointed out to strangers, and regarded with reverence by those -who followed it, and saw it flutter through the smoke of battle. Round -the library walk are ranged the portraits of the great Southern leaders. -Here is the noble and thoughtful face, “the good grey head that all men -knew,” of General Lee, and there the dark stern brow of Stonewall -Jackson; and here is Jefferson Davis, and many other statesmen and -patriots of the fallen Confederacy. - -An ardent Virginian accompanied us on our tour through his beloved city; -with lingering eyes, he gazed tenderly upon the figure of the general -who had led them through so many fires. - -“Ah!” said he, shaking his head regretfully, “there’ll never be another -Stonewall, he was popular even with the union men; they all admired our -dashing commander.” He added with kindling eyes, “I remember one day, -when our troops were camped on the south bank of the Rappahannock about -a mile from the shore, the Federal troops occupied the opposite side; -both encampments extended for several miles, a line of pickets was -stretched along both banks, and though within easy rifle shot of each -other, firing was by tacit agreement for a while suspended. Although -talking across the river was strictly prohibited, the orders were not -heeded, and lively wordy skirmishing was carried on. One day, loud -cheering was heard on the left of the Confederate line, and as brigade -after brigade took it up, the sound rolled down the southern side of the -river. - -“‘What’s all that cheering about, boys?’ asked the Federal pickets. - -“‘It’s old Stonewall riding along the line,’ was the reply, shouted -across the water; and the pickets on both sides of the river took up the -cry, and foes and friends together were waving their hats and shouting-- - -“‘Hurrah! hurrah! for old Stonewall!’” - -Having duly admired all we ought to admire, we descend the hill and -commence our explorations of the town. We thread the pretty shady -streets, pass the Monumental Church, erected above the ruins of the -Richmond Theatre, which was destroyed by fire in 1811 during the -performance of _The Bleeding Nun_, when scarcely a dozen of the audience -were saved, and many of the most influential families of the town -perished in the flames. We pause a moment before the “Allan House,” -where that strange mystical genius, Edgar Allan Poe, passed the early -years of his most troublous self-tormented life. It is a square, -old-fashioned, brick building, with a high sloping roof, surrounded by -ragged, forlorn-looking weedy grounds; ruin is fast working its will -with the old house, and desolation seems to flap its wings from the -tumbling chimney stacks, while memories of brighter days are brooding -behind the shuttered windows. Presently we pass the Libby Prison--a -large, low, melancholy-looking building on the banks of the river. We -shudder as we remember the tales of bygone sufferings there, and pass -quickly on our way to visit the tobacco factory of Messrs. Mayo and Co. -No overpowering odour such as we had apprehended greets us there as we -enter the premises, but a sweet pleasant fragrance, like that of Spanish -liquorice or some agreeable confection, pervades the atmosphere. We -arrive at the busiest business hour of the day, and the “hands,” -consisting of several hundred negroes, are industriously at work, -weighing, sorting, sifting, and pressing with all their might; a hive of -the busiest of human bees, singing their quaint songs, but never for a -moment relaxing in their labours--their melancholy, melodious voices -rising and falling, swelling and rolling, in waves of harmonious sounds. -As, one after the other, they become conscious of the presence of -strangers, their voices die away, and a hush gradually falls over the -entire mass. - -Seeing how much we are struck by those peculiarly sweet negro voices, -Mr. Mayo courteously desires a select number to gather at one end of the -extensive room, and sing for our special benefit. Chairs are brought, an -impromptu auditorium formed, the dusky troop assemble, and a tall, -coal-black negro, with white gleaming teeth and shining eyes, steps -forward, strikes the first note, and leads his fellows through the -musical maze. They wander away from the fields of their own quaint -melodies, and, I presume in deference to our presence, start at a run -into the realms of religious poetry, and sing some of their stirring -revivalist hymns, characteristic of their race and reflecting their tone -of mind. - -Before we leave, however, they descend from their heights, and ring out -some catching popular airs, winding up with an old favourite, “The -Suwanee River.” After a most pleasant hour we take our leave, and carry -with us an impression we shall not easily forget. Down on the main -street we pass the “old stone house,” the most ancient building in the -city. Tradition connects it with the names of Washington, Lafayette, and -many other celebrities of bygone days; there are several other roomy -old-fashioned houses scattered about the city, more interesting from -their historical association than their architectural beauty. -Progressing still downwards, we cross the bridge which connects Richmond -with the suburb of Manchester, a dreary-looking, scattered town on the -opposite bank of the river. We stand for many minutes on the centre of -the bridge, and gaze round in simple awe and admiration. The river, no -longer a tranquil stream, boils and bubbles in whirling eddies beneath -our feet, rushing in roaring rapids on its tempestuous way, leaping in -white foam flecks over the rough boulders, and hissing round the base -of the beautiful islands which rise from its stormy breast--not bald or -barren islands, but covered with a rich growth of variegated shrubs and -trees, which spread their green branches, like blessing hands, over the -face of the stormy waters. It is a wonderfully fine view, full of -suggestive poetry and romance, and for many moments holds us -spell-bound; this rich woodland, growing out of the depths of the -turbulent water in serene loveliness, contrasting with the white -gnashing teeth of the foaming wave-crests below. On our left rises the -city of Richmond, seated like a queen upon her throne, clasped by her -girdle of green, and living waters flowing at her feet. On our right -stands the homely city of Manchester, a foil to the grace and loveliness -of the fair city on the opposite shore; before us lie the ancient -hunting grounds of Powhatan; around us the land-locked waters rush -foaming and roaring on, winding through banks of glorious green till -they fall into the quiet far-off bay and there find peace, like unquiet -spirits sinking to eternal rest. Low-lying upon the shore close by are -the Tredegar Iron Works, belching forth flames and smoke, flinging their -lurid light in the face of the summer sun. - -We are travelling with flying feet, and have little time to loiter on -our way; having taken in the chief points of interest in the city of -Richmond, we drive out to the beautiful cemetery of Hollywood; this is -rather a melancholy pleasure, for on every side are monuments raised to -the illustrious dead, whose names are familiar to our ears as household -words; they are written in emblazoned letters on the scroll of fame, and -will be read by trumpet-tongue when they are unrolled in the light of -heaven. Here is the invariable monument to the “Confederate dead;” it is -the first we see, but not the last, by many. No Southern city is so poor -but it can afford to lavish its tribute of honour to its loved and lost. - -Before leaving Richmond we pay a visit to the studio of the well-known -sculptor, E. V. Valentine, of whom Virginia is so justly proud. The -studio is full of minor works of art; hands and feet, as though they -were lately amputated, are flung in dusty corners; masks and faces frown -or smile from the walls, and many-winged cherubs are flying over our -heads. Some have flown away, and are fixed in monumental marble in some -far-away graveyard; and bygone beauties, some robed in white, some in -the salmon-coloured glory of terra-cotta, are crowded on the shelves, -face downward or upward, tumbled one over the other without the -slightest regard to their dignity. On one side of the room stands a -dwarfed equestrian figure of General Lee; he appears to have been -arrested sword in hand as he was galloping to the front, the look and -attitude are startlingly life-like; we can almost fancy we hear the word -of command issuing from the stony lips; one touch of the magic wand -would make the marble palpitate and live; but the living must die, and -this piece of sculptured stone will stand for ages to come; long after -generation on generation has passed away, he will still stand in the -light of the world’s eyes even as he is standing before us now, with the -“light of battle on his face” and the word of command upon his lips. On -the opposite side of the room lies the reverse figure; there the patriot -chief is stretched full length upon his bier as on a bed of rest, the -noble face set in a mighty calm, the left arm thrown across his breast, -the right straightened at his side, grasping his sword, “the attitude in -which he always slept upon the battle-field.” So one of his faithful -followers tells us as he looks down on the recumbent figure. - -“Why represent him in _repose_?” he demurs. “To me, who have seen him so -often in _action_, it is not the attitude in which he should have been -immortalised.” - -We think otherwise as we gaze on the serene and noble face set in the -calm of--is it sleep? or death? After action, repose; after the -battle-fever, rest. To us it is sweet, not sad, to think how-- - - “To the white regions of eternal peace - The General has gone forward!” - -In the centre of the room a huge calico extinguisher has descended from -the ceiling, and hides something we are about to see; some invisible -machinery upraises the extinguisher, and reveals a muffled group, -swathed in wet linen, which is slowly unwound--and we gaze upon the -sculptor’s masterpiece, _Andromache_, modelled in clay. He has chosen no -moment of tragic agony for his work; but a still scene of home life. -Hector has gone to the war--the pain of parting is over, and Andromache -sits at her spinning-wheel, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, the -thread still between her fingers, her eyes looking forward but seeing -nothing. Her thoughts have wandered after her hero, and are lost on the -battle-field. The attitude, full of grace, is one of utter despondency, -the lovely face is full of sadness and longing, shadowed by a weariness -that tells of almost helpless despair. A lizard, the emblem of death, is -stealing out from among the folds of her drapery, to snap the thread -that lies so loosely in her hand. Her child, a sunny-faced, smiling -cherub, has climbed upon her lap, and is playing with her neck ornament, -trying in vain to attract her attention, and watching for the smile of -recognition to dawn upon her lips. - -The work is still in an unfinished state; the artist being occupied in -arranging the draperies and carrying out other details of his work. It -is exquisite in design and finely executed. I have no doubt that this -rare work of art, will, when completed, find its way into the European -galleries. Meanwhile the artist turns a shower of spray upon the -beautiful group, wraps her again in her damp swathing clothes, the -calico extinguisher descends, and Andromache is lost to view. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - Fire and ruins.--Through sylvan scenes.--The cave of Luray.--A - jewelled city underground.--The white savages of Wise County. - - -After spending a delightful week in Richmond, we begin to think it is -time to be “moving on.” So anxious are we to resume our journey -southward, we decide to go by the evening train, but unfortunately about -mid-day a thick smoke fills the air, and over-spreads the city like a -funeral pall. We learn that the railway bridge is on fire, burning so -furiously, and spreading so rapidly, that in the space of an incredibly -short time the buildings on either side are gutted, and the wind carries -the flying sparks over the city, and for a time it is in danger of total -destruction; people rush out of their houses, and watch breathlessly the -result; but the sparks fly over the house-tops in a flaming shower, -setting fire to one roof after another; and at last, after scaring half -the town, catching at the tindery thatch of the Allan House, threatening -to destroy one of the chief landmarks of the ill-starred poet’s life, -but the passers by rush to the rescue, and the old house is saved for -the benefit of new generations of relic hunters. - -We fear that the destruction of the railway bridge will cause us -difficulty, and detain us in Richmond to our inconvenience; but our -landlord assures us we shall be able to start in the evening, as we had -originally designed. “Things are sure to be fixed all right,” he says. -Wonderfully expressive, and variously applied is that little word “fix,” -in the idiomatic language of this “Greater Britain.” Never did so small -a word mean so much! It does duty as a “word of all work,” in the -kitchen, in the stable, and in the lady’s chamber; the ladies “fix” -their hair, the gentlemen “fix” their whiskers, they “fix” their -dinners, they “fix” their babies, they “fix” their weddings, they “fix” -their funerals--in fact that little insignificant monosyllable is -imported into all the articles of their daily life, and they live in a -general atmosphere of “fixing.” - -In accordance with our host’s kind assurance, things are pleasantly -“fixed” for our departure, the only inconvenience being that we have to -drive across the foot-bridge (so called because it is a wide carriage -drive) over the river, and take the train from Manchester on the other -side. The shades of evening are fast falling round us as we drive down -the narrow streets towards the river, and thence take our last view of -these Richmond hills, which remind us so strongly of that other -Richmond, girded by our winding river Thames. - -The Capitol with its silent groups of heroic dead is dimly shadowed -forth in the fading light; here and there the street lamps are lit, and -look like glimmering glow-worms crawling up the narrow winding ways; and -from the stained glass windows of many churches the mellow light streams -through, revealing a fantastic kind of mosaic in brilliant hues--blue -and crimson, green and gold, blending harmoniously together; the roll of -the organ, and the united voices of the singers follow us down through -the hilly street until they are lost in the distance. - -The dark river is rushing beneath the foot-bridge at our feet; and on -our right the foaming flood is lighted by the fading fires of the still -burning wreck of the railway bridge. The whole structure is down, and -the huge beams lying like fiery serpents on the river’s surface, now -smouldering in red sullen fires, then up-leaping in tiny flickering -tongues of blue flame, licking round and feeding upon every remnant that -remains of the bridge that only at noon had stood proud and strong -against the sky, its iron limbs spanning the dark water. It had been -supported by twelve brick pillars, which are still left standing; each -one wearing its crown of jewelled flames, burning in lurid flashes, like -altars of the Eastern fire-worshippers, or beacon lights at sea, showing -the gloomy gaps between, whence the burning masses had fallen into the -sea. These colossal pillars blazing in the darkness, between the sable -shadows of the river, and the moonless midnight of the sky, threw a -light bright as the brightest day around us. On both banks of the broad -river, before and behind us, rise the gaunt ruins that were prosperous -factories in the morning, now mere blackened shells, yet picturesque and -radiant in the soft golden ruddy glow of the beautiful cruel flames, -that still lick and twist serpent-like in and out of the empty window -frames. Successful commonplace prosperity at noon, they are transfigured -into resplendent ruin at night. Well, the train awaited us on the -opposite side, and there the owners of the destroyed property were -already talking together, planning the rebuilding of their factories -with improvements; wasting no words in useless regrets; they were -scheming, and in their mind’s eye reconstructing the works, while the -ruins still smouldered before their eyes. - -The road to Western Virginia leads through some of the most beautiful -scenery of the south. Lying near, and around us, are soft swelling hills -and undulating valleys, with here and there dark pine woods, grouped in -sombre masses; their branches standing out stiff and grim, like serried -ranks of swords, pricking the skies--a standing army of nature’s wild -recruits rooted to her breast, their only warfare being carried on with -the raging elements, when the storm king comes crashing down from the -distant mountains in a whirlwind of raging wrath, and armed with the -invisible horrors of the air hurls itself upon the woodland kings, -tearing their stiffened limbs, wrenching and twisting their tall -straight trunks, and leaving them a shapeless shivering mass upon the -ground, broken like a gallant army, but not vanquished; the earth still -holds them fast, wrapping her soft moss about their bleeding wounds, -fanning them with sweet airs, and lifting them up again to flourish in -the face of the sun. Here and there broad bands of the silver stream -sandal the foothills, and lace the ragged fringes of the earth together. -We look round on a wide panoramic view of variegated green, where hill -and valley, wooded knolls and rocky ridges, frowning forests and smiling -meadows, are blended in one harmonious whole, and a soft hazy atmosphere -lies like a heavenly mystery over all. The view is bounded and shut in -by the lofty range of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Winding slowly and -almost by imperceptible gradations downwards, we soon reach the -beautiful Shenandoah valley, _en route_ for the wonderful cave of -“Luray,” which lies in the centre of Page county. - -The earth’s surface here and for miles round is rugged and broken, as -though by some great upheaval centuries ago; huge grey boulders are -lying in all directions, as though some ancient Titan had flung them -down in sport. Giant rocks, the work of the great sculptor Nature, lie -in folded ridges, their stony draperies falling about them in massive -magnificence that is beyond the reach of art. Rivulets of living water -trickle down their gaping sides, and gather, and swell, and flow through -darkened chasms half hidden from the light of the sun, playing an -everlasting game of hide and seek, then rushing forth sparkling and -laughing in its light. - -Eastward about a mile from the pretty village of Luray, and partially -screened by the dense thickets which crown the hilltops, there exists an -extensive cave. Concerning its first discovery, many years ago, -tradition tells an interesting story, indicating a man named Ruffner as -its first discoverer. He with his family, it is said, was among the -first settlers in the valley below, and one day he went out on a hunting -expedition and never returned. After a search of many weeks, his gun was -found at the entrance to the cave, and in due time he was discovered, -having wandered among its labyrinthine courts and passages till he was -lost and dead of starvation. From this event it was called “Ruffner’s” -cave, and is so printed on the maps both of that period and since. -Little interest, however, attached to the cave, and for a time it seemed -to have passed from the memory of man, and remained neglected and hidden -away in the heart of the mountain until the summer of 1878, when a -number of gentlemen formed themselves into a company not only for the -more complete exploration of the old cave, but for a regularly organised -search for new wonders. They hoped to discover even a more extensive -cave, which from their geological survey they believed to exist in the -neighbourhood. They ranged the hillside, penetrated dense thickets and -tangled woods; crept and groped under rocky ledges--first taking care to -rout the brood of rattlesnakes from their slimy bed, and hunting the -frightened foxes from their burrows under the ground, where for ages -they had lived in savage security--but for many weeks their search was -in vain. However, on returning one evening, exhausted and disheartened, -along the northern side of the hill, they observed a suspicious looking -hollow choked up with straggling bushes, loose stones, weeds, and -rubbish of all kinds, the accumulation of years. They set to work at -daydawn, clearing away the tangled brushwood, tossing out the loose -stones, and plunging deeper and deeper into the dark abyss, till they -felt a rush of cool air creeping up through the broken earth, and after -a few hours’ laborious endeavour they found themselves in a lofty -passage, which formed a kind of antechamber to a vast palace of wonder -which had been building since the world began. Thus was the Luray cave -discovered; but it is only during the last year that it has been -rendered accessible to the public. Nature hides her most beautiful -secrets so closely within her breast, and surrounds them with so many -mysteries, that art and labour, hand in hand, must come to the fore -before they can become the property of the world outside. - -Surely Aladdin’s magical lamp never lighted up such jewelled wonders as -are to be beheld here! Here are halls and corridors, stairways and -galleries, chasms and bridges, built or hollowed out with a weird -architectural magnificence wonderful to behold. We stand in the spacious -nave of the cathedral, and gaze at its groined and glittering roof, and -Gothic columns of many-coloured stalactite. The utter silence (which -never exists in the outer world, where there is always the whirr of -invisible insects, the stir of leaves, the whispering of grasses, and a -thousand other nameless sounds) here is supremely impressive; the air, -laden with solemn stillness, lies heavy and close round us. We listen -for the roll of some hidden organ to fill the darkening shadows with -music, and tempt us to fall upon our knees in worship of the Great -Unknown. We pass through a narrow jagged passage full of grotesque -shapes and caricatures of things real and unreal, till we come to a -damp, low-roofed opening called the bridal chamber, which is profusely -ornamented with fantastic formations of crystalline rock. It is said, I -don’t know how truthfully, that some benighted imbeciles have already -been married on this spot. The roof is everywhere supported by hundreds -of columns of various gradations of colour and size, from a thin walking -cane to the grand pillar in the “giant’s hall,” which is nearly twenty -feet in circumference, and is ribbed and rugged like the bark of a tree. -A curious feature in this particular cave is the profusion of thin -icicles--I do not know by what other name to call them; it seems as -though threads of ice had been woven together in a veil of frost work -unknown to decorative art. They hang from the edges, and drape the walls -in falling folds like a tapestry curtain; they droop in graceful folds -before Diana’s bath, and are drawn round the couch of the “sleeping -beauty”--for a symmetrical form that is almost human lies shrouded in -ice beneath it. Fancy has found some appropriate name for every nook and -corner, form and figure, of this underground world. However fantastic -these stalactite embellishments may be they are never inharmonious, one -thing never seems out of keeping with another. Here we may gather to -ourselves lessons of loveliness, and the mysterious mingling of the -beautiful in form and colour that æstheticism tries in vain to teach. - -We wander through the “garden,” and gaze round with still greater -amazement upon the gorgeous colouring and delicate formation of these -stalactite flowers, so airy and fragile; they look as though a breath -would wither them, yet they have been in bloom for ages, and will bloom -on for ages more. The grey stone is covered with this growth of glassy -flowers, with quivering petals of pink and violet and white. We are -inclined to smell them, scarce believing they are cold and scentless. -Presently we come upon a glacial forest scene, where the fluted columns, -uprising like knotted trunks of trees, spread their thin, brittle -branches till we fancy we see them quivering in the still air. Let fancy -take the bit in her mouth and run away with our reason, and we shall -believe we are standing amid a spectral group of ancient willow and elm -trees which have perished from the upper world, and live out their -frozen life of ages here below. Here and there a tiny rill of water -trickles like a silver thread down among the folded draperies, till it -is lost among the fretted frostwork below. Then crossing a rude stony -balcony we look down into a wide, deep chasm, which yawns beneath our -feet, and it is not difficult for the imagination to evolve the most -uncanny creatures of weird, unearthly forms from the depths of darkness -which the magnesium lights illuminate but cannot penetrate. - -At last we come up from those vast underground realms to the light of -the living sun, awestruck and impressed with the wonders thereof. While -we are carrying out our small human lives, taxing our intellect, our -imagination and our skill to build up vast edifices of brick and stone -on this outer earth, which in a few short years must crumble away, an -unknown and invisible world is being slowly perfected beneath our -feet--a world not made by hands--every touch and tint the work of a -passing age; silently and slowly the viewless workers labour on, under -the land and under the sea, while cycles and ages pass! Will not this -outer crust whereon we live slowly crack like a shell, and one day fall -away, and leave a world such as the Revelation tells of, whose jewelled -palaces are of silver and gold, the glory and wonder whereof this world -knoweth not! We feel as though we had stood on the outermost edge and -caught a glimpse of the wonder-land where nature is working her will in -silence and darkness. - -Some of the most picturesque and sublime scenery of the South may be -found in the regions of Western Virginia, where nature in her wildest -mood holds sovereign sway among her everlasting hills, clothed with -majestic woods running down to the narrow valleys and winding lands -which intersect the mountains. Here in these solitudes, scattered -through these lonely regions, live a primitive people, leading a -primitive life. - -They are supposed to be the descendants of the Irish and Scotch who came -over to this country about two hundred years ago, and wandered on and on -till they reached these solitudes and then settled down in sparse and -scattered groups far apart, not in villages but in single families, -where they have been living undisturbed through all these changing -years, marrying and intermarrying with some kind of ceremony peculiar to -themselves, from generation to generation. Children have been born, -grown to be old men, and died, having never passed out from their own -solitary homes. - -They hold no communion with the outer world; no “iron horse” steams -through their solitudes, and few and far between indeed are the -travellers who invade their wilderness. Even with each other their -communication is scarce and scant--their nearest neighbour may be -residing from five to twenty miles away; visiting is therefore a rather -difficult process, especially as there are no roads leading from one -place to another. People have to find their way, or rather make their -way, over the rough, stony mountain, and through the tangled woods, -wading through brooks and leaping across dangerous chasms before they -can enjoy the luxury of looking on a human face! These poor people can -neither read nor write, they have no means of learning to do either; -they are beyond the reach of the school-board, without the pale of -civilisation. There are no schools, no books, no newspapers, no post, no -highroads, no church, no law but what their own untaught nature lays -down; no religion save that which they evolve from the mystery of their -own being--for even in the most savage, untutored breast, a still small -voice is always whispering speculations as to the unknown from the -beginning to the end and after. They build their own log huts (some of -which are in the last stage of dilapidation) and make their own rough -furniture. Having cleared as much land as they want, they grow patches -of corn, cabbages, and such like; nuts, fruits and sorrel, and other -kinds of green stuff which they use for food all grow plentifully in -these uncultivated lands. Some own a cow and a few fowls, and wild hogs -are numerous enough to supply them with all they need of animal food. - -In all this region cotton grows abundantly, and they weave their own -clothes, the old spindle of two hundred years ago being still in use -among them. The men wear shoes--when they can get them--all the year -round; but the women go barefoot except in the winter time and during -the inclement season, when the streams are turned to frozen ice, and the -earth is shrouded in thick snow. It is the women who do the outdoor -work, while their lords and masters, following the example of savage -Indian tribes, stay by the fireside and smoke their pipes. Occasionally, -once in a year or two, some one of this scattered community will load -his mule and fill his cart with different commodities of his own and his -neighbour’s and make a pilgrimage to the nearest town--which may be a -hundred miles off or more--and sell or exchange them for such -necessaries as they require, and with which they cannot supply -themselves. The existence of these primitive people is very well known -to such travellers as from time to time have penetrated these solitudes; -but this state of things will not be allowed to remain long unchanged; -the spirit of progress is abroad, and is already making a subtle and -invisible progress even among these primeval solitudes. - -Some three or four years ago a solitary gentleman of engineering -proclivities started on a voyage of discovery through these desolate -regions, and after long wanderings and many disappointments fell -figuratively upon his feet at last, and after a patient investigation of -certain localities came to the conclusion that some of nature’s rich -resources were hidden away in the heart of these mountains. Having once -convinced himself of this truth he returned to civilisation, and with -little difficulty organised a company, and in the course of a few months -returned with a staff of engineers and workers necessary for the full -development and carrying out of his design. The shaft was sunk, the mine -is now in full working order, and promises to be a great success. - -Meanwhile there have been many and great difficulties to be overcome in -the suspicious ignorance and sturdy opposition of these, the original -inhabitants of the soil, who regard the new order of things with evil -eyes, and watch with ill-disguised dissatisfaction, and low, muttered -threats that the invasion of their privacy shall be paid for by the -lives of their invaders, who, however, go steadily on with their work -with a fearless determination to carry it through in spite of the -opposition of this hostile community. - -The new comers associated with the old inhabitants, whenever occasion -served, in a frank, friendly fashion, endeavouring to convince them that -any act of violence on their part would be followed by speedy punishment -and the total expulsion of the whole scattered community from the soil -where they had become rooted for generations past. But in vain they -tried to persuade them that the new order of things would be for their -benefit, and would bring them into connection with the great world, -giving to them and to their children an opportunity of rising and -improving their condition. They have no ambition, and being utterly -unconscious of their ignorance are content therewith. They don’t know -anything nor don’t want to know anything; they have many curious -traditions circulating among them, descending from father to son, and -growing and deepening in wonder by the way. They are full too of strange -superstitions, as a people living so utterly apart from the rest of the -world, lost in the speculations and mystery of their own lonely lives -would naturally be; they may have a kind of dreamy conviction that -somewhere across the mountains the inhabitants boil and eat brown -babies, and, if occasion serves, are in no ways loth to indulge -surreptitiously in the luxury of a fine fat white boy! - -However, they are day by day getting more reconciled to the presence of -their civilised brethren, who by general tact and little helpful -kindnesses have won their toleration and good will. Though they still -stand aloof and watch the progress of affairs with curious eyes, they -give _no_ assistance and offer no opposition. - -Meanwhile public attention having been called to the existence of the -valuable mines throughout these districts, the construction of a railway -is under consideration; and if the projected undertaking be carried out -villages and towns will spring up like magic in these untrodden wilds, -the echoes of life and labour resound through the now silent solitudes, -and the flood of a new strong life will burst among these wandering -weaklings of humanity, and either absorb them into their own strength, -or drive to still deeper and farther solitary wilds the white savages of -Wise County. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - Through the great swamp.--Charleston.--A memory of the old - world.--Blacks and whites.--Peculiarities of the coloured folk.--A - ghost of dead days.--Quaint scenes. - - -After much loitering and a keen enjoyment of the wilder beauties of -Virginia we start on our way to Charleston, one of the oldest historic -cities in America, and doubly interesting to us from its connection with -the old colonial day, when the British flag fluttered over the -inhabitants, and the stars and stripes were things of the future. - -Our way lies through wide stretches of uncultivated lands, dotted here -and there by negro huts with black babies and pigs tumbling together in -the mire. In the course of a few hours we emerge from these -uninteresting wilds, and are running through the great swamps which -extend for miles along either side of our iron road, and are strictly -impassable for either man or beast, though it is said that hundreds of -poor human creatures in the old days chafed and fretted and grew -discontented with their condition of life, and in their foolish -endeavour to escape from it were lost in these wilds. Who knows what -cries to God for help and mercy have gone up from the inner gloom of -these dismal swamps?--cries that perhaps the angels heard and came down -from heaven to answer. - -Although we are journeying through perfectly flat country, with never an -undulating wave of land in sight, the scenery is ever changing, and -never presents the same picture to the eye for two minutes together. -There is, of course a certain monotony in the character of the natural -pageant that is gliding past us, but the combinations vary both in form -and colour, now advancing, now receding as we flash past them; the air -is full of light, and queer-looking grey birds rise up and wheel in -eddying circles over our heads, flapping their wings, and uttering -strange cries, which our engine’s voice has not strength enough to -smother. - -The idea of a swamp had always presented itself to our mind’s eye as a -vast expanse of shiny, slushy soil, half mud, half water, with here and -there a rank undergrowth of bushes and stiff grass, and briers, through -which it must be a melancholy task to travel,--but it is not so. In -travelling through these swampy regions the prospect is neither a dull -nor an uninteresting one; whole forests of grand old trees rise up from -the watery waste, the rich varied foliage growing so luxuriantly, and -in such impenetrable masses that scarce a ray of sunshine comes glinting -through. We feel as though by some strange accident we have been caught -up by some modern magician, clothed in steel with a heart of iron, and -whirled along through the forest primeval. - -For hours, nay, for the whole day long we speed through this world of -green, now and again the great trees turning their leafy arms into a -perfect arch above our heads, as we go thundering on. - -Some of our fellow travellers go to sleep, others yawn over a book which -they have not energy enough to read, some get out the cards and play -poker or _écarté_, according as the spirit of gambling moves them; we -hear murmured complaints, “There is nothing to see,” and “What a -horribly monotonous journey.” - -But to us it is not monotonous; there is life and beauty in the -ever-changing lights and shadows of the forest, sometimes most -Rembrandt-like in their depth and dim obscurity; in the dainty colouring -of the leaves, and the many strange formations of these ancient kings of -the forest, standing in deep rank and file, sentinels and guardians of -the silent land, their green heads lifted to the skies, their gnarled -and knotted feet firmly planted on the earth below. We wonder are they -quite dumb and speechless? Deaf to the low whispering of the wind, -stirred only to a gentle rustle by its balmy breath? Who knows? What to -us is the mere soughing of the wind may be to them a living language -coming straight down from the Great Unknown, with a message cheering -them in their solitude here with a promise of a hereafter, when they -shall bloom in paradise, and angels walk and talk beneath their leafy -shade. They seem so lonely here; they have never heard the sound of a -human voice; no foot has ever strayed among their fallen leaves, no -lovers’ voices made sweet music in the night, no childish babble echoed -through their bended boughs. - -We are still lost in contemplation, with our thoughts wandering through -the soft luxuriant beauty of this forest land, when we slowly emerge -from its density into the open country. The landscape changes, -widens,--Charleston is in sight! In a few minutes the cling-clanging of -the engine bell tells us we are nearing the station--another moment, and -we are there. - -It is evening now, the lamps are lighted, and but a few scattered groups -are making their way homeward through the quiet streets, for they keep -early hours in Charleston, and by ten o’clock all decent folk are at -home in their beds. - -The gloomy grandeur of the “Charleston House”--and it is really a -handsome stone building--attracts us not; we stop at the “Pavilion,” a -pretty homelike hotel with a verandahed front, and balcony filled with -evergreens and flowers, on the opposite corner of Meeting Street. Our -room has the usual regulation furniture, without any pretensions to -luxury--clean, comfortable beds, chilly-looking marble-topped tables, -and the inevitable rocking chairs, without which the humblest home would -be incomplete. We go to bed and sleep soundly after our twenty-four -hours’ run. - -Within all was bright and pleasant enough, but without the prospect was -anything but cheering. Our windows opened upon a dingy courtyard, -surrounded on three sides by dilapidated buildings two stories high; the -rickety doors hung loosely on their rusty hinges, the windows were -broken or patched with paper or old rags, and the venetian blinds swung -outside in a miserably crippled condition--all awry and crooked, every -lath splintered or broken, the paint was worn off in rain-stained -patches everywhere, and the woodwork was worm-eaten, and rotten. The -place had altogether a miserable appearance, as though the ghost of the -old dead days was haunting and brooding over it in the poverty of the -present. It seemed to be deserted too, for as we looked out upon it in -the light of the early morning, we heard no sound, nor saw a human -creature anywhere. - -We learned afterwards that these had been the original slave quarters, -and are still occupied by the same inhabitants--the freedmen of to-day, -the slaves of yesterday, in many cases still serving their old masters -in the old way. The servants of the hotel, waiters, chambermaids, etc, -are all coloured, or rather coal-black; for as we go farther South the -mixed breeds are more rarely to be met with; it is only here and there -we come across the mulatto or others of mixed blood, which is rather a -surprise to us, for we expected the half breeds greatly to outnumber the -original race. - -In Charleston two thirds of the population are black, and almost without -exception in all Southern cities they largely preponderate over the -whites, whose superiority they tacitly acknowledge, and work under their -direction with amiable contentment. - -Their inherent respect for the white race is exemplified in many ways, -especially in the small matters of everyday life. In many of the -coloured churches they have white preachers, and these are always the -most popular. One old “mammy,” who had nursed a friend of mine forty -years ago, and who still occupies her old position in the same family, -is accustomed to walk three miles to and from church, though she is over -seventy years of age. On her mistress inquiring why she went so far, -when one of her own people held service close by, “I’se no sit under no -nigger preacher!” said the old woman, shaking her head contemptuously. - -This kind of feeling penetrates even into the nursery. The dark nurse -will be most devoted to the white baby, while she utterly neglects her -own,--hence the great mortality among the dusky brood, which, -comparatively, more than doubles that of the whites. An attempt to -secure the services of a young coloured girl for an infant of her own -race (whose mother was nursing a white child) was met with the scornful -answer, “I’se no tend no nigger babies,” the girl herself being black as -coal! - -It is the same in the schools, for though both white and coloured pass -exactly the same examinations, they will not send their children to be -taught by their own people. The rank and file of teachers may be -coloured, but they must be led, and in all their duties superintended, -by the whites! Woe be to the coloured teacher who dares to put a naughty -Topsy in the corner! The maternal virago swoops down upon her with -direst outcries, and lays her case before the authorities with as much -solemnity as could be used in the court-martial of a refractory colonel. - -The master mechanics, builders, carpenters, blacksmiths, etc., are -generally white, while the journeymen and labourers are coloured; it is -the same with the shopkeepers and small traders, their employés being of -the opposite race. - -The great drawback in the labour market throughout the Southern States -is the uncertainty of the labour supply. The blacks as a rule are -excellent mechanics, but they will not work well unless under strict -supervision, and they will only work while necessity demands they -should. They have no sense of the responsibility which rests upon their -employer, and cannot see that their idle self-indulgence must result in -his ruin and ultimately in their own. So soon as they have earned a few -dollars they enjoy a spell of idleness till they have eaten them up, and -then go to work for more; but this peculiarity is not confined to the -dark race. They are a good-natured and simple, but shiftless and utterly -irresponsible, people; to-day is all; they apply the scriptural text -literally, and “take no thought of to-morrow.” Gay, thoughtless, fond of -pleasure and every kind of self-indulgence, and having led for -generations past a life of dependence on the will and direction of -others, they can exercise no discretion of their own; they are mere -machines to be set in motion by the master hand. Generations must pass -before they can learn the lesson of self-government, and be led to feel -that their own prosperity must be the outcome of their co-operation with -the prosperity of others. I speak of the general character of the -people; of course there are exceptions to this rule, and many of them. -Education is doing its work slowly but surely; there are schools -everywhere, where they receive exactly the same training as the whites, -and consequently the coloured population of to-day is a great advance -on the enslaved race of twenty years ago. - -We spend our first day in Charleston in a rambling promenade through the -city, so gathering a general view of the whole before we take the -special points of interest. - -It is a bright sunny day, with a cool fresh breeze blowing, not at all -the sort of weather we ought to have considering the season; instead of -the hot sun blazing and burning in vindication of its Southern -character, compelling us to creep along every inch of shade, and melting -us even then, it simply looks down upon us with a kind, genial eye, -occasionally winking and playing bo-peep with the woolly white clouds -which come sailing across the azure sky, and the balmy breath of the -wind is sufficiently cool to render our wraps not only comfortable but -absolutely necessary. - -Before we have gone many steps on our way we come upon a pleasant party -of some half dozen negroes, sitting on a fence like a gathering of black -crows, each one whittling a stick and chewing tobacco in solemn -silence--not the silence of thought, but the silence of emptiness, their -great shining eyes staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, like lazy -cattle basking in the sunshine in supreme idleness. - -On returning some hours later, we find them in exactly the same place, -whittling the same stick and chewing the same quid; they do not seem to -have stirred an inch. In odd nooks and corners, entangled in the ragged -edges of the city, we come upon similar groups, and I believe if we had -returned in six days instead of six hours we should have found them in -precisely the same condition. - -The aspect Charleston presents at the first glance to the stranger’s eye -is impressive in the extreme; apart from the historical and romantic -interest which clings to the place, it has a character peculiarly its -own, and bears slight resemblance to any other city we have seen. It -seems to have stood still during the last century, and is strictly -conservative in its appearance and in its ways. - -Quaintly tangled streets and alleys cling to the main -thoroughfares, running up and down, in and out, in a sort of -thread-my-grandmother’s-needle fashion; making a loop here, tying -themselves into knots there, and resolving themselves into a perfect -puzzle which the pedestrian has hard matter to piece together with his -weary feet. - -The houses in these out-of-the-way parts of the town are old-fashioned, -odd-looking places, some so crippled in their lower limbs as to need the -support of strong oaken beams, or patches of bricks and mortar; some are -rickety in their upper stories, and lean affectionately on one side so -as to support themselves on the strength of their neighbours, as weaker -human creatures are apt to do. Everything seems pining for a fresh coat -of paint; but they do their best to conceal their need of it, covering -themselves with creeping plants or tawdry hangings, hiding their -discolorations and bruises with gorgeous hued flowers, and clasping -their green mantle round them as we may have seen an aristocratic beggar -draw his robe across his breast to hide his rags and tatters. -Occasionally, in some obscure corner of the city, we come upon a -rambling old mansion of quaint, picturesque architecture, once the home -of refinement and wealth, where the great ones of the country lived in a -state of ease, luxury, and almost feudal splendour. It is occupied now -by hosts of coloured folk; swarms of black babies crowd the verandahs or -climb and tumble about the steps and passages, while the dilapidated -balconies are filled with lines of clothes to dry; the negro smokes his -pipe beneath the eaves, and the women folk, with their heads turbanned -in gay-coloured handkerchiefs, laugh and chatter from the windows and -lounge in the doorways. How long ago is it since the clank of the -cavaliers’ spurs rang upon the crumbling pavement, and sweet ladies with -their pretty patched faces laughed from the verandahs, while merry -voices and music and hospitality echoed from the now dingy, -time-dishonoured halls, and stately dames in the decorous dress and -manners of the old days walked to and fro, adding by their gracious -presence to the attraction of the festive scene? But these good old days -are over; no imperious dames, in stiff brocades and jewelled slippers, -pace the wide corridors, or dance the graceful minuet upon the floor; -there is no sound of flute and tabor now, but the many sounding notes of -labour, the tramp of busy hives of working men and women, and the -plaintive voices of the negroes singing is heard instead of it, and who -shall say which makes the better music? - -It was on the balcony of one of those houses Jane Elliot stood to see -her lover, William Washington, march past with his cavalry regiment on -their way to the war, more than a century ago. Drums beat and bugles -sounded, and as the gallant men marched on she observed they had no -flag! For a few brief moments they halted beneath her window while with -her own hands she tore the crimson brocade back from one of her -drawing-room chairs, and improvised a banner, which they triumphantly -bore away, marching double quick time to the tune their hearts were -playing. - -Years after, in 1827, when she was widowed and old and grey, she stood -on the same spot and gave this, her dead husband’s battle banner, to the -Washington light infantry of Charleston. It is now held by them almost -as a sacred relic, and is only carried on days of grand parade or other -special occasions. We may catch a glimpse of life as it was in this -Charleston of old times from a writer in 1763, who says:-- - -“The inhabitants of this Carolina province are generally of a good -stature and well made, with lively and agreeable countenances. The -personal qualities of the ladies are much to their credit and advantage; -they are genteel and slender, they have fair complexions--without the -aid of art--and regular, refined features, their manners are easy and -natural, their eyes sparkling and enchantingly sweet. They are fond of -dancing; many sing well, and play upon the harpsichord and guitar with -great skill. In summer riding on horseback or in carriages--which few -are without--is greatly practised. In the autumn, winter, and spring, -there is variety and plenty of game for the gun or dogs; and the -gentlemen are by no means backward in the chase. During the season, once -in two weeks, there is a dancing assembly in Charleston, where there is -always a brilliant appearance of lovely and well dressed women: we have -likewise a genteel playhouse, where a very tolerable set of actors, -called ‘The American Company of Comedians,’ exhibit. Concerts of -instrumental music are frequently performed by gentlemen. Madeira wine -and punch are the common drinks of the inhabitants, but few gentlemen -are without claret, port, Lisbon, and other wines of Spanish, French, -or Portugal vintages. The ladies are very temperate, and only drink -water, which in Charleston is very unwholesome. There are about 1,100 -houses in the town, some of wood, some of brick; many of them have a -genteel appearance, though generally encumbered with balconies or -piazzas, and are all most luxuriously furnished. The apartments are -arranged for coolness, which is very necessary.” - -Charleston, as I have said before, is strictly conservative in its -principles, and in many respects is much the same to-day as it was then. -In spite of all its reverses--the internal struggles of the Cavaliers -and Puritans, who brought hither their old quarrels and prejudices along -with their household gods, from over the sea, its strife with the -Indians, its troubles during the British occupation, and its terrible -disasters during the late four years’ conflict--it still retains many of -its old characteristics; its features are the same, though cruelly -scarred with the flames and sword of war. We pass on our way through -Meeting Street, one of the chief thoroughfares of the city; it is a -long, straight, not overwide, shady street, with beautiful trees on -either side, and has a look of almost cloistered quiet about it. There -are several handsome churches embosomed in bowers of green, and the -ruins of an ancient cathedral, which was burned by accident more than -twenty years ago; they point this out as proudly, and cherish it as -fondly, as though it were a legitimate ruin, a wreck that old time had -left upon their shores. - -The long stretch of houses on either side are not of any specially -varied or picturesque style of architecture; they are three stories -high, and have a rather curious appearance, as they turn their backs -upon the streets, or rather stand sideways like pews in a church, their -fronts facing seaward, to catch the cool sea breeze which blows down -from the battery above. The three-storied piazzas running round every -house, the green venetians wholly or partly closed, not a soul in sight, -either from within or without, give an appearance of almost oriental -seclusion to the place; one half expects to see some dark, laughing -beauty peeping out from among the flowers. The dear old city is full of -romance and beauty everywhere, and as we pass through the silent -street--silent, yet speaking with an eloquence that surpasses -speech--the ghost of the dead days seems marching with muffled feet -beside us, and the very stones seem to have a story to tell. We feel as -though we have fallen upon an enchanted land, where time is standing -still, and the years have grown grey with watching. Here and there we -come upon a large empty mansion, one of the grand dwellings of old -colonial days, whence the tenants have been driven by adverse -circumstances; it stands staring down upon the street with blank, glassy -eyes, perhaps with a rent in its side, and its face bruised and -battered, its discoloured, painted skin peeling off, and slowly rotting. -People have neither time nor money to rehabilitate these ancient -mansions; they must needs be deserted by their owners, who have gone to -seek their fortunes in the eastern cities, while the old homes are left -to decay. - -From this pretty shady street we come out upon the Battery, and stand -for a moment to look round upon the peaceful scene, and enjoy the balmy -breeze which sweeps straight from the near Gulf Stream. This is a -delightful promenade and pleasure ground, where the good Charlestonians -from time immemorial have come for their evening stroll, or to sit under -the leafy shade of the scrub-oaks, gossiping with their neighbours. The -Battery grounds front the land-locked bay--a sheet of crystal water -about three miles wide--around which, and on the opposite side, lies a -perfect garland of softly-swelling green islands, which stretch far away -out of our sight. On each side, running like arms from the bay, are the -Ashley and Cooper rivers, holding the town in their watery embrace. -Around three sides of the Battery there runs an elevated promenade, -raised about two feet from the grounds, which are beautifully laid out -in pretty, white shell walks, grassy turf, and gorgeous flower beds, -while groups of fine old forest trees, that have heard the whispering of -many centuries, spread their leafy branches far and wide. Turning their -backs upon the town and facing this lovely land-and-water scene, stands -a variegated collection of fine old-fashioned houses of quaint -architecture. Some are landmarks of the old colonial days; each one -differs in form and colour from the other, but all are fanciful -structures with elaborate ornamentation; some are circular, some flat -fronted, some curving in a fantastic fashion, and seeming to look round -the corner on their friends and neighbours, to assure them they are not -proud though they have turned their backs upon them; some have wide -balconies of stone, some light verandahs with green venetian blinds or -graceful ironwork clinging to their front; but everywhere creeping -plants and brilliant flowers are growing. - -The view on all sides is most picturesque and lovely, and the fragrant -air is a delight to the senses. Here is the real aristocratic part of -the city, and here to this day, in spite of the many freaks of fortune, -the descendants of the old Huguenot and Cavalier families inhabit the -homes of their ancestors, whose familiar names still echo on the ears of -the town. With lagging footsteps we take our way homeward through the -city, losing ourselves and finding ourselves more than once. Altogether -we come to the conclusion that Charleston is a sober suited, gentlemanly -city strongly impregnated with the savour of old days; somewhat worn and -grey, but thoroughly dignified and pleasant, full of old-world -prejudices and decorum that no flighty tourist would care to outrage. - -We have merely glanced at the outer aspect of the city, to-morrow we -must visit some interiors and the more definite features within and -around it. As we enter our chamber after our long ramble we hear the -sounds of merry voices, and the passing of people to and fro in the -courtyard; then suddenly amid the shouting and the laughter there rises -a choir of voices, a hush falls everywhere--they are singing “The sweet -by and by.” We approach the window and look out. A group of coal-black -negroes are sitting round one table piling up rich ripe strawberries for -our dessert; close by is another party shelling peas. It is these groups -who are singing. Their plaintive melancholy voices affect us solemnly; -but even as the last notes are trembling on their lips they begin to -play monkey tricks on one another, turning somersaults in the air, -grinning from ear to ear, and chattering like magpies! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - St. Michael’s chimes.--Architectural attraction.--Magnolia - Cemetery.--A philosophical mendicant.--The market.--Aboard the - boat.--Fort Sumter. - - -A closer acquaintance with Charleston, its surroundings, and its people, -deepens our first impression. A dignified gravity seems to be set like a -seal upon their lives, whence all light frivolous things have been cast -out, and replaced by high hopes and noble aspirations, born of a past -sorrow. There is a look of preoccupation on their faces, as though their -thoughts and desires have outstripped their powers of action, and they -are pushing the world’s work forward that they may come up with them and -realise the state of their holy ambitions. They dress sombrely, in dark -neutral tints, with a quiet elegance and simplicity. They are as the -sober setting to a brilliant picture, where the coloured folks supply -the flaunting figures and gaudy colouring--the blacker they are the more -gorgeous are their personal adornments. - -Passing up the long shady Meeting Street, with its rows of tall trees on -either side of it, the most prominent object in view is the old Church -of St. Michael, which is a great point of interest to visitors. It was -built more than a century and a half ago; the quaint and somewhat sombre -interior, with its high box pews, groined roof, and dainty columns is -impressive as only such ancient places of worship can be. The tall, -graceful, steeple towers high above all other spires and is a landmark -for miles round. It has a wonderfully fine peal of bells, too, with a -most romantic history. In 1782 when the British vacated Charleston they -seized these bells and shipped them to England, considering them as a -military perquisite. However, in the space of a few weeks, they were -re-shipped to Charleston, and replaced in the belfry. In 1861 they were -sent to Columbia for safety, and in the terrible conflagration which -destroyed that city they were so much damaged by fire as to be perfectly -useless. They were then sent once more to England to be recast, and, -strange to say, this delicate piece of work was performed by the -descendants of the same firm which made them nearly a century and a half -ago! They were recast from the same model, and perfected as nearly like -the original as possible, and when finished were returned to Charleston, -where they were detained in the custom-house for some time, the -authorities being too poor to pay the duty, which amounted to several -thousand dollars! These public boards are seldom public-spirited--red -tapeism seems to tie down their sympathies, and strangle their -patriotism. However, after all their vicissitudes, the bells were -reinstated in their old place, and all Charleston went wild with -excitement when the musical chimes rang out once more, seeming to tell -their story in rhythmical rhyme! And when their brazen tongues again -clashed out upon the ears of the people, who knows what other tales they -told, or what mournful memories they sent echoing through the city, -stirring all hearts like the roll of a muffled drum? - -Both within and without, St. Michael’s is perhaps the most interesting -of all the churches. Its preachers have always been men of note; -enrolled among them are many who are now world-famous. There are places -of worship for all denominations of sinners, who can choose their own -road, through highways or by-ways, from this world to the next. - -They can travel express through the mystic musical region of the highest -of high churches, where the spiritual leader takes the train in hand and -is answerable for all accidents by the way; or they may wander through -quiet, peaceful meadow-lands, where only the voice of the shepherd calls -their attention to the tinkling bells of salvation in the distance, -whose music will ring out clearer and sweeter as they near the great -beyond. Indeed, people may take their religion in any form they please; -the means are abundantly supplied, from the undiluted draught of simple -faith to the modest mixture of half-and-half measures, where soft music -is falling, candles faintly burning--and always extinguished at the -right moment--and on to the hottest, strongest spiritual essence, with -incense burning, banners flying, and--why not?--drums, fifes, and -trumpets playing on the march to celestial glory! And no doubt the -Salvation Army will soon come streaming from the east, laden with patent -piety warranted to cure the most diseased soul, and secure a front seat -in the halls of heaven in a single day!--not without payment, though, -for the “almighty dollar” plays a prominent part in these spiritual -proceedings. - -The many handsome churches and public buildings add largely to the -attractions of Charleston, and are, to a certain extent, a reflex of the -minds of the people. As the descendants of old families concentrate -their energies and their pride on their ancestral home, so the good -Charlestonians from generation to generation have devoted theirs to the -glorification of their beloved city; and in erecting new buildings, -public companies as well as private individuals, instead of building -according to their own special taste, have had some regard to that of -their neighbours; every stone has been laid thoughtfully one upon the -other, not only with regard to its own features, but as a part of a -whole, and in perfect harmony with the general aspect of the city. One -building never mars the effect of the other; the eye is hurt by no -incongruity of architecture, no false colouring, but everywhere is a -pleasant blending of symmetrical forms and delicate tints. The effect -upon the eye is the same as that of a perfect melody upon the ear--no -slurred notes, no flat where a sharp should be, nothing jarring, no -false rhythm anywhere. - -In secluded streets as well as in the public quarter of many a large -city the eye is often struck with discords in bricks and mortar, marble, -or stone; each structure perhaps tasteful enough in itself, but the -effect being marred, and marring by contrast the work of its neighbour. - -Fancy the effect of knee-breeches and a tall beaver on the Apollo -Belvedere, a flat nose on “Antinous,” or a _nez retroussé_ on the Venus -of Milo! - -The first question you are asked on entering a southern city is: “Have -you been to the cemetery?” - -This is one of the chief places of interest which everybody is anxious -to point out; for next to the city of the living they cherish the city -of their dead. It is here they come to while away their leisure hours, -and bring the fresh flowers of every season to lay above the dust of -their departed--for you seldom see an undecorated grave. - -The Magnolia Cemetery is about three miles from the city; we pass first -through a grand avenue to the German burial-ground, which is beautifully -kept, with shining white walks winding among blooming flower beds and -rare shrubberies, shaded by grand old oaks, clothed in their mantles of -soft grey moss. Carved upon the headstones the solemn words “Her ruhet -in Gott” meet the eye at every turn. Passing through this grave-garden, -we soon come to the main entrance to Magnolia Cemetery; within the -massive gates a colossal bell is suspended from a lofty scaffolding, -which tolls slowly as the funeral approaches; a pretty Gothic chapel, -where the services are held, stands to the left. Passing under the -archway we come upon a few score of white wooden headstones, which stand -like special guardians at the gates of death; beneath these lie the -Federal dead. Farther on lies the wide Confederate burial-ground; here, -side by side, and rank on rank, by hundreds--nay, by thousands--lie the -soldiers of the lost cause sleeping their last sleep, happily -unconscious of the ruin that fell on the land they loved before yet the -grass grew over their graves. Few, very few, have an inscription to mark -who rests beneath, but soft green hillocks swell in low waves on all -sides of us; these hide the unknown dead, and over them are daisies and -sweet wild flowers growing. Beyond these again lie the more fortunate, -who have died at home, surrounded by friends and kindred, and fitly -mourned in monuments of marble; there are symbolical urns and broken -columns, groups of mourning friends in every possible or impossible -attitudes of depression; there is a cherub blowing a trumpet as though -striving to wake up the heavenly host with the news “another recruit is -coming.” He is blowing so hard he seems to have blown himself out of his -draperies, which are fluttering in the wind behind him, and weeping -angels are drying their eyes with stony pocket-handkerchiefs, as though -bemoaning that all the virtues of all the world lay perishing beneath -them--at least, so says the inscription written there. As it always -happens in the great cemeteries of north, south, east, and west, some of -the departed are mourned in doggerel rhyme, some in ungrammatical prose. -I think that many would rise up from their silent beds and wipe out -these effusions if they could; but the dead have no remedy against the -imbecilities of the living. One feels disposed to envy the unknown dead -whose worth is chronicled and memory kept green in the hearts that loved -them, with no marble monument to point the place where they lie “carved -in dust.” - -Passing through this silent world, we find ourselves in a wide white -street which runs through the Catholic cemetery from east to west, in -the centre and at the highest point of which stands a gigantic black -cross. Cedar and ash and willow trees are growing in picturesque masses; -green shrubberies refresh the sight, and rich red and cream roses are -blooming everywhere. The grave gardens here are laid out in various -shapes and sizes--square, circular, triangular, &c.--like a geometrical -puzzle spread over the ground. The simplest grave has a cross above it, -sometimes of wood, of iron, or of stone; the symbol of Christianity, as -though growing out from the hearts of the sleepers, is lifted on all -sides. - -The sun is shining, the sweet air blowing, and a look of serene calm and -most perfect peace is smiling everywhere. How the vexed and troubled -folk, who wander here to get away from the busy, noisy world, must long -to creep down under the roses and hide from this world’s noisy strife, -and lie beside the sleeper under the sod, with hands crossed, eyes -closed, at rest for ever more. Here is a grave covered with -“forget-me-nots,” and a cry--a hard, cold cry--written in stone, craving -to be “kept green in men’s memories;” as though the dead could hope to -be remembered, when _we_ who are living have to lift up our voices and -struggle to the front that we may not be forgotten even while we live! -Tall costly shafts of granite, wreathed with everlasting flowers, prick -the skies, and elaborate architectural designs are erected here and -there; one has brass cannon at the gates and sabres crossed upon the -threshold, pointing the way the sleeper took to his death. After -wandering about for some time we sit down to rest under a cedar tree, -luxuriating in the sweet scent and bright colour of the waving -flowerbeds, quite alone, as we thought, till a voice rather suggestive -of “beer and skittles” came out of the silence: - -“Nice weather, marm; things is sort o’ springin’ up everywheres, and -some on ’em is full blowed, ain’t they?” - -I look up; the owner of the voice has evidently just sidled round from -the other side of the tree. He is an elderly man, with a ragged beard -and patched clothing--the forlorn and decaying remnants of military -glory; his face has a sodden, dissipated look, and his eyes a weak -gin-and-watery appearance, anything but prepossessing. He was not -exactly a nice kind of human ghoul to meet in such a solitary spot. I -answered with an assenting smile or some kind of commonplace cheap -civility, which evidently satisfied him, for he edged a little nearer, -adding philosophically-- - -“Yes, it takes a good deal o’ sunshine to set things a startin’ out; -sometimes I think I’d as lief be lyin’ down there in the dark as -starvin’ up here in the sunshine--leastways the sun don’t always shine, -not on me. I’ve been a soldier, marm,” he added with a slightly Irish -accent, “and done my duty on many a gory field, and--oh! a--ah!” - -He groaned a low guttural sort of groan--his feelings were evidently too -much for him; he took out a red cotton handkerchief, shook it out for -one moment as though unfurling a battle flag, then buried his face in it -and boo-hoo’d behind it till his broad shoulders shook with emotion. I -felt embarrassed. I was not sure I should not have that six feet of -suffering manhood in another moment grovelling at my feet; but he -recovered his mental equilibrium, replaced his handkerchief, shook his -hat well forward on his head, and said somewhat irrelevantly but with a -mournful intonation-- - -“‘Tain’t no use trying to cross yer fate. I’ve tried it, and it don’t -answer; but one thing always puts me in mind of another; n’ flowers, n’ -trees, n’ grass, n’ sich-like strikes me jist now as oncommon like human -natur, for the sun o’ charity must shine on the human heart, before it -will open up and give out the perfume from its inhuman pockets as it -oughter--” There was a momentary and suspicious silence on my part; then -my ragged and somewhat poetic philosopher added insinuatingly, “Yer -don’t happen to hev a stray quarter hanging about yer clo’es anywheres? -’cause a sight of it would do me a deal o’ good.” - -This ancient sinner wheedled the quarter out of my “clo’es,” and fearing -lest he might move up his guns for another attack I got up and walked -away a poorer and wiser woman, resolved never again to become the prey -of a hoary impostor, but to fly from the first wag of his tongue as from -the first clash of the tail of a rattlesnake. - -We saunter on, and looking from the eastern point of Magnolia we have a -magnificent panorama of the city and the clustering vessels afloat in -the harbour, while stern and grim Fort Sumter looms in the distance; the -white sails flutter to and fro, and dainty vessels curtsey to their own -shadows reflected on the placid water; not a ripple stirs its surface, -and the sun pours down a flood of silver on this sea of glass, lighting -up and brightening the prospect all around, the purple pines and -low-lying forts on the surrounding islands forming a charming background -to the panoramic scene. - -Charleston is reported by its inhabitants (and surely they ought to -know) to be a perfectly healthy city, free from epidemics of any kind; -if you dared to doubt it, all good Charlestonians would have you stoned -to death on the spot. It certainly _may_ be true within the limits of -the city, but of its surroundings the healthfulness is more than -doubtful. It lies low, and is surrounded by marshy lands, which at -certain seasons of the year are covered with water--the overflow of the -two rivers, Ashley and Cooper, which compass it on either side. - -On returning through the suburbs from our visit to the cemetery, we -come upon a very handsome house in a solitary situation, surrounded by a -somewhat neglected garden and wide-spreading meadows. Leading to the -entrance is an avenue of fine old English oaks, draped with grey Spanish -moss. Although secluded, it has the spires and steeples and other -prominent features of Charleston city in full view. It is in a state of -perfect preservation, with no signs of dilapidation anywhere--it is -simply deserted utterly both by man and beast. The dog kennels are -empty, not a bird sings from the boughs, not even the domestic cat -crouches upon the tiles or creeps along the weedy garden paths; even the -stone lions which guard the entrance look in a damp depressed condition, -as though they too would be glad to get away if they only could! On -inquiring the cause of this desertion, I am answered: - -“Oh, it belongs to a very fine family--they cleared out some weeks ago. -They always leave in March and come back in October.” - -“What a pity! It seems to me that they are away at the very pleasantest -season.” - -“But the most unhealthy; it is impossible to live about here during the -summer months.” - -“Malaria?” I hazard interrogatively. - -“Worse--what we call country fever, which is more dangerous and often -fatal. If it once gets thoroughly into the system people die of it, or -are sufferers for life.” - -Presently we are overtaken by waggon loads of men, both black and -white--all singing merry rollicking songs, and driving at a rapid pace -towards the city. We draw our modest vehicle to one side as they rattle -and clatter past us. We then learn that they are the factory phosphate -hands, driving back to their homes in the city. Although the phosphate -works are only an hour’s distance from Charleston they are totally -deserted every evening; not a single living creature remains upon the -premises, as it is injurious to breathe the poisonous air after the sun -has set, for then the noxious vapours rise and fill the air with disease -and death. Over the extensive works, where the sound of pickaxe and -shovel and whirring wheels and human voices are echoing all the day, a -silence falls, and the malarial fiend wanders through its confined space -seeking, but seeking in vain, for some human prey to torment and kill -with its subtle kiss. - -This lurking evil lies only in the one direction of the city; on the -other side and extending round the harbour are some delightful summer -resorts, Mount Pleasant and Sullivan Island being among the most -prominent, both being easily reached by a pleasant river trip. The Ferry -Company’s boats make the journey in about an hour, and make it many -times in the day; but perhaps the loveliest of all Charleston’s -surroundings is Summerville, which is reached by the South Carolina -railway. It is situated in the heart of the pine woods, on a ridge which -extends from the Ashley to the Cooper river; the climate is -health-giving and invigorating, and in summer, though the days are warm, -there is always a deliciously cool breeze in the evening, and there are -no mosquitoes to make night horrible to the sleeper; it is serene and -peaceful as a corner of the original paradise. - -On our way to Fort Sumter we have to pass through the market, which is -quite unique of its kind. It is a remarkably fine building in the form -of a temple; the front faces Meeting Street, the most picturesque of all -Charleston thoroughfares. Passing through a handsome lofty archway with -a carved stone front and iron gates--now open, as the marketing -operations are in full swing--we find ourselves in a long narrow -corridor with groined roof and wide windows and doors on either side, -where gawky, ill-looking buzzards are gathered, flapping their wings and -feeding upon refuse. - -As we walk up this narrow aisle piles of rich luscious fruit rise to the -right and the left of us; there are hills of pine-apples, and yellow and -red bananas, festoons of purple grapes, and mountains of strawberries, -bushels of black and white currants, pumpkins, and that arch impostor, -the great green water-melon, all artistically arranged, and forming a -perfect mosaic of nature’s own colouring--only the rough red face of the -honest British gooseberry is nowhere to be seen. - -Next comes the vegetable department, where everything green looks crisp -and fresh, with the diamond dew-drops still decorating the folded -leaves, and everything coloured seems painted in Nature’s brightest -hues. Dainty young carrots, and tiny turnips, looking like baby -snowballs, are nestling among the sedate old cabbages, whose great white -hearts seem enlarged almost to bursting; and the oyster and egg plant, -unknown in European markets, are hiding among the common but useful -rough-coated potato; and the delicate asparagus, with its purple tips -and straight white stems, bound up in big bundles, the large and -well-proportioned rallying round and covering up the crippled weaklings -of their kind, and performing this manœuvre so artfully that the most -Argus-eyed housekeeper is sometimes taken in by the false pretence. The -scarlet runners and fine marrowfat peas seem bursting out of their skins -with joy at being gathered at last; from the very moment when they first -unfolded their pink and purple buds they have been forced to creep up -and cling to those tormenting sticks, twisting and twining and working -so hard, night and day, till they were tired of living, and would really -have gone soon to seed, and once more hidden themselves in their native -earth. Now they are at rest--they don’t know they are going to be boiled -in an hour. - -Here and there we come upon a silly-looking turtle lying on its back, -its flabby flippers wriggling feebly as though trying to turn over and -crawl back to its native element. - -Next we arrive at the fish and poultry division. There are golden pats -of butter dressed in white frills and ornamented with violets, which, it -is said, impart to it a delicious fragrance and flavour; and eggs from -all the feathery tribe, white and brown, speckled and light blue, are -eternally rolling over, trying to crack one another’s shells with all -their might. Here plump young chickens, who were unfortunate enough to -be born in the early spring, are strung up beside their tough old -grandfathers; and prairie hens, and other wild birds from desolate -regions, hang with stretched necks and drooping wings above the slabs of -white marble, where fish from all waters are spread in tempting array. -The shining red mullet, and the fat ugly sheep’s-head, and even the -humble red horse, lie side by side with the aristocratic salmon; and the -poor little baby porker, slaughtered in its infancy, before it had even -had time to wear a ring through its nose or grout in the gutter, is -lying close by, stiff and stark, with a lemon in its mouth. - -Framed, like a picture, by the archway at the opposite end of this long -aisle, lie the sparkling waters of the bay, with the swelling green -hills beyond, and the little wheezy vessel which is to take us to Fort -Sumter bobbing up and down by the pier. The little steamer, with the -stars and stripes fluttering front the masthead, is puffing and blowing -and making a great fuss, plunging head foremost, and shrieking like an -angry virago for us to make haste, as she is in a hurry to get away. - -With the fresh breeze blowing in our faces, and the sun shining in our -eyes, as only a Southern sun can shine, we step on board, and in another -moment our brisk little convoy is dancing over the water like a joyous -child released from school; it trembles and leaps like a living thing, -and we almost fancy that its iron heart must be beating with a feeling -of sentient enjoyment like our own. - -All kinds and conditions of men are crowded round us--high and low, rich -and poor; evidently we are all out for a holiday, and in the most -perfect _sang-froid_ fashion, and without the slightest ceremony, -everybody talks to everybody else. A lady from the North sits beside me, -and shading her complexion from the sun, softly drones into my ear her -whole family history, from the birth of her first baby to the -vaccination of her last. I learn that she is now travelling in search of -health, and cannot find it--the farther she goes, the farther it flies -from her. - -“And yet,” she murmurs plaintively, “I know it must sometimes be quite -near me, if I could only lay my hands upon it.” She talked of health as -a thing to be caught on the “hold fast” or “let go” principle. - -“It seems to be like a game of ‘hot boiled beans and butter,’” I remark -somewhat flippantly, “only there is no one to tell you when you are -growing ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’” - -Why will people afflict their fellow-travellers with the history of -their family troubles or personal ailments, and so indulge in a luxury -which is even forbidden to hospital patients! Our sympathies cannot be -worked like a fire-engine; it is impossible for the most sympathetic to -pump up a sudden interest in Jeremiah’s gout or Matilda’s inward -complications, especially when there are beautiful scenes and delicious -airs around you, which you may have come thousands of miles to enjoy; -but there are some people to whom nothing is attractive or interesting -outside of that great ogre “self.” - -With the exception of ourselves they were all Americans on board--men -from the East, men from the West; some were for the first time making a -tour through their own Southern States, but east and west, north and -south, walked up and down the deck, side by side, fraternising in the -most friendly fashion, chatting upon passing scenes, or talking quietly -one with another, indulging in reminiscences of that long long ago, when -the links of brotherhood had been for a time broken. Close by was an old -man with a stubbly grey beard and a mangy fur cap, that looked like a -drowned kitten tied round his head; he had gathered a few hoary-headed -comrades round him, and they were talking of old days, fighting their -battles over again, setting up their guns, and drawing plans upon the -deck. So, as the future narrows and closes round us, we are driven to -the past for comfort. Flashes of sentiment and scraps of conversation -were floating round us, and the very air seemed impregnated with a -subtle something that was new and strange to us. While looking round -upon this pleasant peaceful scene, the white sails dipping and -coquetting with their own shadow in the water, the soft green hills and -the grim old forts beyond, all bathed in peaceful sunshine, it is -impossible but the mind will travel back to the day when the air was -filled with lurid battle smoke, and the cannon stationed all around the -shore belched forth blazing fires, while a hundred hungry, angry tongues -of flame leapt from their iron mouths. Just such a calm as this lay upon -the city the day the first gun was fired, though the passions of men -were brooding below like a strong and silent tide, which is soon to -overflow and flood the nations. A Carolinian poet thus describes the -scene, and the vivid picture is present to-day as it was then:-- - - “Calm as the second summer which precedes - The first fall of the snow, - In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds, - The city hides the foe. - As yet, behind their ramparts stern and proud, - Her bolted thunders sleep-- - Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud, - Looms o’er the solemn deep. - No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scar, - To guard the holy strand; - But Moultrie holds in leash the dogs of war, - Above the level sand.” - -We pass by “Sullivan Island,” girdled by its beach of golden sand, with -a beadwork of white foam embroidered in living light fringing the shore, -and its pretty homes surrounded by lovely gardens and farmsteads, and -tall church steeples, gleaming in the sunshine. We have but a distant -view of Fort Moultrie, which is a striking feature on the low-lying -land, but we have no time to pay it a visit, our hearts and our eyes too -are anchored on Fort Sumter, and thitherward our saucy vessel turns its -head, a crazy plank is flung to the shore, and we land at last. Federals -and confederates, foreigners and strangers, saunter on together. - -There is little of the old fort standing; it is a ruin now--a grim -picturesque rugged ruin, almost levelled to a mound of rock and sand; -desolation, with its empty socketless eyes, stares from the narrow -loopholes, where twenty years ago there flashed the fiery orbs of war. -We descended, or rather scrambled, down a flight of broken steps--it -seemed we were going into the bowels of the earth--peeped into what -looked like dark, narrow graves, where the men used to lie, smothered -and half stifled, while they worked their guns, and living through this -death in life for four long years, they came out of their darkness to -the light of the sun to find their martyrdom had been in vain--their -cause was lost. But the gates are closed upon all these things, and God -keeps the key. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - The great Salt Marsh.--A break down.--We reach Savannah.--Fancy - sketches.--The forest city.--A Gossip with the Natives.--Cross - questions and crooked answers. - - -On the sweetest of spring mornings, when the sunshine seems to reach -down into our hearts, and the soft breeze stirs our pulse and sets our -thoughts playing a jubilant melody, while our hearts sing a soft sweet -song that the ears hear not, and that our own spirits can but dimly -comprehend--we turn our back on the quaint old city of Charleston, and -resume our journey South. - -Squatting about the platform of the railway station we find groups and -whole families of negroes, or, as they are now more respectfully called, -“coloured folk,”--from the queer little black ball of a baby, to the -withered old grandmother with a face notched and scarred, as though time -had kept his calendar and scored the passing years in wrinkles, till -they all run one into the other, and the face was made up of nothing -else. They are dressed, as is the custom of their kind, in all the -colours of the rainbow, and are heavily laden with baskets of fish, -fruit, vegetables, and bundles of their personal belongings, with their -“piccaninnies” sprawling at their feet and crawling in and out like -little black eels. We are struck with an idea, almost a dread, that they -are going to ride in our car--not that we object to the colour of “God’s -image carved in ebony,” but their neighbourhood is not odorous. - -“We has second class on dis line,” said the porter, in answer to our -inquiries, “and dey be gwine dere; dey’s no company for white folk--not -clean, nor nice in dey’s manners. I’s black myself, but I knows dem -folk’s no company for ladies and gen’l’men.” - -With much tumbling, and clutching their brood together, they scrambled -into their appointed places, in a seedy-looking car adjoining ours, and -we are off; the city spires and steeples fade from our view, and our -faces are set towards Georgia. We are well beyond the region of the -maple trees now; but forests of pine and cypress, dashed here and there -with the snow-white blossoms of the dogwood, close on all sides of us, -except where our narrow iron path makes its way through them. Soon we -come to an open clearing, where the forest trees have been cut down and -timber huts built up; this is a wood station, and mountains of logs are -piled on each side. Here we stop to feed our engine, while a diversified -company of wild hogs--gaunt, lean, hungry-looking creatures, all legs -and heads, like swinish tramps who get their living in the woods--gather -and grunt in herds almost under our car wheels, and goats with large -families of youthful nannies and billies stand staring mildly in the -background, now and then playfully butting one another. - -We are soon off again; racks of wood are stationed at certain distances -all along the line, coal being scarce in these localities, and wood much -lighter of digestion. Our hungry engine insists on having four square -meals a day, and even then grows weak and feeble, and demands a snack in -between; it slackens, and snorts, and grumbles, till the driver, often -aided by the passengers (who seem to enjoy the fun), gets down and cuts -a few dainty branches just to appease its appetite, and coax it on to -the next station. - -We pass through the great salt marsh, where the grand old pines, rank on -rank, are standing with their roots in pickle, and their half bald heads -fringed with green lifted heavenwards. A bush fire has broken out -somewhere in the distance, and the flames come leaping along the surface -of the marsh, with a blue, lurid-looking light, feeding upon whatever -they can find; now they glide in graceful spiral lines, like fiery -serpents round the trunk of some grand old tree, and leave it a charred -and blackened stump. - -As the evening shadows fall we enter the cypress swamps; the dusky -forms of the forest giants stand stiff and stark in the gloaming, making -up a weird and somewhat romantic scene. Night closes in, the great -golden moon climbs slowly into the purple skies, and the balmy evening -air has a delicious fragrance as though it came from worlds unknown. But -with all its sombre subtle charm, a cypress swamp is not exactly the -place one would choose to break down in, and just here our engine, which -has been crawling and groaning like a crippled maniac for the last half -hour, elects to stop short. She (I believe engine is feminine) stops, -and shows no sign of ever intending to move again. - -American _sang-froid_ is difficult to disturb, but on this occasion the -passengers deign to manifest some interest in the cause of the delay. -They bombard the conductor with questions, and skirmish round the -engineer, sending their suggestions flying round his devoted head, till -a peremptory order is given, and they are driven back into the cars with -some loss of patience. As if by magic, a breakdown gang is soon gathered -round the engine--heaven knows where they came from, whether they -dropped from the skies, or emerged from the bowels of the earth, for -human habitation thereabout seemed impossible, unless they had built a -nest high up in the dark cypress boughs. - -Meanwhile various editions of the cause of our delay are freely -circulated. One piece of official information at last reaches us: The -mainspring of our engine is broken. One reports that they are making a -new one; another that they are mending the old one. “No, they are -propping it up with a piece of wood,” says a third. “That’s impossible,” -cries another unlicensed authority; “the idea of an engine hobbling on -wooden legs!” Then begins a game at speculation, and we all take a hand: -“How long shall we be kept there?” “Perhaps all night--perhaps all day!” -“Will they send help to us?” “They can’t, there’s only a single line of -rail, and no telegraph near.” - -Then some of our fellow travellers begin to relate, at the top of their -voices, a chapter of the worst accidents that have ever happened -anywhere or to anybody, ending with the relation of a terrible -catastrophe which happened only a week ago, when the trestle work, which -runs for six miles across the Savannah river a little further on, gave -way, and the whole train was precipitated into the river--“not a soul -saved,” adds the narrator with great gusto. - -Meanwhile everybody is getting hungry; and buns, biscuits, and morsels -of stale crumbly cake are fished up from bags or baskets. I have nothing -to fish up from anywhere, and a good Samaritan gives me an orange and a -piece of rye bread; never was voluntary contribution more thankfully -received. Presently a plausible youth comes along the car selling cold -hard-boiled eggs. Where he comes from, where he got, or how he cooked -his eggs is a mystery; but hunger bids us hasten to invest in his wares. -Alas! he and his eggs prove a delusion and a snare! The eggs we throw -out of the window--but the deceiver has disappeared. - -By degrees the clatter of tongues ceases; silence falls over us. -Alligators and frogs are croaking in the swamps; I don’t know which -croaks loudest; their language seems so similar, I can hardly tell one -from the other. Everybody regards the situation with irritating good -temper, nobody grumbles. Are the true Americans ever heard to complain, -I wonder? They are patient, cheerful always, and stoical and -philosophical as Red Indians. Oh, for a good British growl! I lift my -voice feebly once or twice, but am shamed into silence by the example of -my companions. - -Presently we begin to move, and slowly as a royal progress we roll on -towards Savannah. When we reach it the small hours of the morning are -already far on the march and we go supperless to bed. On taking a survey -of our surroundings by daylight we have reason to be very well satisfied -with our quarters. We have two large sunny rooms, most comfortably -furnished, opening on to a wide verandah overgrown with greenery, which -is luxuriant everywhere South. - -A few words here concerning the accommodation for tourists which is to -be found in all Southern cities. On first setting our faces thitherward -we received a mass of gratuitous information--all of which we accepted -_cum grano salis_. We were neither disposed to be led nor misled by -friendly counsels. “There are no decent hotels--nothing but ramshackle -old buildings, mere refuges for the destitute.” - -“Where you’ll always find lively companionship--especially by night.” - -“Perhaps an alligator in the morning, or a comfortable moccasin or black -snake coiling round your feet to get themselves warm.” - -“A family of young roaches six inches long flying out of your shoe as -you go to put your foot into it.” - -“Nothing to eat but tough steaks, and hominy fried in fat, or rusty -bacon served in its own grease.” - -“Alligator soup is a rare dainty.” - -“And they’ll dish up a rattlesnake into a tasty ragout. No fresh -milk--no fresh meat--nothing but tallow-fried steak; ground beans in -your coffee-cup in the morning.” - -These fancy sketches, however, bore not the slightest resemblance to the -actual truth; they were born of a _too_ lively imagination, with no -experience to keep it from rambling into the realms of fiction. In _all_ -the Southern cities we visited there was most excellent hotel -accommodation to be found, though the hotels are not as a rule, either -so large or luxurious as those in other portions of the United States. -There are fewer grand corridors, less velvet upholstery, less carving -and gilding and gorgeous mirrors; but the rooms are large, airy, and -conveniently furnished, and nowhere is a comfortable lounge or -rocking-chair found wanting. The cuisine is not always such as to tickle -the palate of an epicure, or gratify the taste of a gourmet. There is no -attempt (and how often in the most pretentious hotels it is _only_ an -attempt) at French cookery--no _entrées_, no “high falutin” arrangements -at the dinner table; but there is generally good soup, a great variety -of excellent fish and vegetables, poultry, fruit, and pies, and -puddings, and most delicious crisp salads of all descriptions--and what -can a whole-souled, hungry mortal desire more? No one with a healthy -appetite and good digestion will complain of Southern fare, to which -Southern courtesy imparts perhaps its sweetest savour. - -There are plenty of wild fowl, but a scarcity of all such animal food as -beef or mutton, in consequence of there being so little grazing land, -and that little is of very poor quality; the cattle they do raise is of -the most inferior order--Pharaoh’s lean kine; and as they are not able -to satisfy their own appetites, are not qualified to gratify ours. The -native meats are tough and flavourless. Private families get along very -well with the articles of consumption enumerated above. The good sirloin -or succulent saddle is rarely seen upon their tables, though the hotels -import largely; indeed, throughout Georgia, Carolina, &c., the -substantials are always supplied from the eastern states. Our bill of -fare reads thus:--“Tennessee beef,” “Boston pork,” “New York mutton,” -and even “New York lamb.” - -On a sunny morning we take our first ramble through the “forest city” of -Savannah, and how well it deserves the name! It seems to have grown out -of the very heart of the “forest primeval,” whose giant progeny still -keep guard over the nest of human kind. Whichever way we turn, we look -through long vistas of shady streets crossing each other at right -angles; at each of these crossings, throughout the entire city, is an -open space laid out as a pretty little pleasaunce or toy garden, -carpeted with soft turf and tiny beds of bright flowers, and sometimes -planted with green shrubberies, while the fine old forest trees, which -time and civilisation have left standing, spread their wide branches for -colonies of wild birds to build and sing in. These spaces are like -slightly improved miniature editions of Paddington Green, but every one, -though it be but twelve foot square, is dignified by the name of “park.” - -Some of the widest thoroughfares have four rows of trees planted the -entire length, the branches here and there meeting overhead, forming a -perfect archway, while the open street cars on the Central Avenue -beneath seem to carry us along through primeval bowers of luxuriant -green; we can hardly believe that anything so prosaic as “iron rails” -supply part of the motive power. - -We find these open street cars a most convenient and pleasant mode of -locomotion, and spend much time riding about the city in this democratic -fashion, for the streets are ill-kept and dusty, and the roadways -sometimes a foot deep with heavy sand, so that it is impossible either -to walk or drive in a private vehicle with any comfort. Once we are -attracted by big red letters painted on a car side “Concordia,” “Forsyth -Park.” Everybody says we must go there; we take everybody’s advice, and, -as usual, find “nothing in it.” Concordia is a fine name for a small -tea-garden; Forsyth is a pretty shady spot, though it might be railed -into a small corner of Kensington Gardens; but the warm southern breeze, -and the oleander, orange, lemon, and magnolia--although the latter is -not yet in bloom--have made our short expedition a most agreeable one. - -There is little architectural beauty anywhere in the city or its -surroundings--scarcely any attempt at ornamentation. The houses are made -up of doors and windows on the strictest utilitarian principles. - -The natural beauties of this Arcadian city are so great they don’t seem -to care at all for the embellishments of art. Among the pleasant drives -in the city suburbs, is one to Laurel Grove. We step from the cars at -the terminus, and inquire of an old negro our way to the nearest point -of interest. He regarded us a moment with his beady black eyes, with his -head on one side like an inquisitive old bird. “Why! why! I thought -everybody know’d everywheres about Laurel Grove. But maybe you don’t -live nigh Savannah--come a long ways, perhaps?” he added curiously. - -We explained our nationality. - -“My lord! England!” I wish I could paint the expression of astonishment, -curiosity, and interest that overspread his good-humoured old monkey -face as he added, inspecting us admiringly, “My! Think o’ that! I never -spoke to an English lady but once before. It’s a cold country over thar, -ain’t it?” - -The old man seems inclined to talk, and I am disposed to encourage his -loquacity; so much information may be gained in those gatherings by the -wayside--one feels the pulse of the spirit of the people, and learns -which way their hearts are beating. It is wiser to feed upon such crumbs -as chance throws in our way, than to wait till a full banquet of -stereotyped facts are spread before us. He asked me many questions, -which I answered in the way best suited to his understanding; then I -began a short catechism on my side. He was very communicative, and -answered me frankly enough. He had been born a slave, he said, on a -cotton plantation a few miles from the city, and in the season still -worked for his old master. - -“But since you are now free,” I inquire, “why don’t you go North, and -break all connection with the old life? surely you would find more -advantageous employment and opportunities for improvement there?” - -“Na, na,” said the old man, “we never go North; the Yankees set’s free -and gie’s votes, but it ain’t home-like to us thar. We likes to stay -along o’ them as we was raised wi’; ole mass’rs know all ’bout us, n’ we -know all about them.” - -We found the changes rung to the same tune with but slight variation -throughout the South. The coloured people will serve their old masters, -will ask their advice and guidance, go to them for consolation in their -trouble, and seek their assistance when they are in difficulties; but -they will not vote for them, nor in any way serve their political -influence. They seem to have a hazy notion that they might be taken back -into slavery; they cannot realise that such a thing is impossible, nor -can they understand that their masters are glad to be rid of the -responsibility which slavery imposed upon them. The masters rejoice in -their freedom as much as the slaves do in theirs. - -Beautiful in itself, beautiful in its surroundings, Savannah is an -ideal city for a summer lounge, with its pleasant shady promenades and -myriad miniature parks, thronged with people who are always well dressed -but never loud in their attire; there is a quiet refinement and dignity -about them which savours of old world conservatism. - -A host of good fairies seem to have been hovering round at the birth of -Savannah. In 1733 the city consisted of only a few tents pitched under -the pine trees between what is now Bull and Whitaker Streets, now it is -one of the most thriving cities of the South; both wharves and quays are -crowded with men and merchandise, for a brisk and flourishing business -is carried on in the timber and cotton trade. It is a most important -commercial centre, both its imports and exports being on a largely -increasing scale. - -It is impossible not to enjoy thoroughly a saunter through this Arcadian -city, a chat with the natives included. We were constantly amused by -finding ourselves playing at a forced game of “cross questions and -crooked answers,” our inquiries on any subject never receiving a direct -reply. In years gone by I had a passing pleasant acquaintance with a -family who lived in Savannah, but who, I afterwards learnt, were then -sojourning in England for a time. It would have given me great pleasure -to renew the acquaintance, and I inquire of the hotel clerk if Mr. ---- -is still living in Savannah? - -“Ain’t seen him for a long while; think he’s dead or gone to Europe, but -I’ll ask.” He telephones the inquiry to some invisible party, and a -sepulchral voice answers back-- - -“Don’t know--but Peter Green he died last week.” - -The connection between the deceased Peter Green and my acquaintance, -Mr. ----, I have yet to learn. Another time we ask-- - -“Which is the car for Thunderbolt?” and are promptly answered, - -“That red un is startin’ right away for Laurel Grove.” I inquire the way -to the railway station, and am directed to the river side. I ask about -the morning train, and am answered with detailed information about the -evening express. However, on sternly reiterating my question, and -emphasising the note of interrogation, I sometimes succeeded in at last -receiving the desired information. - -No one should leave Savannah without visiting the ancient cemetery of -Buonaventura, the former residence of a fine old family, which passed -from their hands many years ago, and after undergoing many changes has -been at last converted into a cemetery. On entering the noble avenue, -and passing beneath the arching glories of the grand old oaks, with -their long weird robes of Spanish moss, it is difficult to believe that -we are entering a city of the dead, by whom indeed it is very sparsely -populated, the graves are so few and far between; one can almost fancy -that the dead had wandered thither, and moved by the sublime repose of -the place had lain down to rest, while nature wrapped them round about -with her soft mantle of green, and showered her sweet-scented wild -flowers above them. There is a profound mournfulness too hovering around -these silent, solitary avenues, where groups of sombre giant trees stand -brooding and wrapped in their grey moss mantles, with drooping arms, and -hoary heads bent low together, as though they were whispering mysteries, -holding a solemn council, and pronouncing the eternal sentence on the -dead below. - -There is nothing prosaic or commonplace about Savannah; it is a -perfectly idyllic city, primitive and simple in its ways, with no stir -of frivolous worldly gaieties to rouse it from its sublime repose. No -sound of drums and trumpets runs echoing through its streets; the only -music is that which the wind makes as it whistles in many monotones -through the tall tree tops, and calls soft melodies from the tremulous -leaves, as the ancient god Pan made music by the reedy waterside. It is -not grey with age, nor marred and scarred by the hand of time; it seems -to luxuriate in eternal youth, and live a dreamy life of unaltered -poetry and sunshine. Even that most prosaic of all institutions, the -police station, is in perfect unison with the rest of this Arcadian -city; it seems to have nothing to do but drone away its hours in one -ceaseless _dolce far niente_, as though the ugly serpent sin crawled low -down out of sight--perhaps stirring the hearts, but rarely inciting the -acts of the people. There seems to be a great scarcity even of small -sinners. It is a low, clean, brick building in a cool shady part of the -city; covered with climbing plants and held close in the embrace of an -ancient vine, which twines in and out of every nook and cranny as though -it could never be torn away but with the life of the building. - -Well, our last day in this forest city closes; the mocking bird, that -sings only in the dark, holds its last concert on our verandah, and we -are sung to sleep by the sharp cutting cries of a family of youthful -alligators which some northern tourists are taking home in a tank. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - To-day and yesterday.--General experience of travel in the - South.--The associated Southern Railways. - - -On first starting Southward everybody warned us of the great discomfort -of Southern travel; we were therefore prepared for all kinds of -inconvenience and annoyances by the way--partly arising from the alleged -dearth of proper meal stations, and the long waits at the little wayside -stations, where we expected to be turned out of one train and left -disconsolately waiting in the wilderness till we are picked up by -another, and we were prepared to resign ourselves to jolting cars and -rough roads, indeed to a series of jerky rickety journeys, ill fed by -day, ill lodged by night. - -Having reached thus far, we have continued to pick up many crumbs of -experience by the way, and I think this is a fitting place to pause, and -say a few words on this and some few other subjects. First, I have no -doubt that my many friendly informants spoke according to the light -which illuminated their minds, reflected from the days gone by, when -things generally were in a chaotic state, trembling in the balance -between order and disorder; or perhaps they thought retrospectively of a -time still earlier, when there were few travellers and scarce -accommodation--for the one must grow in accordance with the other. _Mais -nous avons changé tout cela._ In no country in the world are changes so -rapid and complete as in the United States. North and south, east and -west--all are animated by the same spirit of progress; always on the -onward march; carrying on their social revolutions with a rapidity that -astonishes and takes away the breath of the dear old world, which has -been working for centuries building up cities, gathering peoples -together, making laws, and evolving constitutions from the heart of -ages, lopping off and pruning the rotten branches till it has grown -tired of its labours, and would fain fold its hands and rest. But the -new world has its life before it; like a strong young Samson, it is full -of restless energies, it must always be “up and doing,” and trying its -strength in all directions--building up on theoretical principles, -bombarding and pulling down as practical necessities lead them, changing -the features of the land, modelling and remodelling day by day till, -were the whole skies turned into a looking-glass, it would not recognise -its own face as reflected therein. - -The South of to-day is not the South of the yesterdays. It has slept -and dreamed through so many generations of beautiful repose beneath -sunny skies and soft sweet airs, enjoying an eternal _dolce far niente_ -and giving no thought to anything beyond itself. Now it is awake, it has -unsealed its eyes, shaken off the luxurious flowery chain that has held -it like links of iron, stretched its limbs, and, as a sleeping army -springs to life at the sound of the trumpet, it is up and doing; -developing its marvellous resources on the earth and under the earth, -building factories, opening mines, and utilising its wonderful water -power--forcing the quiet river out of its accustomed way, lashing it -till, after much foaming, flashing, and groaning, it grinds the corn, -crushes the rough ore, and labours at the world’s work like a sentient -being. - -In the old days there was not much travel through the Southern States. -The wealthy planter lived literally under his own vine and fig tree--a -life of luxurious ease and sweet contentment. There, on his own domain, -he kept a kind of feudal state, surrounded by his dusky subjects. There -was no stimulant, because no need for exertion; the refinements and -elegances were in a state of high cultivation, and his requirements were -gratified by his immediate surroundings; he rarely looked beyond them. -Everything bloomed in his own garden, except, perhaps, heartsease, for -he always listened for the storm which he knew must arise on some -future though indefinite day. Perhaps in due course his sons went the -tour of Europe, and then returned to the old homestead to tread in their -father’s footsteps, and live through life in the old primitive, -luxurious fashion. On the rare occasions when they decided to travel -through their own states to and from points out of the beaten path made -by the main railway lines, or the steamboats ploughing their watery -highways, they had to journey across the country where roads were rough -or existed not at all; the arrangement needing much consideration and -being attended by considerable expense. - -The journey they could take in twelve hours by rail would occupy four or -five days, when they must carry their own servants and provisions with -them, and also be provided with a supply of tents, and generally camp -out from the beginning to the end of the journey. They required to -travel very carefully too, not only from the generally swampy state of -the country, but from the risk they ran of making acquaintance with -slimy reptiles and other odious creations. These considerations rendered -the expedition one that could hardly be taken for pleasure; but now, in -these later days, it is a delight to travel in this sunny land; -travelling is made easy even to the most remote portion of the Southern -States, and every day things are everywhere improving and making a -royal progress as near perfection as we can ever hope to arrive. - -The main line of railway runs, like an iron vertebra, a kind of -backbone, from north to south; the directors of the southern line of -railway, realising the necessity of extension, and desirous of giving -easy access to all parts of the country, have laid down branch lines in -all directions, running out like the arms of an octopus, grasping at -distant towns and villages, and halting at the most beautiful secluded -spots in the inmost quarters of the land. Having due regard to the fact -that people will not travel unless they can do so with a tolerable -amount of ease and comfort, the projectors of the southern lines of -railway have paid due respect to the requirements of the public, and -have formed their plans and carried on their operations with a view to -the convenience and comfort of their temporary guests. - -The lines are carefully laid over level roads with the best steel rails, -and are carried through some of the most picturesque as well as the most -weird and wild portions of the country. The carriages are new, the -drawing-room and sleeping cars elegantly fitted up with luxurious spring -seats, mirrors, and gorgeous surroundings. - -In order to insure safety, so far as safety can be assured in any branch -of human life, the trains are in the command of the most experienced -engineers, and are supplied with the patent Westinghouse automatic air -brakes, and all other new and improved appliances, so as to reduce the -risk of travelling to a minimum degree. Everything is done with -leisurely dignity and quietude in the South; there is no bustle or -confusion, no general rush, even at the depots. The iron horse, in his -bright brass harness, comes up to the platform with a few dignified -snorts; there is no puffing, nor blowing, nor demoniacal shrieks, as -though a score of fiends were struggling to get free from their fiery -prison. He deposits his living freight according to their several -desires; then, answering to the call of the engine-bell, as a good steed -responds to the spur of his rider, with a stately tramp moves onward, -the thin blue smoke curling from his cavernous nostrils, as though he -were some metallic monster going for an evening stroll with a gigantic -cigar between his iron lips. - -Those who take delight in going at express speed must abandon that idea -in travelling South. There is no rapid transit there, no “Lightning -Express” nor “Flying Dutchman” thunders through those sylvan scenes; but -you are carried along at a decorous pace, at the rate of twenty, -sometimes thirty, miles an hour. This is a great gain to those who -travel for pleasure only, as they are enabled thoroughly to enjoy the -scenery of the state they are moving through. - -The rich, romantic forest, with its hoary-headed army of grand old -trees--grim cedars, lofty pines, and light skirmishing lines of graceful -palmettoes, all dressed in their regimentals of varied greens--march -slowly and solemnly by, saluting you gravely with their bowing branches -as they pass in panoramic review before your eyes; you have time to take -in the individual character of these glorious hummocks and savannahs as -you pass them by. For personal enjoyment it is surely better to travel -in this leisurely fashion than to fly through the air, hurled and -whirled along at express speed, till earth and sky seems blended -together in one blurred mass of mingled blue and green. - -There are well-provisioned restaurants stationed at certain intervals -all along the road. The excellence of these, of course, varies according -to the management; at most you may enjoy the luxury of a thoroughly well -cooked meal--the universal steak, fried chicken, varied vegetables, -dessert, and milk and coffee _ad libitum_. At some you get a dainty meal -that even an epicure might enjoy; I call to mind one perfectly luxurious -entertainment. The train drew up at a secluded wayside spot; it was no -station at all, only a few pretty cottages embowered in trees were -scattered about in sight. We were convoyed by our polite train conductor -through a blooming garden to one of these, with the porch overgrown with -honeysuckle and a wealth of white roses; here, in a simply furnished -dining-room, preparations had been made for our entertainment. We were a -party of about twenty, including the engineer and conductors; and while -the brown bees were droning at their pleasant work outside, the -brilliant-hued flowers peeped in at the windows, nodded their plumed -heads at us, and kept up a whispering concert while we regaled ourselves -on the good things set before us. It was a dainty feast, fit for the -gods; there was no vulgar display of huge underdone joints--the very -sight of which is apt to chase away the appetite without cost to its -owner; there were broiled chickens with mushrooms, delicate lamb, crisp -salad, new potatoes stewed in cream, new laid eggs, strawberries, dainty -omelets, and other tempting dishes. A steaming cup of fragrant coffee -was handed round as, our twenty minutes having expired, we were summoned -to depart by the stentorian cry of “All aboard! All aboard!” Everybody -complimented our hostess--a widow lady--on her pleasant entertainment, -and promised to advise everybody to stop there and taste her -hospitality. - -The train only stops here once in the twenty-four hours; the rest of -the time the cottage and its inhabitants are left to enjoy their sweet -seclusion. Of course this kind of thing is an exception, though at -several stations we enjoyed excellent meals well worth the tourist’s -while to remember. As the happiness of a human being largely depends on -the state of his stomach, if that portion of machinery is judiciously -treated it helps to keep the rest in order, and is an aid to general -good spirits. - -At one place--Smithville in Georgia--a capital home-made wine, -“Scuppernong,” was supplied liberally and without extra charge. The cost -of a meal was sometimes fifty cents, but more usually seventy-five -cents. Occasionally the steak may be tough, the “rooster” have outgrown -his early youth, but with plenty of fresh eggs and bacon, vegetables, -salad, and bread and butter, the hungry may be well satisfied. - -I have perhaps dwelt on this subject more than it was necessary I should -have done; but so many misapprehensions exist, so many false reports (no -doubt ignorantly) circulated concerning Southern travel, that I have -thought it well to give my slight experience on the subject, and I am -sure my testimony will be supported by all who have followed or may -follow in my footsteps. Of course, in the great army of tourists there -is always a contingent of native-born grumblers who are never -satisfied, and wander through the sullen groves of discontent and fret -the very air with their endless complaining; and even when they enter -the gates of heaven they will complain, like the dissatisfied cherub, -that “their halo doesn’t fit.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - _En route_ for Jacksonville.--A few words about Florida.--Its - climate.--Its folk.--Its productions. - - -When the associated Southern railways cease to exist the Florida Transit -takes up the matter, and conveys you with equal comfort to some of the -most attractive points of the state. - -We are soon _en route_ for Florida, which is the kind of Mecca of our -hearts’ desires. Florida! The very name is suggestive of sunshine and -flowers, orange groves, and the sweet-scented air of “Araby the blest.” -I have but little time and little space to devote to this varied and -beautiful land, and fear that my brief sketch will convey but a faint -idea of the country; though it may perhaps serve to waken the interest -and induce some few to follow in my footsteps, or rather to make a visit -of inspection on their own account and see and judge for themselves. If -they go from mere curiosity only they will find plenty to gratify it, -and if with any idea of settling there the field is so wide, the -attractions so varied, they will find no difficulty in settling -according to their hearts’ desires; whatever they seek in the way of -climate or of soil they will surely find there if they give themselves -time and trouble to seek it out. - -This being one of the younger children of the state, having been born -into it indeed only in 1845, its progress has been slow--much slower -than that of many of the other states in this “go-ahead” land, many of -which have grown to maturity at a single bound, like the magic tree the -Indian jugglers show us, which is planted, grows, bears buds, flowers, -and fruits in the very hour of its birth. Although the natural -advantages of Florida are unequalled, its development has been very -gradual, and its population, scanty and scattered, is much smaller in -proportion than that of any other state in the Union. We may, perhaps, -except Nevada and Colorado, both of which are mountainous, rocky -regions, whereas Florida is a level land, its highest elevation being -about 500 feet above the sea, and very rarely attaining to that. There -is, however, a constant tide of immigration flowing into the state, and -the increase of the population during the last dozen years is -surprising. Still some of the finest portions of the state are yet -unpenetrated--luxuriant wildernesses left in a state of nature; but -these are being rapidly cleared, and there is room enough for another -million of workers and a promising field for their speculations. Let -the settlers flock in as fast as they may, provided they come with an -adequate supply of patience, industry, and discrimination in their -choice of a settlement, a prosperous career may be assured to them; for -Florida has a soil fitted for the production of every possible kind of -fruit, flowers, vegetables, and forest produce that can be cultivated in -any part of the temperate or semi-tropical world. - -Many of us have heard (and regarded as fabulous) of its growth of -oranges and lemons, but these marvellous accounts are in no way -exaggerated. Some orange groves have produced for their owners from 300 -to 3,000 dollars an acre, and a single acre of pines has produced as -much as 1,200 dollars in one season! Such prolific productions and large -profits are by no means uncommon, especially when there is a railway -depot near at hand which renders the transport easy. - -It is not uncommon to see wide stretches of wheat fields ripening in -January. Sugar cane and pines are largely cultivated in the -semi-tropical portions of the state, which yield an immense profit; and -of garden vegetables, sometimes, nay often, two or three abundant crops -are produced from the same tract of land within the year. Common -vegetables as well as dainty fruits grow abundantly, and peach trees -attain to a prodigious size; the largest known grows in Volusia County, -its branches spreading nearly eighty feet in diameter! Everything grows -with a spontaneity that is surprising--fruits and flowers everywhere in -the woods and wildernesses in wild luxuriance. The very nature of things -seems to be reversed; pears grow on graceful vines, peas on stately -trees, and some things (as witness the air plant) grow on nothing at -all. But in spite of the richness of the soil, the geniality of the -climate, Florida is not exactly a paradise; here as elsewhere man must -carry out the great law, and labour for his daily bread. Nature is -prolific, and yields her treasures ungrudgingly, but she demands -something in return. Men must come to her with a strong arm and patient -brain, bring their intelligence to the fore, learn to watch her varying -moods and seasons, and prune and train and use her after her own -fashion; all this has to be learned by a new comer, for the agricultural -process and the treatment of fruits and flowers is quite different from -that which is necessary in their culture elsewhere; but given a certain -amount of prudence and knowledge, and more comfort with less labour may -be obtained here than in any other part of the world, for it is rarely -too hot, rarely too cold. Frost is never an expected visitor, though in -certain years it has been a most unwelcome guest, and amply revenged -itself for its general expulsion from the soil. The winter of 1880 was -exceptionally severe; it girded on its frosted garments and travelled -southward, sweeping through the northern part of Florida and laying its -icy hand upon orange and lemon groves, freezing the fruit upon the -trees, working sad havoc wherever it took its frozen way, causing great -loss to all, ruin to some; but this visitation was confined to a very -small portion of the state. In the larger and more numerous districts -frost is simply unknown, and its advent would cause as much wonderment -as a snowstorm in Calcutta. The truth is, there is trinity and unity in -the state, three Floridas in one, which may be thus classified--the -tropical, semi-tropical, and temperate or northern Florida. The latter, -northern Florida, is a land of wheat, corn, cotton, rice, apples, -grapes, etc.--indeed, all cereals, fruits, or vegetables that are -cultivated in the northern provinces may be grown here, as well as some -few of the hardier Southern products. Slight frosts and cold snaps are -not of infrequent occurrence, and the scenery is the most picturesque of -all the state, being varied by grand rolling forests, grey, rugged -rocks, and beautiful winding streams, where fish and wild fowl of all -kinds are most abundant. The temperature is delightful all the year -round, and it is in this region the finest live stock is raised. - -In middle or semi-tropical Florida the soil is of a sandy character, the -country flat and uninteresting, unvaried by streams or rivers; it is -only in the orange lake region that a fair extensive lake may here and -there be found, hidden away in some wooded tract of uncultivated land. -Here many of the products of the temperate or tropical regions, such as -lemons, figs, guava, and citron trees, may be found growing side by -side, all the year round; and delicious vegetables, tomatoes, beets, -lettuce, cucumbers, and fine marrowfat peas, are shipped daily in large -quantities, and despatched northward during the months of January, -February, and March. Strawberries, too, are largely cultivated, and -yield an immense profit. - -Strangers are daily flocking into this district from all points of the -states. Many prefer this to the more southern parts of Florida, and -large settlements are growing rapidly everywhere, especially along the -line of the Transit Railway, which runs between Cedar Keys and -Fernandina. Almost fabulous quantities of the hardier fruits and -vegetables are produced here, and as the facilities of transportation -lie near at hand, they are at once placed in the hands of the consumer, -and with the slightest expense to the grower. This region is, however, -always liable to frost, which may be looked for any time during the -winter months, but may not appear for many years; but when it does come, -the crops are ruined for that season. - -Southern Florida is really the tropical region, the Egypt of the United -States, where frosts are unknown, and every fruit or flower, or forest -product, which grows in the most tropical quarters of the world, is or -may be cultivated with complete success. Pine-apples, bananas, cocoanut, -guava, almonds, olives and figs, with a long list of other tropical -fruits, are produced in luxuriant abundance, but we no longer wander -through groves of orange or lemon trees. Of scenery in these parts there -is nothing to speak of; in the interior it is made up of sunshine, -fruits and flowers. The land is level and uninteresting till you reach -the coast line, where all along the Atlantic shore you have fine -picturesque ranks of bold rocky landscape, flanked by the glorious old -sea. For 1,150 miles the sea washes the shores of Florida, and yet -throughout this long stretch of seaboard there are but a very few good -harbours, and these are chiefly on the Atlantic coast. - -All along this coast line the country is very prolific, and in the -woods, in the air, in the lakes, and in the rivers, fish, flesh and -fowl--especially oysters and turtles--are most abundant. This is a -delightful region wherein to enjoy a perfect summer climate during the -winter months; but at the midsummer time, gnats, flies, and mosquitoes -are swarming, and become a perfect scourge. Here, too, at the -furthermost southern point, jutting out between the Atlantic Ocean and -the Gulf of Mexico, are the celebrated “Everglades”--an immense tract of -country consisting of many thousands of square miles of flat prairie -land, completely covered with fresh sweet water, clear as crystal, and -varying from six inches to six feet deep. This in turn is studded with -islands which bear an immense growth of oak, hickory, palmetto, pine, -cedar, and other valuable timbers, and here in these peculiar wilds -dwell the remnant of the Seminole Indians, once the most powerful of all -the Indian tribes which formerly inhabited those isolated regions. It -needs not be said that no white folk are dwellers herein, though -occasionally a bold party of hunters will penetrate these desolate -regions; and on their return to the civilised world they bring a -pleasant account of the simple hospitality and kindly spirit of the -inhabitants. - -There is some talk of draining these Everglades; if this idea be carried -out, it will open up millions of acres of valuable cotton and sugar -lands, and will, no doubt, be quickly occupied by an adventurous -multitude. - -The first great need here, as in other parts of Florida, is population. -Let a party of pioneers start with pickaxe and shovel, and hew out the -first pathway; one builds the first shanty, a companion follows and -builds another; men are gregarious animals, and the nucleus once formed, -soon gather together. Small storekeepers bring thither the necessities -of life (a saloon and liquor store is among the first erections); then -follows the wholesale dealers, the bankers, and soon solid prosperity is -assured to the little colony. Villages spring up and soon expand into -cities, for wherever labour leads capital quickly follows. There is no -need for labour to languish for want of funds, industry and brains are -more valuable than money in the market; and no matter how poor, even -penniless, a man may be, if he is willing to work and to aid in the -developing another man’s land, he will surely end by cultivating his -own. It is not wealth that has made the first step towards progression -in any land, it is always the poor emigrant, with his rifle and -wheelbarrow, who first penetrates the wilds, turns the first sod, and so -lays the first stone of cities and civilisation. - -Nowhere can the capitalist find so large a scope for his speculations, -and nowhere can the poor man find a better market for the labour of his -hand or the fruits of his brain; with industry and prudence he may be -assured of present comfort and future prosperity--limitless prosperity, -provided also that he be energetic and wise. - -The development of Florida has generally been carried on by the northern -people. Everywhere throughout the entire state they are planning fresh -improvements: draining swampy lands, fertilising the soil, and -experimentalising with strange crops, building railways, cities, mills, -and churches--in fact, endeavouring to cultivate, and turn to good -account the most neglected and wildest regions; and everywhere their -endeavours are crowned with success, for on every side you find evidence -of northern capital and northern enterprise. No one who thinks of -settling and establishing a permanent residence in this “flowery land,” -can do better than consult Barbour’s _Florida_, from which he can -extract all he desires to know. - -Mr. Barbour has visited all parts, and penetrated the remotest recesses -of the state, and has made himself thoroughly acquainted with the -resources of every special district, and has boiled his varied -experiences down, and reproduced them in the aforenamed volume. He gives -no advice, makes no attempt to influence settlers in their choice of a -location; he merely states facts, gives a descriptive account of each -district--its capabilities, its climate, its soil, and gives a list of -such cereals, fruits, flowers, and vegetables, etc. as have been, or may -be, most successfully cultivated in each place; thus imparting most -valuable information to those who most need it, never misleading the -inquiring mind or twisting the imagination awry. - -I have no time to consider the subject of Florida so particularly as I -desire to do; I can only generalise, as a rule, and visit such special -places as are easy of access, and are, or are likely to become, places -of popular resort, either for the invalid or pleasure-seeker; my object -is to enjoy the season, and see what there is for other people to enjoy. - -Some transient visitors who have eyes yet no eyes, sensibilities without -sense, give a brief but sweeping opinion of Florida, and say-- - -“It’s a hot, dry, dusty place, nothing in it but oranges and -alligators--good enough in winter for those poor creatures who don’t -care to run the risk of freezing in the north; and that’s all there is -in it.” - -Such hastily uttered opinions are no doubt attributable to a bilious -temperament or bad digestion. Every season brings a fresh influx of -visitors, some in search of health, some in search of pleasure; there is -a plentiful supply of both, and each may choose his own fashion of -taking it. Some love to lounge on the wide verandahs looking over the -perfumed garden of fruits and flowers, enjoying in January the soft -balmy breath of June; or they may wander through miles of orange groves, -or row upon the quiet moonlit lakes or rivers, or indulge in fishing -expeditions up the wonderful “St. John’s,” varying that gentle pastime -by shooting wild ducks or alligators. - -Those who are inclined to enjoy a pure pleasure trip, a ramble through -the ancient Spanish cities and modern towns, to take a trip up the Royal -St. John’s, or the weird wild Ocklawaha--the most wonderful water-way in -the world--may let loose their imagination and go with me, for I am _en -route_ for Jacksonville. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - Pine forests.--Arcadian scenes.--Strange companionship.--We reach - Jacksonville. - - -Our road still lies through cities of silent pines, stirred only by the -voice of the moaning wind; whole armies of them are drawn up on either -side, stretching away as far as the eye can reach. They look as though -they have just come out of a great battle: some are crippled and stand -tottering on their roots, others hang their lank limbs as though they -have not strength to upbear their weight of leaves, and some are -standing with huge gashes in their sides, and punctured wounds all over -their bodies; their bark is stripped off, and their naked trunks are -scarified all over, they are cut and stabbed till their poor veins are -drained of their life’s blood. Here and there stands the rough, -tumble-down shanty of the turpentine distillers--a hard-working and -intelligent set of labourers, who are largely employed in these lonely -forest regions, gathering the wealth of these gigantic uncomplaining -pines. And how great is the wealth that is gathered therefrom--tar and -rosin, phosphate of lime, of soda, of magnesia, potash, and many other -important chemicals are wrung from their generous limbs. They give, -give, give, till their strength is exhausted; then the distiller moves -on and carries the war into another part of the country, while his -victims are left to recuperate. But no sooner are they grown strong and -vigorous again with renewed healthy life--the sap rising and refilling -their empty veins--scarcely have their old wounds had time to heal, when -they are again attacked by the ruthless requirements of man. Their sides -are cut and stabbed, and once more their veins are emptied, and thus, -like dropsical human kind, they are tapped again and again till they are -dried up, and have nothing more to give. Their green crowns fall, their -arms wither, and they are left to a lonely, though picturesque old age, -and are perhaps more admired in the naked grandeur of their decline than -in their youthful prime; for are not the ruined castles of old days more -impressive and attractive than the gorgeous palaces of the new? for -there nature in the long run beats art even at her own work. As fast as -art builds up time begins to break down, and does his work by -imperceptible degrees: then nature with decorative ingenuity comes to -the fore and clothes the dilapidations with soft moss and a graceful -combination of ivy, ferns, and flowers, till the ugly skeleton with its -empty sockets and crumbling limbs is all aglow with a beautiful new -life--a picturesqueness that is only born of decay. - -Here and there, creeping out from some watery waste within their midst, -are wide shining pools, overspread with soft green lily pads, with fair -white blossoms cushioned thereon, looking as pure and innocent as baby -fairies asleep on a bed of green leaves. - -As we jog solemnly along on our iron road the scene undergoes a gradual -change, and we are soon in a new world of green; the change has been so -gradual indeed that we hardly know when we took our last look of the -dark sombre pines of the north. Their brethren of the South, with whom -we are now making acquaintance, are of a lighter colour, and seem of a -more airy frivolous nature than the northern forest kings whom we have -left a few hundred miles behind us. Here they are tall, slim, and -straight, with bare smooth trunks, and a chaplet of pale feathery green -leaves waving like warriors’ plumes above their lofty heads. We have -soon outrun the romantic cypress swamps, the salt marshes, and forest -lands; the shining pools with their lovely water lilies give place to -banks of fine white sand, but still among the yellow pines the white -blossom of the dogwood streams out like a hidden banner half unfurled. - -The form and character of the trees here are very different from the -eastern or northern branches of their family, just as an oriental beauty -differs from a Belgravian belle. We are no longer rushing through -luxuriant “hammocks,” and tangles of a leafy wonderland; the ground is -rough and uneven, and has but a scanty growth of green. Now and then we -come upon a solitary date-palm, majestic in its stately loneliness; the -surrounding trees seem to have fallen away from it and group themselves -in the distance, as though in honour to its royalty. Here, too, is the -tall palmetto, the parent of a large family of dwarf palmettoes which -are gathered around it, with their sheaves of lance-like leaves lifted -in the sunlight. - -We thoroughly enjoy the novelty of the scenery, so different from that -we have already passed through. We feel we are on the threshold of a -tropical land, and wait eagerly for its wonder to unfold itself; the -change is so subtle and silent we cannot tell where it began; we feel it -in the very air we breathe, even the sunshine seems to fall from a -different part of the heavens, and to bring with it a kind of perfumed -warmth with its glorious light. Then we cross wide tracts of barren sand -dunes--rich red sand--with here and there a stunted growth of green; -these poor tracts of country are occasionally varied by rich hammocks or -clearings, interspersed with a tangle of wild orange trees or stately -palmettoes, half smothered in the embrace of luxuriant vines. - -Presently we stop at a kind of wayside hotel (the veriest hovel that -sells a jug of lager or slab of corncake is dignified by the name of -hotel); it is quite in the wilderness, a sort of travellers’ rest, with -not a shanty nor even a pig-stye in sight, for the wild hogs (and their -name is legion) run free--poor homeless tramps of the wilderness; and -long legged, ragged-looking Cochin-Chinas are strutting about crowing -their loudest, as though the whole world belonged to _them_. This is no -house of entertainment for us; we have been merely signalled to stop to -take up passengers. For in a moment a fierce-looking portly gentleman, -warranted fresh from his tailor, comes out of the low cranky door, and -an attendant darkie hauls his portmanteau after him; an abundance of -chains and seals dangle from his waistcoat pocket, and with much puffing -and blowing, like a human grampus, he gets into the train, and glares -defiantly round him. He is loud--loud in his dress, loud in his talk, -louder still in his actions; he bangs into his seat, slams down the -window, and bawls out some last instructions, then sinks into his seat, -gives sundry wrathful snorts, and sits swelling like a frog who is like -to burst. Two poor half-Indian women come down the narrow winding -pathway from the wilderness; they have evidently tramped many miles, and -slink into a seat at the very end of the train, as though they had no -business there; they have a timid, frightened look upon their dusky -faces, and glance anxiously round at everything and everybody. We gather -from their whispered confidences that they have come from some small -settlement in the interior of the country, and had never been in a train -before--possibly had never seen one; all their worldly goods seem to be -contained in the baskets and bundles which they deposit beside them, and -guard with jealous care. There is something pathetic in the care and -attention these lonely women show to each other. They are evidently -stricken by some great sorrow, for as they sit together side by side, -staring out upon the landscape with lustreless eyes, a large tear that -had been long gathering rolls slowly down the cheek of one of them; they -speak no word, but huddle closer together with a dumb sympathy that is -more eloquent than words. - -We knew not whence they had come nor whither they were going; they were -two lonely women, and by their talk alone in the world, mere waifs and -strays of humanity--drifting, drifting on the tide of life, till they -are cast upon that silent shore where the tide neither ebbs nor flows. -If the engine gave an extra shriek or whistle they cast silent, -inquiring glances round like frightened animals, but never spoke a -word. At meal time they turned aside and ate surreptitiously from their -baskets, nibbling slyly like mice at a cheese. - -The fierce-looking gentleman who had first attracted our attention was -evidently in a hurry to get on; he pelted the guard with questions -whenever he caught sight of him: “How far were we from this place?” -“When should we get to that?” “How slowly we were going. I could race -the engine and win,” he adds contemptuously; then he fidgeted in his -seat, and fretted and fumed; he scowled at everybody, and seemed -absolutely to swell with his own importance. He pulled out a big watch -as noisy and fussy as himself; it looked so brazen and ticked so loud as -though nothing in this world was going but itself--as though indeed it -had nothing at all to do with time, but was rather in a hurry to get -ahead of it, when it should have been minding its own business, done its -duty, and ticked the solemn flight of the passing hours. We turn our -backs upon this pompous individual, and our interest becomes absorbed in -these two poor women, from whom we gather an outline of their history. -It is a simple one: a story of trials and struggles, of tangles, of -failures, and want and sorrow, of life and death; such as may be written -of so many of the human family who reap only thorns and thistles in this -world; but in the next who knows what roses may for them be blooming! -Luckily for all such labourers, hope, like a will-o’-the-wisp, lights -the distant shadows and dances before them, now here, now there, till -they reach their journey’s end and drop unnoticed into nameless graves. - -Presently we cross a narrow stream or river, and learn that we have left -the rolling lands of Georgia behind and are now in Florida. We look -round as though we expected a sudden transformation scene, but there is -no violent change. Nature is full of surprises, but here in these -latitudes she moves with a slow, subtle grace, in accordance with the -soft sunshine, and warm, soft air of these semi-tropical regions, where -nothing is in a hurry, and even the streams and rivers flow in a tender, -languid ripple. She is still changing the expression of her countenance, -but slowly; her white, gleaming sands flash more and more frequently in -our eyes. We are on the rough, ragged edge of Florida; it is flat and -sandy with a scanty growth of straggling yellow pines and stunted -palmettoes, which seem cowering down trying to hide themselves from the -sight of the sun. - -Within an hour we are in Jacksonville, the first city in Florida, whence -the tourist takes his first impression of the climate and the people. -The train stops at a busy, bustling wharf, and as we step out we face -the grand expanse of the noble St. John’s river, stretching away in -gracefully curving lines to the right and the left of us; a few fishing -boats with brown patched sails are gliding to and fro, and one or two -pretty miniature steamers are puffing lazily along its surface; the -curving banks on the opposite shore are fringed with green to the -water’s edge. We turn round and face the town: there is a wide stretch -of land cut up in plots of garden ground, then a long, unbroken line of -shops and houses, varied by the lofty and elegant façades of the Everett -and Carlton Hotels which face the river front, the view however being -slightly marred by the wharf and the railway station, which is a mere -rough, wooden structure and has been hastily run up regardless of -architectural appearance; a few rough, wooden benches under cover are -all the waiting-rooms the passengers are likely to find. Adjoining the -station, and indeed forming a part of it, are long wharves and -packing-houses, where hives of busy bees are always working, especially -during the months of January and February, packing and shipping -strawberries and other delicate fruits to New York and other eastern and -northern cities. At this point there is an immense amount of railway -traffic, the iron roads running like the arms of an octopus in every -direction; trains are constantly passing to and fro, but they are too -far away for either the sight or the sounds to cause any actual -inconvenience beyond slightly obstructing the view of the Bay Street -hotels. If these ugly but useful structures were swept away, or -stationed a little farther down the river away from the town, the land -and water view from the whole line of Bay Street would be lovely in the -extreme. - -Lying farther back, as we afterwards find, are numerous other hotels, -all erected in choice positions, some embowered in trees and gardens of -blooming flowers; all are beautifully shaded and luxuriously appointed -in every particular. - -There are plenty of omnibuses waiting; we drive at once to the Everett, -attracted by its handsome appearance and position, and knowing that -there we should have the advantage of every breeze that blew from the -river. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - Jacksonville.--Our hotel.--Greenleaf’s museum.--Floridian - curiosities.--East winds and tropical breezes.--Strawberry packing. - - -We shake the dust from our garments and wash our travel-stained faces, -and by the time we descend to the dining-room we find that the regular -_table-d’hôte_ dinner is over, but the tables are still laid for the -accommodation of late comers. Some of the lights are out, the rest are -turned low, and scores of dusky shadows seem to be hiding in the distant -corners of the big room. The tables are laid with snow-white cloths, and -furnished with shining silver and glass and flowers, but the long saloon -is so empty and still it looks like a dead banquet lying in state rather -than the preparations for a social meal. However, as we enter with a few -others, the lights flash up and everything is lively enough, the -ever-attentive black waiters bustle briskly about, and by the time we -are comfortably seated the first instalment of our meal is before us. -Judging from the first ladle of soup, you may generally tell what your -dinner will be, they say. So from our first dainty dish of roast oysters -we augured well for our general entertainment. They are evidently -accustomed to cater for epicures and invalids; every dish is delicately -served; even if you were not hungry you would be tempted to eat. We had -scarcely commenced when our waiter inquired, in an insinuating whisper, -“Would we like a little ‘blue cat?’” - -We know that in some countries rats and mice are considered rare -dainties, and even in the more civilised quarters of the globe snails -and frogs are regarded as luxurious tit-bits. We desired the blue cat to -be served, and half expected to see the feline animal served up--claws, -tail, and all smothered in sauce piquante! And why not? I believe that -French art could dress up the sole of an old shoe, or even a rusty -door-nail so as to tempt the appetite and sit easy on the digestion. -However, our blue cat turned out to be a familiar fish of most delicious -flavour; we had made acquaintance with it before, but had not been -introduced to it by its proper name; we had eaten “blue cat,” but knew -it not. - -It is growing late in the month of March, and Jacksonville is not -itself, they tell us. A month ago, and the hotels were all crowded, and -so great was the influx of people they could not be comfortably housed; -fair ladies and fastidious gentlemen were forced into strange quarters, -taking their places, like aristocratic stowaways, in garrets, in lumber -rooms, or in any hole or corner where humanity can stretch itself and -sleep. Such scores of invalids and pleasure-seekers come hither in -search of health or amusement during the winter months, that although -there are many first-class hotels, and over a hundred and -fifty--counting those of a second-class and boarding-houses -together--yet even then the accommodation is scarcely enough for the -visitors. Everybody flocks to the large hotels; they like the elegantly -upholstered drawing-rooms, with their gorgeous decorations and gilded -mirrors, the lofty corridors, and, above all, the well-appointed -_cuisine_. There are some people who would rather sleep on a shelf with -their feet out of the window, like _Alice in Wonderland_, and enjoy -these luxuries, than occupy a large airy room with commonplace comforts. - -During the season Jacksonville is the gayest of gay cities; its hotels -are brilliantly lighted, and the sounds of mirth and music float from -its open windows; there are concerts, private theatricals, picnics and -water-parties, no end of them. The flagging spirits of the invalids are -stirred and stimulated by the general gaieties round them; they are -driven to forget themselves, and have no time to dwell upon their own -ailments, as they are apt to do in their own domestic circle, with -anxious sympathising friends around them. Perhaps in the early stages -this is well, but in the later phases of disease the necessity of -dressing, and dining, and living in public is the heavy penalty paid for -such enjoyment. Some, however, seem to think that it is cheap at the -price. - -In the morning we sally forth on a tour of inspection through the -streets of Jacksonville. The roads are so heavy with deep sand, that -driving is attended with much dust and discomfort. A lumbering vehicle -passes us on the road and we are enveloped in a cloud of fine white -sand, and grope our way with closed eyes until it has had time to settle -itself. No one, unless disposed to self-martyrdom, will think of -entering a vehicle except under direst necessity; but there are -delightful little street cars, running on an iron tramway, which take -you the entire round of the city, past all the hotels, the stores and -principal thoroughfares, and bring you back to the starting-place for -five cents. Walking is here a most delightful exercise; the side-walks -everywhere are laid with light springy planks on which it is a pleasure -to tread. We stroll on in a kind of go-as-you-please, walking-made-easy -fashion, as though we never wanted to stop. The streets are all wide, -and beautifully shaded with vigorous young water-oaks, whose luxuriant -green foliage is a contrast to the pines and palmettoes we have lately -been passing through. So rich and so dense is their wealth of leaves, -so extensive their branches, that in places they reach above our heads -across a roadway seventy-two feet wide, and we walk on under an arching -roof of green; so rapid is their growth in these latitudes that some -were pointed out to me which had attained to ten feet circumference in -forty-two years. Some grow strong and lusty in the clinging clasp of the -mistletoe, and are only saved from being smothered in its tender -embraces by the pruning-knife, which cuts down and strews the ground -with all such pleasant parasites as would otherwise sap the strength and -destroy the life of the strong young oaks. Whichever way we turn we look -through long vistas of green. - -The homes of the settled population of Jacksonville are very beautiful, -and are built in pretty fanciful styles--no sameness nor dull uniformity -anywhere. Some are surrounded by blooming gardens, for here the gardens -bloom all the year round; as one flower fades and falls another takes -its place, so the floral army is always “in position.” Some are covered -with creeping plants and vines, others buried in orange-groves or -embowered in shrubs, oleanders, and magnolia trees. There is no -unsightly or incongruous feature anywhere in this lovely city; it is -literally composed of handsome hotels, elegant dwellings, and smiling -gardens. The shops are congregated on one spot, instead of being -scattered in odd corners throughout the city, and are situated in a long -line on Bay Street, where you may enjoy a pleasant promenade and -transact your business at the same time. In these shops you will find -every possible commodity of merchandise, from the baby’s teething coral -to the grandfather’s gravestone, for such _articles de luxe_ are -sometimes wanted even in Florida. A brisk trade is carried on in all -kinds of Floridian curiosities in this beautiful semi-tropical city. You -may buy bracelets and earrings of delicately-tinted sea beans, set in -silver or gold. Some say that these beans are the fruit of a leguminous -plant, which drops from the pod into the sea; others suggest that they -are washed over from the vines which grow along the shores of the West -Indies; but wherever they come from they are here in abundance and in -great variety of colours and shapes--some are opaque, some red, some a -rich brown, and some (the choicest specimens) are smoothly polished and -speckled like a leopard’s skin. Here also may be found some beautiful -specimens of Indian shell-work, and graceful plumes of dried grasses, -either natural or dyed in all the colours of the rainbow. The ladies -wear palmetto hats trimmed with leaves or feathery flowers made from -these grasses--quite a new and extremely elegant style of millinery. But -alligators’ teeth are mostly in demand; gentlemen wear them on their -watch-chains, as studs, as buttons, even as ornaments to their -umbrellas and walking-sticks; the ladies wear them set in all kinds of -fanciful ornaments. A lovely molar set in gold drops from her pretty -ear, or a row of sharp incisors coil round her wrist and grin from their -gold setting, as though they have just come from the dentist; or they -twine, half smothered in coral tongues or trellis-work of gold, about -her neck. Situated on this street, too, are the principal banks and -wholesale mercantile houses, the proprietors of which are so energetic -and enterprising they bid fair to make this the chief commercial city in -the state. The Aston Buildings, where every possible information -concerning anything or everything may be obtained--a collection of -legal, shipping, and insurance offices--are situated on the corner of -Bay and Hogan Streets. Close by, Mr. Greenleaf has quite a museum of -rare specimens of Floridian curiosities, connected with a well-stocked -bazaar, which is filled with all kinds of quaint things either for use -or ornament. This is well worth a visit, as, in addition to other -attractions, there is a kind of menagerie in the back part of the -premises, where wild cats, owls, snakes, alligators, and many other -monstrosities are on view. There is a large tank of infant alligators, -varying from six inches to a foot long. These are for sale, and are -greatly in request. I have seen them bought, packed in thick cardboard -boxes with perforated tops, and sent as presents to friends in distant -parts of the country, travelling by mail post-paid. I am told that they -rarely meet with an accident by the way, but arrive safely at their -journey’s end, hungry, but in good condition--a rather unique kind of -present, and decidedly embarrassing token of friendly remembrance. - -For nearly a mile this busy business thoroughfare is lined on either -side with shops of every possible description--houses of entertainment -and variegated open stores, wine merchants, barbers’ shops, millinery -stores, fancy goods; the windows gaily dressed, all aglow with bright -colours and glittering ornaments. Elegantly dressed women and gentlemen, -the _jeunesse dorée_ of the eastern cities, saunter to and fro. It seems -as though a bit of Regent Street had been cut out and plumped down on -the skirts of this semi-tropical city. - -We turn a few steps out of this animated thoroughfare, and are in a -perfect elysium; we feel as though we had turned our backs upon the -world, and are already on our way to paradise--we forget all about the -serpent. Although it is still spring-time, the thermometer reaches to -85°. They tell us that that is the maximum summer heat, and that such -weather is most unusual at this early season. The heat that would be -unendurable elsewhere is by no means oppressive here; we enjoy a stroll -through the shady streets at midday. Though the sun is at its zenith, -there is no hot glare of light anywhere, but a soft delicious breeze is -blowing--an “east wind” they call it, but it bears no resemblance to the -stormy virago who plays that _rôle_ in more northern latitudes, hurling -down church steeples, playing bagatelle with the chimney-pots, and, -worst of all, attacking with its biting breath poor helpless humanity. -In vain mankind buttons its greatcoat, and clasps its warm furs round -it, the east wind finds out its weakest place, and plays the devil’s own -tune upon its naked nerves, racks its bones with rheumatic twinges, -shooting neuralgic pains, making a target of the human body and hitting -the bull’s eye every time. Driven out of the open streets, people creep -in and cower down at their own fireside, but it follows them, it cannot -be kept out by bolts and bars; as subtle and invisible as thought it -steals down the throat, gives an evil touch to the bronchial tubes, -wrings the liver with a cruel hand, and even spoils the temper, like a -wicked old wretch as it is. One doesn’t so much mind facing the good -honest blustering north wind, it is an open foe, and in some way you can -defend yourself against it; but the east is a malicious insinuating -enemy, it will attack you even in your bed before you have had time to -put a woollen nightcap on. Here, however, it is soft and balmy, full of -a spicy fragrance; it seems to come down new-born, straight from the -gate of heaven, breathing the breath of angels, and laden with the soft -airs of eternal spring. Who can tell? Perhaps as it grows older and -travels onward it may gather evil by the way, absorb the miasmic -exhalations from the earth and from the miseries and vices of mankind -till its temper is spoilt, and it becomes as hard, cruel, and bitter as -the east wind of our own land--which we must again meet presently. But -here all is fresh and delightful. We don’t find in the face of the child -the inborn sins of its manhood, so we revel in this balmy breeze, and -give no thought to the east wind that may be afar off sweeping our -native streets, holding our friends and our foes alike in its cruel -grip. - -Down on the wharf the air is scented with strawberry perfume, for, as I -think I have said elsewhere, the great packing-houses are situated here, -and trains and vessels fruit-laden come from all parts of the state and -disgorge their treasures. An immense trade in fruit and vegetables is -carried on--early peas, young potatoes, asparagus, pine-apples, and -strawberries being largely exported to the eastern and northern states; -business is brisk everywhere, but there is no confusion. Hundreds of -hands are busy packing the rich luscious strawberries in the -ice-boxes--ice above, ice below, ice everywhere; then they are -hermetically sealed and sent to New York or elsewhere, arriving there in -perfection, as though they were just fresh gathered. In front of the -wharf, lying along the river, are several small pleasure boats and some -large three-masted schooners, dipping and fretting and tossing their -mastheads, as though they were in a hurry to get their lumber freight -and be gone; the huge mill is whirring busily, its iron teeth tearing -the king of the forest to pieces as fast as it can, perhaps cutting up -and slicing some of that large family of pines we have been lately -passing through. Who knows? perhaps they may return one day shaped into -the tall strong masts of some noble ship, bearing her fluttering sails -on high, creaking and swaying in the wind as though struggling to get to -their silent brotherhood on the plains up yonder, and tell them how much -of the world they have seen, and what strange peoples they have borne -across the seas. - -The busy wharves, the beautiful river, picturesque streets and Arcadian -surroundings, make this first glimpse of Florida delightful. We have -nothing to do but revel in the breeze and bask in the sunshine, and we -do it. - -Jacksonville has so many advantages that it is rapidly becoming the -favourite resort of travelling multitudes. So rapid has been its growth -during the short period of its existence that its population already -numbers about 11,000; it is everywhere lighted with gas, has an -excellent water supply (though I cannot say much for the water, it -should be used as an outward application only). The postal and -telegraphic system is as near perfection as such arrangements generally -are; they have even the latest scientific improvement, the telephone. -You may travel to and from anywhere and everywhere. There is a perfect -system of river traffic, and trains are dashing in and out of the city -all day long. - -It seems to us a pity that the invalid population should take their -flight so early; the weather is still perfect, and I am told it is -likely to continue so for the next two months, when it will literally be -emptied, even of its floating population. Some of its infatuated -inhabitants live there all the year round; they tell me it is delightful -even in the height of summer--“there has never been a case of sunstroke -known, there is no malaria, no fever,” no anything that humanity needs -to avoid. But these are interested folk; I shall have something to say -on that subject presently. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - Fernandina.--Romance or history?--Dungeness.--To Tocor.--On board - the boat.--Oddities.--A lovely water drive. - - -A pleasant, slow, jog-trotting, line of railway connects Jacksonville -with Fernandina, about fifty miles distant. It is a delightful old city -situated on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean, first founded by the -Spaniards in 1632, and has a most romantic history, on which, in my -glimpse of these sunny lands, I have no time to dwell; but then every -city throughout these regions has an interesting history, and the -history of one is the history of all--savage warfare with the Indians, -internal struggles with the adventurous Spaniards, as one after another -their flying expeditions came, each one firing the other with wonderful -stories of the enchanted land, telling of “great stores of crystal and -gold, rubies and diamonds” which were to be found therein. Again and -again their vessels came and fought and plundered, and went or were -driven away. Again and again the waves of humanity broke upon these -shores; some were wrecked and ruined, some drifted and married and -intermarried with the natives, and settled and flourished. - -The history of the land is full of romance, from its early discovery by -Ponce de Leon, who came hither in search of the Fountain of Youth--that -fountain which plays so sweet a tune, and sparkles and flashes a -glorious baptism once in every life, and then is seen or heard no more. -Men seek for it as a kind of holy grail, but find it not. Ponce de Leon -shared the fate of the rest of the world, and instead of finding the -Fountain of Youth drank of the bitter waters of death. He was driven -back from these sunlands with great disaster, and retired to Cuba, where -he died of his wounds, aggravated by disappointment. - -Deeds of crime, of cruelty, and of treachery, brightened here and there -by the noblest heroism of which humanity is capable, mark the annals of -Florida. The whole land is aglow with unwritten poetry, romance, and -passionate combinations, which, gathered together, would supply the -place of fiction for ages to come; but through her many tribulations, -quarrels, and martyrdom, she has come out the peaceful, sweet land we -see, teeming with the richest fruits and flowers of the earth. But here, -even as in the paradise of old, there lurks a whole hydra-headed brood -of serpents among the flowers. However, for the present, I must confine -my attention to Fernandina. - -No trace remains of the original city. The houses of the Spaniards and -the huts of the natives are all swept away; it is fresh, new, and -bright. It has many of the characteristics of Jacksonville, but is much -quieter, and there is an appearance of quaint old-world dignified repose -about it, which lively, bustling Jacksonville does not possess--the one, -in festive dress, is always on the alert for pleasure or amusement, the -other is sweetly suggestive of home and peace. - -The streets are wide and well shaded with fine oaks and magnolias; the -pretty houses are generally hidden away out of sight by the luxuriant -growth of tropical flowering shrubs, and are surrounded by smooth lawns -and gardens. There are no iron rails laid down, no cars running through -the Arcadian streets, no traffic, indeed, except the hotel omnibuses, -plying leisurely to and from the railway station. The resident -population is between two and three thousand, the number of course being -largely increased during the winter months. Every arrangement is made -for the reception and luxurious accommodation of travellers. The -“Egmont” is the finest hotel; it is beautifully situated, palatial in -its appointments, and with a fine view of the town and surrounding -country, in front of it a pretty little grove of palmettoes. - -Many people prefer Fernandina to Jacksonville as being quieter, cooler, -and the climate more bracing, and less of a resort for fashionable -invalidism. The surroundings are lovely, full of romantic strolls and -pleasant wandering ways, where you may ramble without fear of getting -into a swamp or plunging into a quagmire. One favourite drive, of which -people never seem to tire, is through a lovely winding way, something -like a Devonshire lane, with stretches of flowering shrubs and tangles -of palmetto scrub lifting their shining leaves on either side. This -leads to the sea-shore, about two miles distant from the town, where -there is a wonderful beach of hard white sand as smooth and level as a -ball-room floor. Here you may enjoy an uninterrupted drive for twenty or -thirty miles, with the wild woodland country stretching away on the one -hand, and the white foam lips of the Atlantic lapping the shore on the -other, while the briny breeze comes, laden with a thousand miles of -iodine, fanning your cheek and expanding your lungs with its healing, -health-giving breath; and, under the exhilarating spell of this -invigorating air and glorious sunshine, you feel that “life is indeed -worth living,” and have no desire to debate upon the question. - -This drive, within such easy access of the town, brings many visitors to -Fernandina. Some enjoy the pleasant stroll through the woodland way to -the beach; those who are not sufficiently strong or energetic enough to -enjoy the luxury of walking, drive there, for, during the season, there -are plenty of comfortable carriages on hire, and this remarkable -sea-shore presents quite a gay and animated appearance. - -There are many other attractions in the immediate vicinity of -Fernandina, and among them is a pleasant ride to a romantic old -fortification, now a picturesque ruin--Fort Clinch, which lies at the -northernmost point nearest the Georgia line, and with which many quaint -histories are connected; on these I have no time to dwell. No one should -leave Fernandina without paying a visit to Dungeness, which is situated -on Cumberland Island. A tiny steamer sailing from Fernandina takes you -there in about an hour. - -Cumberland Island is about eighteen miles long, and averaging a mile in -width. The magnificent domain of Dungeness, situated at the southernmost -end of the island, occupies about one-third of its total area. It was -presented to General Nathaniel Green by the State of Georgia, in -acknowledgment of his services to the South. - -The original mansion was burnt and totally destroyed during the early -part of the civil war, but the grand old ruin still stands firm as a -rock with its battlemented walls and tumbling towers; while, instead of -crumbling away, the coquina walls seem absolutely to have been so -hardened by the action of the fire as to be almost time-defying. This -property has passed from the hands of the Green family, and I am told -that the present owner talks of pulling down the ruin and building a -modern mansion on the site thereof. Social opinion lifts its voice -loudly against such an act of vandalism, but a man has a right to do as -he likes with his own; and reverence for the past and love of the -picturesque must be inborn, it cannot be ingrafted on a commonplace -mind, even though its owner be a millionaire. - -The visit of a single day to Dungeness is nothing, you will want to go -again and again, and you could occupy your time in no better way. The -sail thither across the smooth waters of the Sound, with the green land -lying around it, is delightful, and once ashore you feel as though you -would never tire of wandering through this enchanted land, which is -teeming with unwritten poetry and romance. There are quaint gardens -aglow with brilliant flowers, fruit trees and apple orchards, -labyrinthine walks through glorious avenues and groves of live oaks and -magnolias--a luxuriant growth of tropical green is everywhere. Now with -entranced eyes you gaze on some magnificent view of land and water; -passing onward through tangled vines and scenes of Arcadian loveliness -you come upon a glorious beach, with the sea waves softly rolling to and -fro as though they longed to leap up and meander over the forbidden -land. There is plenty of work here for the fishing-rod and gun, but I -fancy that the most inveterate lover of either would be disposed to lay -aside fishing-rod and gun and lounge in dreamy idleness through this -sweet, romantic land, and at the day’s end would be loth to leave it. - -At present there are no hotels in Dungeness; people take their luncheon -baskets and pic-nic on the ground, but no doubt when the spirit of -improvement has swept the ruin away and smoothed the picturesque -wrinkles from the face of the dear old island, “accommodation for -tourists” will be speedily prepared; the demand creates the supply. -Although there is but one strip of railway leading to Jacksonville, and -that runs through low-lying swampy land, yet one of the most important -lines in Florida, the “Atlantic Gulf and West India Transit Railway,” -starts from Fernandina and runs directly across the south-west part of -the state to Cedar Keys. The Mallory line of steamers also call at -Fernandina on their way to and from Charlestown and Savannah. - -Our next point of interest is St. Augustine; in order to get there we -have to return to Jacksonville, sleep one night at the hotel, and take -the boat the next day for Tocoi, which is twenty-five, perhaps thirty -miles, up the St. John’s river; thence we go by train to St. Augustine -in about an hour. - -It is a lovely morning; earth, air, and sky seem to have joined in a -glorious combination to make one perfect day. We take our last ramble -through the sweet shady streets of Jacksonville; there is not a creature -abroad, only the song birds hold a jubilee as they flit to and fro among -the tree tops overhead, and the leaves are rustling gently as though -whispering a last “Good-bye” as we pass beneath their cool green -shadows. - -The steamer is waiting for us at the wharf, and, our luggage having been -sent on before, we stroll quietly on board, ascend the wide staircase, -and pass through the luxurious saloon, which is as elegantly fitted up -as a London drawing-room, with handsome mirrors, painted panels, velvet -hangings, sofas, lounges, and light cane rocking-chairs that can easily -be carried from one part of the vessel to another. There is one table -tastefully laid out for the sale of Indian work; some of it is very -beautiful, and well worthy of inspection. The art committee of ladies’ -needlework might pick up many a valuable idea therefrom. There is also a -stall for the sale of newspapers, magazines, and books. Everything is -arranged to make our temporary sojourn pleasant. Some of our -fellow-passengers-to-be have deposited themselves in the cosiest -nooks--some curled up in easy chairs, some stretched on sofas before the -windows where they can enjoy the passing prospect “at ease.” One pretty -pale girl, who has evidently been travelling all night, lies covered up -fast asleep; another is training a youthful alligator to recognise her -voice and follow her about. Some curious specimens of Eastern and -Western humanity, and some few of our own countrymen, who seem -manufactured expressly for foreign travel--and foreign travel only--are -also “on view.” One has already taken possession of the piano, which -appears to be suffering from internal dilapidations; he meanders over -the keys in an aimless, objectless way, and gets nothing out of them -except an occasional squeak or series of scaley groans, as though the -torture is more than they can bear. A young fellow comes along, followed -by a poodle dog walking decorously on its hind legs, and carrying a -valise in its mouth with a solemnity suited to the occasion. However, as -soon as it is released from its responsibilities its natural spirit -comes out; it runs round and round after its own tail, and finding it -can’t catch it leaves off like a sensible human being (when human beings -are sensible and leave off hunting the impossible); but as he (for _it_ -is a he) “has got no work to do,” he resolves to enjoy himself to the -best of his canine fashion. He makes short runs after everybody’s skirts -or pantaloons, trots away with an old lady’s basket, drops it, springs -up and tumbles down, yelping and barking with delight. When he is tired -he leaves off, lies down, lolling out his tongue as though he wanted it -to be examined by a doctor, and pants as though his heart was trying to -break through his ribs. One crusty old gentleman with weak nerves starts -a theory that the dog is mad. Some take the alarm, and the poor brute is -cuffed and hunted from under tables and chairs and sofas and at last is -inveigled out upon the deck under false pretences--deluded by the idea -of “rats”--and is tied to a rail, where he remains a prisoner till our -journey’s end. We carry out a couple of rocking-chairs and keep him -company, cheering him with a kind word and occasional pat, which he -perfectly understands, and in his mute, pathetic way shows us that he -quite appreciates our sympathy. Meanwhile the bell has rung, and we are -cast off from the shore and started on our brief water trip. The river -stretches its slow length lazily before and behind us in a state of -dreamy calm, as though it wanted to lie still and enjoy one brief, -undisturbed holiday; it has no freight ships to bear on its breast -to-day, and resents the intrusion of our pleasure steamer; it turns its -tide away and will give us no help whatever, but runs after us now and -then in light, foamy flashes as our paddle-wheel irritates it into -action. - -This delightful water drive from Jacksonville to Tocoi is not perhaps -the most picturesque portion of the St. John’s river, yet is full of -interest and has many points of attraction for strangers. We glide -between low-lying shores fringed with branching reeds and waving -grasses, closed in the distance by serried ranks of fine old forest -trees and stretches of evergreen shrubs; it is full of primitive -simplicity, peace, and delicious quietude. We feel at peace with -ourselves and all the world as we glide along this placid river, its -tranquil surface only broken by the reflection of the floating clouds -above it, which are mirrored therein as in a looking-glass; here and -there we pass a tiny vessel with white sails set and the stars and -stripes fluttering from its masthead. Presently we come to Orange Park, -a neat little village wreathed with beautiful gardens and sentinelled by -fine old forest trees, which stand in rank and file along the water’s -edge. There is a fine hotel here standing a short distance from, but in -full view of, the river, for the accommodation of winter visitors, to -whom it furnishes most comfortable quarters. - -There are lovely spots to delight the eye and stir the imagination of -the passing summer tourist all along these low-lying lands, but there is -not one wherein, if he is wise, he will linger beyond the passing day, -unless he is prepared to order his funeral beforehand. During the winter -there are no more delightful residences than here by this river side; -we pass by one that looks like a bit of paradise cut out and laid down -upon these smiling shores, with its tangle of trees and vines, and wild -fruits and flowers, and birds of bright plumage flitting to and fro. But -woe be to him who in summer is tempted to linger here; it is as the -beauty of the fair frail charmer, blooming and dimpling with smiles in -the sunlight, but when the night comes breathing disease and death. Most -of these attractive places are deserted as the hot weather sweeps on, -except by those whom necessity compels to face the evils from which they -cannot fly; some get acclimatised, but all suffer more or less from the -damp dews and fevers. But the time for these malarial fiends to walk -abroad has not come yet; we are still in the full swing of the healthful -weather--of bright sunshine and sweet, fresh breezes. - -Presently our attention is directed to Mandarin, a village made up of -orange groves and fruit orchards. Some distance off, on the elevated -land of the east shore, and plainly visible through its luxuriant leafy -surroundings, stands the beautiful home of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe; -it is built like a Swiss chalet, with wide verandahs covered with -climbing plants running round it. Some few miles farther up we pass -Magnolia, another settlement of much the same description. Next we come -to Green Cove Springs, a winter resort of some importance, which is -largely patronised by healthy-minded invalids. - -There are two fine, well-appointed hotels there, wide shady lanes -leading straight up from the river wherein some pretty cottage homes are -nestling, though these, like the rest, are left to run to seed when the -earth is at its loveliest, and the June roses begin to bloom. - -The springs from which this place takes its name are situated in the -centre of the town and in close proximity to the hotel. The water is -clear and sparkling, and is used for bathing as well as for drinking -purposes; it is classed among the healthiest of the sulphur springs. We -pass more orange groves, the trees partly stripped of their golden -fruit, for the gatherers are hard at work, and the oranges are lying in -heaps upon the ground like mounds of yellow cannon balls. One or two -scattered villages and we reach Tocoi, when we take the cars for St. -Augustine. - -Tocoi is nothing but a rough wooden shed dignified by the name of a -railway station, where tourists, when they have landed from the boat, -may find temporary shelter from the sun’s burning rays while they -wait--and they always have to wait--for the train to carry them on; as -there is only one narrow line of rail and one train passing to and fro -this waiting process is sometimes trying to the patience. There are not -more than half-a-dozen of us landed from the steamer, and having seen us -safely off her deck she gives a little shriek of delight, as though glad -to be rid of us, and puffs on her way again. We glance round upon our -somewhat dingy, dirty surroundings, then along the line for our train. -There are no signs of it; there is nothing in sight but a miserable -shanty in the last stages of dilapidation. Outside, in the tumble-down -porch, a coloured woman with a gaudy handkerchief tied round her head is -busy at the washtub, while her dusky brood are tumbling about with a -colony of fat pigs and long-legged Cochin-Chinas. We seat ourselves on a -hamper under the eaves of the shed--it is close and fusty inside--and -wait. - -Presently a train that does not seem much larger than a child’s -plaything comes puffing slowly along as much as to say, “I’m coming! I’m -coming! Don’t be in a hurry.” - -We enter a miniature car, wherein we sit three abreast; our Liliputian -engine gives a series of asthmatic gasps, as though it had hardly -strength to carry itself along, and objected to its living freight, but -it is presently lashed by its fire fiend into obedience, and sets off -with a jerk. - -Our road lies through the densest of dense jungles, a wild and seemingly -impenetrable forest, whose tangle of palms, cypresses and oaks, all -entwisted with heavy Spanish moss, - - “Lets not one sunshaft shoot between!” - -After a delightful drive of about an hour and a half our little toy -train rings a tinkling bell, and we slacken our already slack pace into -the shed dignified by the name of the St. Augustine depot. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - St. Augustine.--A land of the long ago.--A chat with a Spanish - antiquity.--Quaint streets.--City gate.--Fort Marion.--The old - Slave Market.--The monuments.--The Plaza.--Cathedral and Convent. - - -Another morning breaks, a worthy successor to the last; it seems made up -of some heavenly alchemy--a tissue of golden glory and shimmer of silver -sheen. - -Over the silent sea and yet more silent land a supreme stillness reigns, -unbroken by the rustle of leaves or whirr of the invisible insect world. -The great sun hangs like a ball of fire in the pale skies, and fills the -land with dazzling light. The green earth, with all her wealth of fruit -and flowers in her lap, seems wrapt in a sweet languor, as though she -had fallen asleep and was smiling in her dreams; while her giant sons of -the forest and straggling children of the plains lift their leafy -fingers to their lips, and whisper to the wandering wind, “Hush! she is -weary, let her rest,” and the red roses and white lilies nod their heads -drowsily and sleep with her. The very dogs doze dreamily in the sun; -they don’t seem to have a good honest bark, or vigorous wag of the tail, -left in them. Life, the busy bustling nineteenth-century life we know -of, exists not here. We feel as though we had gone to sleep in the world -of to-day and been carried away in our dreams, and woke up in an ancient -city of two hundred years ago. - -This dear, romantic St. Augustine! It is not grim with age, nor grey and -hoary with the rust of time. It is like an old-fashioned beauty who has -been lying in state through these long years, pranked in all her finery -of feathers, furbelows, paint, powder, and patches, and now wakes up and -walks and talks with us in the quaint stilted phraseology of old days. -Never was change of time and place so sudden, so strangely felt, as the -transition from brilliant Jacksonville and pretty pleasant Fernandina to -this quiet, quaint old-world city, wherein the dignity and simple grace -of the Spanish cavaliers who first conquered, settled and peopled it, -seems still to linger; we can almost fancy we see their shadowy forms -stoop their plumed heads as they pass in and out of their ancient homes, -with gilt spurs jangling and swords clanging at their heels. We are -steeped to the lips in the spirit of the middle ages all round us, and -everywhere we recognise the features and individualities of days dead -and gone. - -The hotels, built expressly for the service of the travelling world, are -the only touches of modern life we find herein--no other thing of modern -birth dares lift its head in St. Augustine. As a rule the inhabitants -seem made to match the place--indeed, they are a part of it. Many are -the descendants of the early settlers, and they and their fathers before -them have lived there all their days, and still occupy the ancient -dwellings of their race. - -Passing by one of these old Coquina homes I saw an old Spaniard sitting -in the porch smoking his pipe, while his granddaughter, a bright-eyed -brunette, sat rocking her baby by his side, while an immense fuschia -tree in full bloom shook out its crimson flowers above them. I stopped -to inquire the way to the “city gate.” He rose up, tall, straight, erect -to his full height, over six feet, doffed his cap, and with the stately -courtesy of his race came down, leaned over the fence, and directed us -on our way, adding:-- - -“You’re strangers, I think? A good many come here nowadays.” - -We were in no hurry to go on; seeing he was conversationally inclined, -we gratified him, and ourselves likewise; we lingered for a pleasant -chat--one gains so much in these wayside gatherings. He volunteered some -bits of interesting information about the place, about his family, and -about himself. I made some touristical observation about the appearance -of the city and its salubrious situation, and inquired how long he had -lived there. - -“I was born with the century,” he said, “and I was born here in this -very house I live in.” - -“Why, you don’t look like eighty years of age,” I remark. - -“No, nor I don’t feel like it, lady,” he answered; “but I’m in my -eighty-second year, and I feel hale and strong yet. I’ve lived through -some troublous times, too; it hasn’t always been fair weather here in -St. Augustine.” - -Seeing we were interested in anything concerning St. Augustine, and -anxious to glean any scraps of information, he opened the gate and -invited us to “walk in” and rest. As we were scarcely a hundred yards -from our hotel we did not want to “rest,” but we walked in nevertheless -and sat down in the porch and prepared for a gossip; it was easy to lead -him to talk of the old days, he seemed to enjoy fighting his battle of -life over again. - -“Yes, I’ve seen a good many changes,” he said, warming to his work. “Few -men have lived a life out on one spot and seen so much--so many -revolutions, things, thoughts, governments and people changing, but the -place remaining just the same; there’s been no pulling down old -landmarks in St. Augustine, and the wear and tear of time isn’t much. -You see the city is all built of coquina, and that is stronger than -stone--the older it is the harder it becomes. Yes, I’ve seen the British -flag flying from the old fort, the Spanish banner flying; now we are -under the eagle’s wing, and the stars and stripes are fluttering over -us.” - -“I suppose you would as soon live under one rule as another?” I venture -to say. - -“Provided they rule well, yes; and we’ve nothing to complain of now; the -laws are easy, and we are left to live and work in peace, though up to -the last few years we’ve been liable to hostile incursions of the -Indians. Why, I’ve seen them swarm over the bastions yonder, and come -swooping and yelling through the streets, filling the air with their -hideous war-cry--such scenes, dear ladies, as I dare not tell you of; -now we are under the American flag, and, the Blessed Lord be thanked, we -are at peace.” - -He took us through his orchard at the back of the house, and on to a -small orange grove of about an acre, which he proudly informed us he -managed all himself. We gathered and ate some oranges--deliciously cool -and refreshing they were; he apologised for their size and scarcity, as -the trees had been stripped of their finest fruit some weeks ago. - -As yet we had only caught a general view of St. Augustine, and we -hurried on to make acquaintance with its special features. The streets -are narrow and crooked, varying from ten to twenty feet wide, the -houses having verandahs or balconies jutting out overhead so close -together that the ladies thereon can almost shake hands across from one -side of the road to the other. There are no regular pavements or -sidewalks, and the roads are laid with broken oyster or mussel shells. -The houses are mostly built of a kind of compressed shell-stone called -“coquina,” which is quarried from the island of Anastasia, that lies -about a mile across the harbour and separates St. Augustine from the -Atlantic Ocean. This is the oldest European settlement in America, and -was so settled long before the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. The most -picturesque and romantic of all the quaint old streets is George Street, -with its curious houses and hanging balconies clinging along the fronts -thereof, and are generally covered with climbing plants. The white -coquina walls rise straight and bare direct from the roadway; the -windows are small and closely curtained, as though the old Spanish dons -still jealously guarded their hidden beauties from the sight of man. -There is an air of great seclusion everywhere--we might be wandering -through an oriental city; but we know that behind these bare walls there -are blooming gardens of oleander, magnolia, orange and lemon trees; -occasionally we get a glimpse of some rich striped lily or glowing -passion-flower nodding over the wall. - -Mr. Lorillard has a beautiful villa here--a touch of to-day in the land -of the yesterdays. It is of quaint though modern architecture, and is -full of gabled ends and corners. The smooth-shaven lawn and flower -gardens are simply railed in and in full view of the passer by. -Whichever way you turn you catch a breath of poetry and romance; a scent -of the days gone by clings round the ancient homes and pervades the air, -having a subtle effect upon our spirits. We fancy we hear the clang of -arms, and the long-silent voices ringing in the air, and shadowy forms -are gliding beside us, haunting the old scenes where they walked and -talked so many centuries ago. - -At the top of St. George Street stands the ancient city gate, which once -formed part of the old stone wall which, running from shore to shore, -protected the city from hostile incursions. The greater part of the wall -has long since disappeared, but a rude, rugged, moss-covered mass clings -around, as though it helped to support, the tall ornamental towers which -once rose up on each side of the city gate, and which still stand -massive and strong, like sentinels who will not be beaten from their -post, though a great gap yawns where the gate has fallen from its rusty -hinges. Coming through St. George Street we look straight through to the -wide stretches of country beyond. The sentry boxes scooped out of the -solid wall are there still, exactly as when the last guard stepped from -them in obedience to the bugle call, when the sun had set and the sentry -was relieved. This is, perhaps, the most ancient and certainly the most -picturesque ruin in this portion of the country. - -Passing between the still stately towers we come in full view of Fort -Marion, one of the most attractive features of St. Augustine. It was -commenced in the year 1592, but was not completed till the year 1756. It -is a remarkable, fine, and imposing structure--grand, grey, and massive, -standing on a gently rising hill outside the town, and lifting its -gloomy front towards the sea. No ruin is Fort Marion, but perfect in all -its parts, stamped only with the desolation and dreariness which must -brood over any place that is deserted and unused for a certain number of -years. - -The labour of construction is said to have been wholly performed by -negro slaves and prisoners of war. The moat is now dried up and -overgrown with grass and rank weeds, but there are the drawbridges, the -massive arched entrance, the barbican, the dark passages, frowning -bastions, and mysterious dungeons. A whiskered sergeant--a remnant of -military glory--has charge of the fort, and lives in a pretty, -rose-covered cottage outside. In company with several other tourists we -explored the curiosities of the old fort. One large dingy stone chamber, -with vaulted roof and damp floor, like a gigantic cellar, was occupied -by the townspeople, who came flocking to the fort for shelter some few -years ago when the place was threatened by an irregular army of -piratical marauders; the ashen embers where they baked their last loaf -of bread still lie upon the iron plate, and the empty oven yawns -hungrily open. This apartment, itself but dimly lightly, leads into a -huge, dark dungeon, black as Erebus; but _the_ “dark dungeon” _par -excellence_ lies beyond, and to this treat-in-store we proceed. Chill, -black, and dismal as the grave, is this partly-underground dungeon, -where in 1835 two skeletons were found chained to the wall--victims, no -doubt, to some cruel Spanish inquisition. We stand shivering in its -chilly blackness while our guide gives us fragmentary sketches of the -history of the fort. The last prisoners confined here were a number of -refractory Indians, stirrers-up of trouble, horse-thieves, and general -marauders, who were sent thither by the order of United States -Government in 1874, but were released in 1878. In no cruel dungeon like -this “dark cell,” however, were these “braves” confined. A large, -casemented chamber was prepared for their reception, they were taken out -in squads for exercise, and under proper surveillance were even allowed -to bathe. They have left their sign-manual upon the walls--specimens of -Indian art in the shape of sundry sprawly sketches of man and beast. -For, as it is well known, the Indians are fond of drawing, and will draw -on anything and with any kind of material that will make a mark. They -will even exchange a surplus squaw for a few pencils or paint brushes. -Crude and out of all proportions as their productions are, they -illustrate the minds and peculiar proclivities of the people. An Indian -never represents himself as standing, dancing, or walking; he is always -on horseback, and always fighting against fabulous numbers, and always a -conqueror, riding victorious over a score of prostrate foes. We pass -through an antique chapel, whence the worshippers have fled “into the -silent land” and left it deserted except for the ghostly echo which -rises up and follows us as we pass through. We peep through dusky -passages, ramble up and down crumbling stone stairs, cross the barbican, -pass many worm-eaten oaken doors which, we are told, “lead nowhere in -particular,” and presently emerge upon the grassy, battlemented slopes -of the old fortification and look out across the bay, over the island of -Anastasia, to the sea beyond. After wandering for a brief period through -these gloomy precincts, and inhaling the damp, imprisoned air of the -dungeons, it is pleasant to stand in the sunlight and breathe the fresh -air of heaven again. We promenade the battlements and look down upon the -lovely fort with barbicans and towers, esplanades, drawbridges, and -grass-grown moat spread out before and around us. Lifting the eyes and -gazing further off we have a magnificent land and sea view, with the -quaint old city with its lovely gardens grouped at our feet. - -We meet many other promenaders who, like ourselves, appreciate the -glorious view, except in some cases when the view is bounded by a -sun-bonnet on one side and a wide sombrero, shading a bearded masculine -face, upon the other. There was Darby enjoying the evening air, with his -fat wife Joan trudging by his side; and here was a tall young lady of -Amazonian deportment solemnly parading side by side with her latest -conquest--a small, meek young man, who had evidently no strength to -resist capture and could not close his ears to the voice of the charmer. -He wore spectacles and a blue necktie, reminding one somewhat of a pet -sheep being led by a blue ribbon; one half expected to hear him reply -with a soft “Baa--aa” to the tender tones of his ladylove. Now in -turning a shady corner we come upon a pair of time-honoured flirts, who -had left their youth a long way behind them, and are now shooting their -blunt little arrows at one another, both well practised, and evidently -little damage is done on either side. - -Descending presently from our vantage ground, we turn our backs upon the -romantic old fort, looking so grey and lonesome in the sunlight; its -glories have passed away, and its peaceful solitudes have become the -haunt of tourists and travellers; the green lizards swarm in its sunny -corners, and men and women linger through long summer evenings in its -shady nooks, and make love beneath its frowning battlements. We pass -along the sea wall, which is of coquina, like most of the buildings -here, and is about a mile long, forming a magnificent promenade; it is -elevated above the roadway, and being only two feet wide it gives no -encouragement to the “gay and festive throng” or social gathering on -moonlit evenings. People generally march in single file and take the air -in a solemn business-like fashion, though occasionally a pair of young, -slim creatures cling together and walk side by side, by no means -inclined to carp at the narrowness of the wall, which compels one arm to -slide round the other waist, and with a kind of forced pressure to “hold -on” to save the other from falling. On one side is the water, still as a -lake, yet indescribably seeming to breathe the “salt sweet fragrance” of -the vast Atlantic beyond. - -The pretty vessels of the yachting club, with white sails fluttering, -are curtseying to their own shadows on its surface. On the other side, -about three feet below the sea wall, is a wide, smooth, shell road, -where you may enjoy a delightful drive or promenade _au cheval_; here -and there are stone steps leading up to the wall, so that you are not -obliged to march along its whole length, or leap down at the risk of -breaking your neck. Fronting the water on the other side of the road is -Bay Street, the principal business thoroughfare of the city, where there -are some excellent shops, and queer old houses which take boarders all -the year round, for the winter cold, or summer heat, is never excessive -in St. Augustine; it is one of the few Floridian resorts which is -pleasant at all seasons. The temperature, calculated by a study of the -thermometer for the last ten years, is for summer about 80 Fahrenheit; -autumn, 70 to 75; winter, 58 to 60--a most delightful temperature, -especially as there is generally a soft balmy east wind blowing, though -occasionally in the winter time a wild north-easter, in its fiercest -mood, sweeps over the Atlantic, and wreaks its vengeance on St. -Augustine and the surrounding coast. People are inclined to smash the -thermometer which dares to register only sixty when this cruel wind is -biting them through! - -At the other end of the sea wall, opposite the fort, are the United -States Barracks, jutting out at the water side; there is generally a -regiment stationed here, when the band plays every day at five o’clock -during the season. Although this quaint dreamy old city is but a small -place, there is much of interest to be seen here. - -There is the “Plaza de la Constitution,” where the good Christians -burnt their brethren a century ago; it is a large square, laid out with -grass plots, and flower beds, with paths cut through, leading from one -side of the Plaza to the other. In the centre stands the curious old -market-place, roofed in at the top, but open on all sides; this was the -ancient slave mart, where “God’s image, carved in ebony,” was bought and -sold in most ungodly fashion; there is the place where they stood, -ranged in rows like cattle in a pen, so that their purchasers might walk -to and fro examining them from all points to see that they had their -money’s worth. They sit there now, these selfsame slaves of the old -days, with bright kerchiefs round their heads, surrounded by fruits and -flowers, buying and selling on their own account, laughing, chaffing, -bargaining with one another with the easy air that freedom gives. Close -by is the graceful monument erected by the ladies of St. Augustine to -the Confederate dead, whose names are carved upon the shaft. No matter -how impoverished the land may have been, how ruined the people, in every -Southern city, small or great, they have found money enough to erect a -monument,--some most costly, some poetic, and all more or less artistic, -to those who-- - - “Fell while wearing the grey for them!” - -There is another monument, somewhat weather-beaten, erected by the -Spaniards to commemorate the adoption of the Spanish institutions in -1812. Then there is the grey old rookery of a convent, where the -withered old sisters sit for ever making lace--wondrous fine lace it is, -and produced in such large quantities we wonder who buys it all. -Fronting on the Plaza, also, is the old cathedral, with its quaint -Moorish belfry, and still more quaint and ancient peal of bells, one of -which bears the stamp of 1682. It is not much regarded from an -architectural point of view, its antiquity is everything. Partly facing -the Plaza, and partly facing the sea breezes, stands the St. Augustine -Hotel. We preferred the “Magnolia,” though its position is perhaps not -so good; it stands in the centre of that queer crooked St. George -Street, and is as pretty and picturesque as, considering its name, it -ought to be, with odd turns and angles, verandahs clinging everywhere -covered with blooming flowers, and beautiful magnolias and banana trees -in the delicious straggly old garden. The magnolias are not yet in -bloom, but from their nest of leafy buds we catch a glimpse of the -creamy flower, and the long purplish crimson leaves of the banana still -shields the golden fruit from too quick maturity. The oleander is -already covered with its luxuriance of crimson, pearly pink, and waxen -white bloom, and the Japan plum tree laden with juicy fruit. - -Stepping out on the verandah in the early morning we find everybody -sucking oranges in the most solemn business-like fashion. The gentlemen -go at it with a will, and generally work through a whole basketful of -the golden fruit; they make a hole at one end and suck with inflated -cheeks, like a bevy of ancient cherubs blowing a trumpet, and suck in -sweet silence, seemingly oblivious of all that is passing round them as -they take their morning dose of this delicious nectar. Some of the -ladies peel them with white slim fingers, and extract the juice as -daintily as the bee extracts honey from the flower; some of the -uncompromising feminine family, “who have no nonsense about them,” pull -the orange to pieces, mangle its delicate tissues, and disembowel it -with ruthless teeth. Some work as though they were sucking for a wager, -and others go through their heap with slow solemn enjoyment. Those who -have not eaten a fresh gathered orange in Florida don’t know what an -orange is. - -All round in the neighbourhood of St. Augustine are lovely orange -groves, and long avenues with cedar hedges, and grand old mulberry trees -with gnarled and knotted trunks, and heavy branches, that look as -antiquated as the city itself. Being desirous of entering into, and -spending a little time in the inspection of some one of the many noted -orange groves, we were directed to one owned by a prominent citizen, who -would, we were assured, “make us right welcome;” and armed with cards of -introduction we took our way to his residence. Passing along a -magnificent avenue of stately trees, which bordered his extensive -grounds, and closed above our heads shutting the sunlight out, we came -to the large iron entrance gate. There was a bell, and we rang it, but -nobody answered it except a large white cat, who emerged from a -shrubbery, and rubbed against the gate purring and arching her back -ingratiatingly as if inviting us to enter. Finding no response except -this feline welcome, we pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, -the cat purring a congratulatory purr at our heels as if she was very -glad indeed that we had come. We ascended the “stoop” (_Anglicè_, door -steps), and rang the hall-door bell. No answer. We amused ourselves -ringing at intervals; and when we were tired of tinkling the bell, which -seemed to wake sepulchral echoes, we started on a tour of inspection -around the house. It seemed as dead asleep as the Sleeping Beauty; its -eyes were all shut, the sun-blinds all rigorously closed. There were -seats on the piazza, and we rested for a while in the fragrant shadow of -a great apoppinac tree, whose showers of dainty yellow blossoms fell -like an odorous golden rain upon the grass, while the fairy flowers of -the azalea, light as drifted snow-flakes, stirred as if breathing soft -mysteries in the whispering balmy breeze. Meanwhile the cat jumped up on -my lap and went to sleep, until we started afresh on an exploration of -the grounds; then our feline friend escorted us, her comfortable and -contented purr allaying the apprehensions of ferocious mastiffs which -invariably beset us in strange quarters, though our secondary dread of -steel man-traps, set for more harmful intruders than ourselves, kept us -cautiously within the boundaries of the gravel walks. - -We found tool-sheds, arbours, bowers, stables, chicken-houses, -dog-kennels and cottages, but not a sign of life except a portly hen and -a brood of chickens, who fled to their coop at sight of our soft -snowflake of an escort, whose emerald eyes dilated, and affectionate -purring ceased at sight of them. Having explored the more domestic -portion of the grounds, and still finding nobody to show us through the -orange plantation, we proceeded to show ourselves through it. Is there a -tree, I wonder, more beautiful than the orange, with its shining foliage -of dark and glossy green, its scented snow of blossoms, its red-gold -globes of fruit! Here in St. Augustine, although too late in the season -for the fullest beauty of the groves--the gathering being almost -over--we still found here and there the flower and the fruit growing -amicably together on sister boughs. We came upon one glorious tree, its -graceful branches bending under the rich burthen of its fruit of fiery -gold, glowing in that southern sunshine. We reached down a laden bough, -and trespassed on the taken-for-granted hospitality of our unknown and -unknowing host to the extent of an orange apiece. - -Long had we yearned to taste an orange plucked fresh from the tree! -Often had we anticipated the unrivalled freshness of the gushing juice -of the fruit yet warm to the heart with sunshine, and exhaling still the -fragrance of the dews of morning! Now we had got our oranges, “fresh -from the tree--dew, sunshine, &c., &c.,” at last. We tasted the -long-anticipated delicacy. Ugh! our dainty morsel turned out to be the -bitter rind, the biting acrid juice, of that species known as the “sour -orange”! What an excellent moral might have been deduced from this Dead -Sea fruit of our desires! It was a sermon in a bite! But, unfortunately, -there was nobody to whom to preach it, except the cat. We threw our -oranges far, far away, sadder and wiser women. But the daughters of Eve -are incorrigible, and, anon, we built our dreams again around a “fresh -mango,” and were again disillusioned. Yet unconvinced by many -disenchantments, we still go on through life seeking our mango or our -orange, “fresh from the tree.” - -But that afternoon’s peregrination is still one of our pleasantest -memories of St. Augustine. - -There are plenty of amusements and resorts in and around this quaint, -mediæval-looking old place to entertain the tourist, when he has -sufficiently taken into himself the aspect of this bit of the middle -ages dropped down in the modern day of the bright New World. - -When you have seen all that St. Augustine itself has to show you, you -may, with much profit and interest, extend your wandering, and cross -over to inspect the coquina quarries and the fine lighthouse on St. -Anastasia’s Island, when the solitary keepers will, perhaps, tell you -some stirring incidents of their lonely lives; or you may sail down to -the wonderful sulphur spring, which boils up from the ocean--its pale -blue sulphurous water forcing its way through a hundred and forty feet -of the salt sea waves. The current is at times so strong (for the spring -is intermittent), that a short time ago one of the coast survey steamers -was floated over the “boil” of it! - -There is another delightful excursion passing through the city gate, -over a smooth, pleasant road, till you turn off to San Sebastian Beach, -which forms a pleasant drive for many miles, when you may see the ruins -of some old palisades, which at one time connected Fort Monsa with a -stockade at San Sebastian. The excursion need only occupy a few hours; -unless you choose to linger by the way, you may return to St. Augustine -in time for dinner. - -There are plenty of occupations wherewith gentlemen may beguile the -pleasant hours. They can indulge in shooting and fishing expeditions on -the banks of the Matanzas river, and shoot their own game, catch their -own fish, and cook their own dinners. It is not an uncommon thing for -ladies to join in these excursions. They enjoy playing at “being -gipsies” for a season; they soon tire of it. - -On one balmy morning early we turn our backs upon the sweet-scented -old-world city, and take the little fussy, jog-trot train back to Tocoi, -carrying with us a host of pleasant memories of this delicious, dreamy, -romantic St. Augustine. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - A chat by the way.--A steam bicycle.--Rough times.--At Ocala. - - -The boat is waiting, bobbing up and down at the little rustic pier at -Tocoi. The sun is laughing down upon us, with a face of shining gold, -and the sweet east wind is fanning our cheeks with its breath of balm; a -sweep of sunny water lies before us, sea-gulls and strange birds are -wheeling over our heads as we step on board, and are soon on our way to -Palatka. - -We pass by pretty little hamlets and endless groves of orange and lemon -trees, stretching inland from the low-lying shore; most of them are -already stripped of their golden fruit, but some have their branches -still heavily laden. - -In about two hours we land at Palatka, a pretty bright little town, one -of the scores of places which we are obliged to pass through with only a -passing glance. Those who are tired of wandering and wish to rest, -cannot do better than spend a few pleasant tranquil days here on the -banks of the quiet river. There is an excellent hotel, “The Palatka -House,” where they will find comfortable accommodation and an excellent -cuisine. We desire to reach Silver Springs and thence take the boat down -the Ocklawaha river, of whose wonders we have heard so much that we -prepare ourselves for disappointment. We don’t quite know how to get -there or whether we are to sleep on the land or on the river, but we are -content to drift, being strong in the faith that things will come right -somehow. - -We have not been long seated when our conductor comes along; he punches -our ticket, and smilingly adds a conjecture “Ladies from England, I -think?” - -We modestly admit the fact. He claims nationality with us, and forthwith -friendly relations are established between us. He sits down and enters -into conversation. - -“You live in London, perhaps,” he hazards as a preliminary observation. -That fact ascertained, he adds excitedly, “Ah! then you must know my -father, Mr. Augustus Brown; he lives at Rose Villa, Lower Norwood, near -by the Crystal Palace.” I pleaded ignorance of Mr. Augustus Brown, -representing that these delightful suburbs were about ten miles from -London’s self, and that a pilgrimage to the Crystal Palace was not a -thing of everyday occurrence. - -“Ten miles!” he repeated incredulously, “why here we know everybody -within a radius of a hundred miles! Think again, you must know him, you -_must_ have met him somewhere! He is a fine old gentleman, tall, thin, -with grey hair, and a long beard--you’ll surely remember him?” - -He looked so earnest that I was quite sorry to disappoint him by -repeating my former statement, at the same time softening the blow by -explaining the immense population of London and its suburbs, and how -often people lived for years without even knowing their next door -neighbours. That was all very well, but not to know my father, “Mr. -Augustus Brown,” was quite another thing! I’m afraid by my ignorance of -the inhabitants of Lower Norwood I lost caste considerably in his eyes. -He went about his business with rather a perplexed face and presently -came back to us with the information: - -“You’ll have to change cars soon at Perry’s Junction for Ocala; it isn’t -much of a place, but you’ll have to sleep there, and in the morning take -the cars for Silver Springs, about half an hour’s ride.” He then emerged -from his official character and added, “Perhaps you’ll be going back to -England soon? Yes? Well, I should like to give you my father’s address.” -He fumbled through a tattered pocket-book, and extracted therefrom a -crumpled piece of paper. “There, if you should ever be in that -neighbourhood I hope you’ll just give a call on my folks; they’ll make -you right welcome, and please tell ’em I’m all right, and I hope to be -home next fall.” - -I took the paper, but knowing that my chance of making the acquaintance -of his esteemed parents was small I ventured to suggest that he would -most likely forward that information himself. - -“No,” he answered, “I’m not much of a hand with a pen; somehow we get -out of the way of it in these parts. I haven’t written to the old folk -for years, though I think of them often enough--God bless ’em! I often -picture to myself how they’ll look when I first walk in upon ’em.” - -“Take you for a tramp, most likely, and shut the door in your face,” I -suggest, somewhat flippantly, perhaps; but he answered gravely: - -“Father might, but mother ’ll know me, sure enough, though I left home -at fourteen years old and I’m now thirty. But _she’d_ know me, ay, even -if I was in my coffin. And I should know her dear old face, even if we -don’t meet till we meet in heaven.” - -We were constantly beset by similar inquiries from perfect strangers; -the fact of our nationality once ascertained, somebody would accost -us--on the cars, the platform, the hotel corridors, no matter where. - -“Excuse me, but do you know my cousin, the Rev. Jonah Smith, a -clergyman, curate of St. Jeremiah’s, somewhere down in Cumberland, the -place where my grandfather came from?” - -Everybody seemed to think we _must_ know their relations--sometimes we -found it very difficult to convince them to the contrary. Once I -received a long letter, filling several sheets of foolscap, as long as a -lawyer’s long brief, setting forth a whole family history up to a -certain period, marriages and intermarriages, beseeching me to set -inquiries on foot and transmit to them any information I could gather -concerning their English relations, with whom they, the American branch, -had held no communication for the last generation. - -To me there is something touching in this desire to claim kinship with -the old family tree, whose branches are flourishing in all quarters of -the habitable globe. It is so everywhere in the conservative South. In -the more cosmopolitan north it is different; as a rule nobody cares to -claim kinship with anybody or anything, except perhaps Wall Street and -the money market. - -At Perry’s Point we changed cars, and took a “narrow gauge” line to -Ocala. It was the first time we had been on the genuine “narrow” gauge, -and I fervently hope our last. Nothing could well be narrower, the rails -being less than three feet apart; the cars running thereon are almost -the usual width, seating four passengers in a row, divided in the centre -by a passage two or three feet wide. It was like travelling on a see-saw -or a bicycle; the cars oscillated fearfully from side to side, we had to -hold on to the straps for dear life; even when it came to a stand it -was not still, but slowly rocked from side to side. - -During this short journey we twice broke down, and were detained some -hours while the injury was repaired. We complained of the danger and -discomfort of this mode of travelling, at the risk of life and limb. I -believe I was regarded by the whole car as a British malcontent; nobody -grumbled nor even lifted a disapproving voice. One lady seemed much -surprised at our discomposure, and said, raising her placid brows and -smiling sweetly: - -“I dare say we shall get to Ocala all right; there is no use in -fretting. It is true the cars _did_ topple over an embankment a few -weeks ago--such things will happen sometimes; a few limbs were broken, -but nobody was killed! Besides, we must all die some time, and _I_ don’t -think it matters how or when. I really wouldn’t be uneasy,” she added -consolingly, with a slightly contemptuous look upon her face. “I dare -say it will be all right; and if not,” she shrugged her shoulders, -“well, you know, as we say in our prayers, God’s will be done.” - -Alas! I could not view the situation in this spirit of philosophical -resignation; but I resolved to sink myself no lower in the eyes of my -self-possessed fellow-travellers, and sat through the rest of the -journey with outward calm, but inward tribulation of spirit. It was long -past midnight when we reached our destination. It was a dark, moonless -night, the rain was pouring in torrents, the thunder rolled and -reverberated through the stormy air; now and again the heavens opened -and let a flood of lightning through, then closed and left us in utter -darkness. The train stopped; peering from the car windows we saw a light -twinkling here and there, but no other sign of life. There were no -omnibuses, no carriages plying for hire. We gathered our light -hand-baggage together and followed the dreary procession to the end of -the cars; they all seemed to know where they were going, and one by one -our fellow-passengers were swallowed up in the darkness. We stood on the -car platform for a moment and peered out into the black night; the -deluge of rain was still falling. - -“There are no conveyances! How are we to get to the hotel?” we -exclaimed, looking round in helpless bewilderment and addressing nobody -in particular. - -“Take care, madam, take care--you’ll be in two feet of water that way,” -cried a friendly voice arresting my progress; then taking possession of -my parcels and of me, added, “It is awkward there being no conveyances -on such a night as this; in fine weather it does not signify. The hotel -is close by; pray take my arm. I live here, and know every step of the -way.” - -The train conductor volunteered his assistance to my companion, and -swinging his lamp low to guide our faltering feet walked on before us. - -“I am the clergyman here,” said my escort in a kind gentle voice, as he -pioneered me through a morass and across a pool of mud. My thanks be to -him, although I never beheld his face, for, having deposited us at our -hotel, he vanished into the night and was seen no more. - -We passed first through a kind of rough sitting-room, where some few of -our fellow-passengers were already seated in placid contentment, waiting -the hotel clerk’s leisure. We were wet through, and not disposed to wait -his leisure, so claimed his attention at once, and got it too, as a -“lone female” in the South does generally manage to get her will and -way. - -We were put in charge of a small boy with a big voice, who led us across -a sort of courtyard towards a large building--the hotel proper. It -seemed to be only a rough temporary erection, doomed to be speedily -swept away to make room for some more commodious and imposing structure. -A flight of rough wooden steps from the outside led to the interior, -whither we slowly ascended, the wind and the rain beating on us as we -went. We were shown to our room by a slovenly young woman with a strong -Hibernian accent, evidently a late importation from the Emerald isle. It -was much more comfortably furnished than we had expected from general -appearances. Having relieved ourselves of our wet clothes, we went in -search of supper, and, after groping our way through the empty -ill-lighted passages, found a long low room illuminated by rows of tiny -oil-lamps--the dingiest of dingy apartments, with tables spread, and -surrounded by hungry troops of travellers. - -There was not much to eat, indeed nothing but leathery slabs of ham, -fried eggs, and flabby omelettes; the thunder had turned the milk sour, -so the coffee and tea was served plain, while soda and seltzer water -popped and sputtered on all sides of us. - -The beds were fairly comfortable, and we arose the next morning to find -a smiling sky promising a fair day for the trip down the Ocklawaha -river. - -A little train (not a “narrow-gauge,” we were thankful to find) bore us -from Ocala to Silver Springs. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - The “Okeehumkee.”--The Silver Springs.--The weird wonders of the - Ocklawaha. - - -A queer-looking stumpy boat yclept the “Okeehumkee” was waiting for us -at the head of the “Silver Springs.” The vessel was short and broad, -like a monstrous beetle with its legs cut off; it was made to fit and -float on the “Ocklawaha” river and nowhere else. We stepped first on to -a lower deck--crowded with coils of ropes and poles, and the -miscellaneous belongings of the queer little craft--which was occupied -by the engineers, stokers, and other stray hands, who helped to work the -vessel; there was a big boiler, and a little engine, and a tiny cupboard -of a kitchen, where operations for our mid-day meal were being -vigorously carried on. - -Ascending a narrow flight of steps we are on the bow of the vessel--a -wide balcony which occupies the entire front; behind this, and entered -by two glass doors from the balcony is the saloon, bayfronted with -windows all round, comfortably furnished with sofas and easy chairs, -and two round tables. Opening from this again is a narrow passage -running through to the end of the boat, on each side of which is a row -of tiny cabins--about twelve in all, narrowing towards the stern. There -is what is called “accommodation” for a score or so of tourists. Foolish -people think they are fortunate if they can secure a “berth;” they don’t -know how much may be left of them in the morning. Mosquitoes are a -hungry race, and make a meal of the sleeper. He goes to bed fair and -well to look at; when he gets up in the morning he can scarcely -recognise his own face! Wise people sit up all night, and when they are -tired of the wonderful scenery (which is illuminated at night by huge -flaming pine logs which blaze from a great iron cauldron just above the -balcony) they doze in easy chairs, or roll themselves up like mummies -and sleep on the sofas. Some sit up on the balcony all night smoking, -and at intervals singing snatches of old songs, which fall pleasantly on -the drowsy ears of the sleepers. - -I wonder if I can convey to any one an idea of the Ocklawaha river! It -can be compared with no other river that I have ever seen, heard, or -read of, and its fairest wonders are at our starting point, Silver -Springs. Looking forward I see nothing but a wide expanse of pale green -water. Our steamer gives a series of short asthmatic puffs, and we are -moving slowly over the surface of the Silver Springs--so slowly we are -scarcely conscious of any movement at all. We lean over the side of the -vessel, and look down upon a world of wonders; we can hardly believe -that it is really water we are passing through. It seems as though all -the jewels from all quarters of the globe had been gathered together and -melted down, and poured into the great earth hollow we are gliding over. -The spring is eighty feet deep, the water so clear that the sweet fairy -flowers at the bottom of it seem to lie close at hand; you feel as -though you could lean over and pluck one from the bed, which seems to be -formed of holes, arches, and deep crevasses of many-coloured rocks; -variegated blues and greens and greys, all amalgamating together, -beneath the soft rippling water, give it the many brilliant, -ever-changing hues, till we feel as though we were sailing through a -stream of liquid gems--opals and emeralds, amethysts and -sapphires--enough to make gorgeous the purple robes of all the kings of -all the earth. Submerged trees are standing tall and strong in this -watery world; long ribbon grasses are gracefully waving as though -stirred by the breath of some fair floating Undine, and starry white -flowers open their blue eyes dreamily as we glide slowly over their -silent home. Silver scaled fish dart in and out from among the tall -reeds and rocky islets, and infant turtles with their ugly awkward -little bodies propel themselves along; while thin, long-bladed fish -flash hither and thither like sharp swords wielded by invisible hands, -crossing and recrossing, parrying, and thrusting--coming within a -hairsbreadth, but never smiting. - -Our wee craft is only too brief a time crossing this “pool of wonders;” -then we seem to be running straight into a wilderness--a veritable bit -of the forest primeval--where a tangle of dense “hammock” seems to stop -our watery way, but by a sudden turn our little vessel strikes an -opening and takes us out of the Silver Springs, and on to the river. - -Thenceforth all the day long we are gliding through the sweetest, -loveliest water lane in all the world; winding in and out through -mysterious wooded wilds--crooked and full of sudden turns and odd -angles. We wonder how our queer little “Okeehumkee” finds her way along; -we fancy she must be jointed like an eel, or she could never wriggle her -way through this leafy labyrinth. Sometimes, indeed often, she runs her -snout against the shore, and the services of a huge black Titan, “Joe,” -are called into action; he jumps off the boat, and prods and pushes with -a long pole till we are off again. Sometimes the river ties itself into -a knot, but the little craft somehow threads her way through the loops -and bows, and comes out at the other end of it. - -There are no banks on either side of this marvellous Ocklawaha river; -the water runs on a level with the shore. Dense masses of jungle and -wild forest lands sweep down and close it on either side with their -leafy embrace; so closely they clasp it, that often we cannot see a foot -of water on either side of us, and the branches of the fine old trees -reach their long arms across and interlock one with the other forming a -grand overarching avenue above our heads. It is so narrow here and there -that it seems as though by some strange magical process the green earth -had been liquefied purely for our accommodation in passing through, and -anon the stream spreads out like a shining silver mirror in the heart of -a jungle of overhanging trees. - -Never was there such variety of scenery on a single river; it seems as -though Nature had gathered all her forces here just to show how much she -could do with her few favourite allies--the forest, rock, and stream. -The trees are marching with us side by side, executing strange -manœuvres as we pass along, nodding their proud heads, and waving -their blessing arms above us; now it is a regiment of tall pines, the -bright lances of sunlight glinting and flashing between their boughs; -then there is an awkward squad of scrub oaks, magnolias, and gums, lofty -palms and dwarf palmettoes, with long grasses and all kinds of brilliant -vegetation crowding about their roots, and luxuriant vines and shining -mistletoe clinging and climbing round their naked trunks, clothing them -with rich verdure, and lost at last in their leafy coronals. All the -glowing growth of the forest seems locked and interlocked together, as -though the sons of the wilderness were engaged in a wrestling match, -trying which could first uproot the other from the ancient soil. Now we -face a phalanx of veteran oaks, clothed utterly, and their green boughs -hidden, beneath mantles of beautiful Spanish moss; generally it is of -deep mourning grey, and hangs like a nun’s veil gently swayed by the -passing wind, then it is of a more silvery hue, but always down -drooping, as though the iron grey beards of millions of men had been -shorn off and flung thither in sport by some wandering wind. -Occasionally we come upon masses of strange and wonderful moss; it is -long, fibrous, and shining, and hangs in wavy tresses like the golden -hair of a woman, as though some sweet Ophelia had been floating down the -river, and the envious branches, determined that _all_ should not be -lost, stooped downwards, caught and tangled her glistening tresses, -while the tide bore the fair form slowly on and the soft breeze still -murmurs mournfully “drowned, drowned, drowned.” - -Here and there the scene widens, and half-a-dozen little fussy tributary -streams hurry out from their mysterious depths to join the quiet -Ocklawaha in its dreamy flow, and we push our way for a while through an -extensive watery plain, where reeds and grasses, and fair white lilies, -twine their delicate fibres together and try to stop our progress; but -we break through the pretty network as though it were a spider’s web, -and puff our ruthless way out of it. Now there are a flight of small, -bright-plumaged birds, with the heron in pursuit, or a volley of -long-necked cranes shoot with their discordant cry across our path, and -an elderly stork, judging from the length of his legs, stands at a safe -distance and watches us from the shore. - -We glance up half-a-dozen narrow water lanes, take a sudden turn, and -plunge again into the wilderness. A great ugly alligator, who has been -sunning himself on a fallen tree trunk, lifts his horny eyelids -stupidly, and lazily slips under the water as we come puffing along. We -are constantly coming upon these revolting creatures in the most -unexpected places. Sometimes their leaden eyes simply stare, or they -open their spiky mouths, as though they would like to swallow us, and -don’t stir. Familiarity breeds contempt. I suppose they have got so used -to having their privacy invaded by our odd little steamer that they -conclude it is only a friendly monster like themselves, and won’t do -them any harm. Time was when the “bang, bang” of the sportsman’s gun -went echoing through these solitudes; but now tourists are forbidden to -shoot alligators or any other thing from the decks of the Ocklawaha -boats. - -Sometimes we catch sight of a huge black snake wriggling its way up from -the water and through the long grass till it vanishes from our sight; -for it is here in these luxuriant and mysterious wilds that Nature hides -the most hideous of her progeny. Creeping things and poisonous reptiles, -that we shudder to think of, have their homes in these brilliant and -luxuriant solitudes--the secret haunts of all-bountiful Nature, where -man will not dare to penetrate. Or if he does he is seized by the foul -fever-fiend, malaria, and faints and falls in the slimy swamps, with a -creation of loathsome nameless things for his death companions. - -We make our way through a coil of green and are again in the narrow -mazes of the mazy stream. Here and there at long intervals we pass a -solitary landing-place, which leads by mule-tracks to some sort of -civilisation far in the interior. Nobody gets off the vessel, nobody -comes aboard. I don’t believe anybody ever does. Why should they, unless -they wanted to establish relations with the friendly alligators, study -their lives and write their biographies, or be lost in the wilderness? -Now we come to a tall pine with a tiny red box impaled upon its trunk, -bearing the inscription _U. S. A. Mail_; this is the post office for the -convenience of people passing up and down the river. We are the mail, -but there are no letters for us to-day. - -Presently we pass a dilapidated log-hut; its owner, a long-limbed -stalwart-looking negro, lounges in the doorway smoking his pipe. He -comes down to the boat and receives a hamper of provisions and a bundle -of tobacco. He gives us in exchange a bundle of the “vanilla plant”--a -weedy growth on the low-lying grounds of the Ocklawaha, and it is -largely used to adulterate the cheap chewing tobacco. It is gathered in -great quantities by the natives, who derive a very good revenue from the -business. Soon there is a general stir, a buzz goes round, everybody -crowds to the bow of the boat on the look out for the wonderful “Cypress -Gate,” through which we shall soon be passing. Two tall straight cypress -trees loom upon our sight; they stand one on each side of the river like -lofty Grecian columns supporting a leafy dome above our heads, and -framing the earth and sky beyond. So narrow is this natural gateway, -that as our little boat glides through it is within an inch of the land -on either side. - -At one o’clock precisely the dinner is served. The cosy little saloon is -transformed into a commodious dining-room; the small round tables are -drawn out and covered with a snowy cloth and shining glass and silver, -while a goodly array of appetising things are set thereon. There are -fowls and cutlets, pure and simple, crisp salads, a variety of -vegetables, and such a dessert! Such delicious puddings and pies, tarts -and _compotes_, quite an _embarras de richesses_ indeed! One wonders -how so many gastronomic delights can be conjured out of our very limited -surroundings. There are no wines to be obtained on board; those who wish -to indulge in those luxuries must supply themselves. Our comforts are -well looked after; at six o’clock the tables are again spread with cold -meats, ham and eggs, and tea and coffee. - -As soon as possible we are out on the balcony again; and for all the -long day we glide through this tropical wonderland, some new fantastic -beauty flashing upon us at every turn. Now the foliage is so dense that -the gleams of sunlight lose themselves in the luxuriant mass, and try in -vain to reach us; looking upwards we see a narrow strip of sky, like a -band of ribbon, intensely blue, lacing the tall tree tops together -overhead. Then the shores widen out, and the marshy land is covered with -broad-bladed grass; the wild savannahs and forests are driven back, and -a lofty pine stands solitary in a lonely place like an advance-guard -thrown out from an army of green. Again we are plunged in a tangled -wilderness where cypress, pine, and palm, swarm down upon us and again -line the banks of the river, and multitudes of strange forms dazzle our -eyes and bewilder our imagination. It is growing dusky, and wild weird -shapes float out of the depths and fill our minds with strange fancies. -The whole forest seems marching to some wild tune which the wind is -playing; the long, vine-wreathed branches twine and sway and circle and -swing in the twilight, like a troop of dancing girls, new born from -their silent depths, their white arms flashing and curving, while the -soft silver moss falls like a veil, hiding their laughing faces. They -come out from the gloom like a phantasmagoria of living beauty down to -the water’s edge; then they fade, mingle with earth, air, and sky, and -we are in the wilderness again. - -The night is closing in; there is no moon, but the small bright stars -are trembling like heavenly fruit scattered over the dusky skies, and -earth and river and forest blend together in one black mystery. There is -nothing left of our most perfect day but its memory; it has quite faded -away--lost, swallowed up in the dark wilderness behind us. - -Some of our fellow passengers retire to the saloon as soon as the -daylight fades, and stand with their noses flattened against the saloon -window to see what follows. A scanty few of us, wrapped in shawls and -cloaks (for it has grown chilly, even cold), gather upon the balcony, -and watch for the illumination that is to come; and now a general -exchange of civilities begins. One brings out a supply of quinine and -administers small doses all round; another luxuriates in a constant -shower of toilet vinegar; one walks up and down like a polar bear, -diving now and then into the depths of his coat pockets, and produces -lozenges, or sticky somethings that are a “sure antidote for -malaria”--for we are in the very heart of its dominions, there is no -doubt about that. The sunlight keeps the foul fiend down, hidden away -beneath the rich, rank luxuriance that delights the eye with its tangled -brilliance; but so soon as the sun goes down it rises, an invisible -ghost, and mingles subtly with the air we breathe, and attacks us from -our weakest points. Therefore we arm ourselves against it, and drench -ourselves with antidotes, inside and out. One gentleman, whose sole -object in life seems to be the nursing of his own infirmities, appears -like a wild Indian clothed in his cabin blankets, with his nose buried -in a huge bottle of camphorated spirits. I believe it is tied on like a -horse-bag. - -Soon the huge pine knots are lighted on the top of the pilot house above -our heads, and a brilliant flame flares out upon the night and, for a -moment, every tree, every leaf, is clearly defined, like a bas-relief -flung out from a world of darkness. The blaze flickers and flashes and -fades, and, for a moment, we glide through leafy obscurity, which seems -to have grown darker from the light that has departed. In silent majesty -the grand old forest is gliding past us with muffled steps and hidden -features--a shrouded army, marching through the silent night. Then, -again, our pine fire lights up the skies, and illuminates the -surrounding scenery with flashes of red and green and blue and yellow; -then all commingling fade into one white glare; frightened birds are -scared from their secret nests, and flutter, with melancholy cries, for -a second above our heads, and then are swallowed up in the darkness. Now -the blue flame flashes up to the great tree tops, then darts downward -like a fiery serpent, and up some narrow winding water lane, and, for a -second, a thousand weird forms float before our eyes, and change and -fade and melt into nothingness. The negroes passing to and fro upon the -lower deck, their black faces and shining eyes illumined by the red -glare, look like gnomes or demons labouring in their enchanted fires. - -Through these mysterious lights and shadows, ever changing, ever -varying, now suggesting veiled apparitions from another world, now -bathed in the glory of this, we pass till long after midnight, when we -are out of the labyrinth of the Ocklawaha, and back in the broad stream -of the St. John’s river. Several of us are sitting up on deck with our -baggage, ready to be transferred to the St. John’s river boat, which we -expect every moment to meet. Presently, out of the dense black, a silver -glare of light looms slowly on our sight. It is the electric lamp of the -expected steamer. Nearer and nearer looms the dim giant hulk of the big -vessel. We signal three shrill shrieks, “Will you stop and take -passengers aboard?” They signal back three demoniacal yells, “Yes.” - -She comes alongside and stops. We speedily transfer ourselves from the -“Okeehumkee” to one of the splendid “De Bary” line of steamers which ply -up and down the St. John’s river. Many people make their arrangements so -as to sleep at Palatka, and take the St. John’s river boat from that, -its starting place early in the morning; but to us it was a great saving -of time to meet it on its way. There are two ways of enjoying the -Ocklawaha river excursion: one is to take the boat at Palatka, which -starts at eight o’clock in the morning, and reaches Silver Springs about -seven o’clock on the next. It remains there about two hours, in order -that its passengers may, if they please, take a row boat--there are -plenty there for hire--and row about the spring, making a closer -inspection of its wonders than they could possibly do from the deck of -the steamer. It starts again on its return journey about nine o’clock, -and reaches Palatka in the small hours of the following morning; but the -sleeping passengers are not disturbed, except by their own desire, till -the usual hour of rising. The return down the river, as the tide is with -them, takes some hours less time than the upward journey. Some people -prefer spending the two days and nights on the boat, as, by this means, -they have a daylight view of every feature of the river. The other way -is to follow our example: sleep at Ocala, and take the return journey -only. Ocala has every possibility of developing into an important place; -as yet it is new, but it is improving day by day. A large hotel is -building close to the railway station, which promises well for future -tourists. - -As we exchange parting civilities with our travelling companions on -leaving the Ocklawaha boat, they lean over the rails, waving their -handkerchiefs, and wishing us “Good night,” and “_Bon voyage_.” They -puff on their way, illuminating the widening waters as they go. We watch -the dear little “Okeehumkee” puff itself out of sight; then enter the -large luxurious saloon, which is empty now and dimly lighted. Everybody -has retired to rest, not a sound is stirring any where, and the thick -carpet smothers our footsteps as we follow our dusky guide to our -cabins, which are really charming little rooms with large, comfortable -beds. Worn out with the excitements of our long, delightful day, we are -soon wrapped in a dreamless sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - Picturesque scenery on St. John’s river.--“Sickening for the fever, - ma’am?”--The inland lakes.--A pair of elderly turtle doves.--Sport - on the Indian river. - - -In the morning we wake early, and find ourselves on the vast expanse of -the St. John’s river, which curves and circles round and about the level -land, stretching away before and behind us till it sheathes itself like -a silver lance in the horizon. It is a glorious day, with the bluest of -blue skies, and the sun pouring down a flood of silver light. No other -craft is in sight, we have the river all to ourselves; but a score or -two of beautiful, long-billed, white herons rise up from the marshy -land, and majestically wheel in slow graceful curves in the air above -our heads, and then take their flight southward. - -We have not long enjoyed our stroll upon the empty deck when the bell -rings and we are summoned to breakfast; there are scarcely a dozen -passengers aboard this boat, where there is comfortable accommodation -for several hundreds, but our numbers increase as the day goes on. - -A capital breakfast is prepared for us--broiled chickens, mushrooms, and -fresh fish just taken from the river; these boats pride themselves on -the good living they afford their passengers. Our captain, a big, burly -man, sits at the head of the table and motions for us to take our seats -beside him. He glances at us from under his brows, and bestows on us a -beaming smile and brief “Good morning;” then applies himself vigorously -to the knife and fork business, and eats and smiles persistently -throughout the meal. But he does not talk; conversation evidently is not -his strong point, but navigation is. He once opens his mouth -professionally. A much bewhiskered young fellow, who speaks without -thinking, ventures to suggest that on this smooth river the vessel might -be commanded by a “sleeping partner.” The captain wheels round and -answers sternly, - -“Sir, I have passed my life on the St. John’s river, and I assure you -the navigation of the high seas is child’s play compared to the -navigation of the St. John’s river.” Silence follows this stern rebuke. - -It is evident that sociability will form no part of our day’s diversion. -Although humankind is so sparsely represented, we carry a few score of -pigs below, and they keep up a grunting chorus among themselves. Among -the passengers grouped round the breakfast table is one fierce-looking -individual with ginger-coloured hair, and fat, clean-shaven face, who -evidently likes to hear himself talk; he invades the general silence, -and speaks like an oracle, flings down his opinion as though it were a -challenging gauntlet, and defies any one to take it up. We have most of -us some friend with similar characteristics, with whom conversation is -simply impossible, though they are always armed and ready for a game of -contradiction. Advance an argument, or venture on a ripple of pleasant -small talk, as modestly as you may, your arguments are knocked down one -after the other, like ninepins, as fast as you set them up, and your -rippling talk is swamped in a wave of fine phrases. I ventured on three -observations, mere commonplaces, which were politely waived aside. I was -a woman and a stranger, and so escaped flat contradiction. As one after -the other we drifted from the table somebody said, in a grumbling -undertone, - -“That fellow ought to be flung overboard; he’s no fit company for -travelling Christians.” - -“Before the day’s over he’ll get a lick the rough side of my tongue, you -bet,” said somebody else. - -I am happy to say that performance was not carried out, as the obnoxious -person, in company with a score of fat hogs, got off at the first -landing-stage, and a woman with a large family of small children came -on. These kept things lively the whole day long. She lived in the -constant fear that one or other of her progeny would fall overboard; -they did not have a moment’s peace of their lives; she was always at -their heels, diving after them, fishing them out of odd nooks and -corners whither childish curiosity led them. We settled ourselves down -in the bow of the boat to take general observations of the scenery we -were passing through. - -The St. John’s is a magnificent river, winding, widening, and wandering, -now through low-lying marshy lands, now through fine forests of live -oaks, festooned with Spanish moss, or decorated with graceful vines, -twisting and curling fantastically round them, alternated with tangles -of cypress, sweet gums, and stately palm; through wild savannahs, and -groves of shining orange-trees, and here and there past pretty villages -and beautiful homes with blooming gardens reaching down and drooping -their rich blossoms over the water. From each of these there generally -runs out a tiny pier--for everybody likes to have a landing stage in his -own possession--with a fleet of small boats, with gay flags and striped -awning, anchored thereto. But these are rare features in the passing -landscape; it is only now and then, at rare intervals, we are refreshed -with these sweet home views. - -The scenery on either side of the river is picturesque, and rarely -romantic throughout; and yet in no single feature does it bear any -resemblance to the weird wildness of the Ocklawaha. In many places it -is six miles wide, and is seldom less than one; the current is slow, and -it moves with feeble pulsations on its course; it is never flustered or -stirred to headlong rashness, it creeps quietly, with a grand placidity, -round anything that lies in its way, never dashes or tumbles over it; no -wind can lash it into fury, no storms disturb its sweet tranquillity; it -is more like a long chain of lakes and lagoons, fed from a thousand -springs, than a restless river. Perhaps it owes some of its placidity to -the fact that it flows the wrong way, and by no human agency can it ever -be set right. Unlike the rest of the American rivers, it flows due -north; the why and the wherefore is one of Nature’s mysteries. It is -always spacious and majestic: here a tiny island with a crown of green -foliage studs its surface; there tall reeds and rushes and wide-leaved -grasses sway in the slow-flowing current, as though they have wandered -from the land, and are trying to save themselves from drowning. Not -unfrequently the river rises out of its natural bed and overflows the -low-lying banks on either side till the land seems covered with tiny -lakelets. All sorts of queer birds, long necked, long legged, long -billed, some with snowy plumage, some grey, some with red bills and -golden green wings, flamingoes and curlews fly overhead, and -solemn-looking storks stand meditating on the watery shore. If we -approach too near some of the conglomeration of odd-looking birds throw -out their long necks, elongate their unwieldy-looking bodies, rise -gracefully and wheel in slow gyrations over our head till they are lost -in the distance. - -So far as the eye can reach there are rolling lands covered everywhere -with a dense growth of vegetation, large tracks covered with marshy -grasses, and maiden cane, which is a spurious kind of sugar cane, grows -to the height of twelve or fifteen feet, and resembles a waving field of -ripening corn. Here and there are clumps of dwarf palmettoes, tall -pines, dog-wood, and sweet gums, stretching away till they are lost in -the distant horizon. Looking back we see the zig-zag of the stream -curling and curving in watery hieroglyphics behind us. The whole journey -through this long river of many hundred miles is most picturesque and -interesting--a constant panorama of tropical scenery and strange animal -life. The alligators we see on the shores of this river are much larger -than those on the Ocklawaha; they are more shy, too, and don’t let us -get near them. We have no chance of studying their physiognomies here, -for, as we approach, we see a black mass like an animated tree trunk -skurrying and splashing head-foremost into the water. In watching the -animate and inanimate life along these shores it is impossible to find a -moment’s monotony anywhere. - -The skies are intensely blue, the sunshine glorious; a golden haze, -born of the sun’s intensity and the green earth’s responsive gladness, -falls like a shining veil everywhere. Surrounded by such scenes at such -a season, one is apt to fall into a contemplative mood. I was roused -from a state of this drowsy kind of day dreaming by having a bottle of -some medicated salts thrust under my nose, and a voice at my elbow -inquiring with tender solicitude: - -“You’re looking pale; sickening for the fever, ma’am?” - -I devoutly hoped not. - -“Just recovering from it, then?” added my interlocutor. - -This I could emphatically deny. I inquired, with a touch of irritation, -did a visit to Florida necessitate an attack of malarial fever; and was -answered-- - -“Well, ma’am, most people du hev it ef they stay long enough.” - -We were growing accustomed to this inquiry, “Have you had the fever?” -Everybody asked it; at the same time everybody informed us there was no -malaria there in their own immediate surroundings, it existed in the -place we had left, and in the place we were going to; it was never -present with us; it had been yesterday, or would be to-morrow, but it -was never to-day. It reminded us of the jam in _Through the -Looking-glass_: “Jam yesterday, and jam to-morrow, but never, never any -jam to-day.” - -People who ought to know have stated that malaria is unknown at any -season in any part of Florida, and have written volumes in support of -this assertion. Perhaps it may be called by another name; certainly no -one can travel through the low-lying districts of the St. John’s River, -or, indeed, through any portion of semi-tropical Florida, without -realising the fact that, amid all the rich luxuriance, the brilliant -sunshine, and soft sweet airs, the fever fiend lies concealed, like the -serpent hidden beneath the joys of paradise, biding its time, waiting -till the hot summer days are swooning among the flowers. - -Of course there are some places which at all seasons are more free from -malarial disturbances than others. Fernandina may especially be -mentioned, and St. Augustine. Jacksonville, and the regions of the -Tallahassee country, though certainly liable to invasion, yet usually -present a clean bill of health all the year round. But we will indulge -in a retrospective view of Florida hereafter; at present we are on the -St. John’s River, enjoying the most perfect _dolce far niente_, with no -thought beyond the hour, and don’t care to be interrupted even for the -very necessary operation of eating. The sound of the dinner bell is a -disturbing element, but we must perforce obey its summons; though the -mind can be fed on fair sunshine and fine scenery, the body requires -more substantial support. On board this boat, and I believe on all that -line of river steamers, there is uncommonly good feeding; the meals are -excellently well and abundantly served. We “get through” as quickly as -possible, and station ourselves again on deck. - -We stop at all the landing stages to take in freight; sometimes it is -man, sometimes it is mutton, the fruits of the earth, or the fruits of -human kind. From some unexplained reason we make quite a long stop at -“Saratoga,” a pretty little settlement lying along the east shore of the -river. It is a striking contrast to that fashionable Saratoga, far away -in the eastern province, with its gigantic hotels, its luxuries, its -trim promenades, its music, its whirl of gaiety, and rush and roar of -animated life--a seething cauldron of perfumed humanity, highly -decorated and ready for daily sacrifice on the altar of fashion. There -it is art, or nature clipped and twisted and trained, so far from its -original simplicity, that you cannot recognise a single feature--in -fact, Nature in masquerade; in brilliant, gorgeous masquerade, it is -true, but hiding the naked loveliness of Nature’s self. Who could -recognise the chaste beauty of a “Venus di Medici” beneath Worth’s -latest costume, with decorations of Tiffany’s brightest jewels? Here is -Nature’s purest self in her own Arcadian simplicity, clothed with golden -orange groves and blooming gardens, aglow with brilliant-hued flowers -running all along the river side, nodding at their own shadows in the -stream. No belles nor beaux stroll through these lovely solitudes; not a -petticoat is in sight; only a few coloured folk are working in the -gardens, as our father Adam worked in our lost inheritance, “the Garden -of Eden.” The bees are gathering honey, and the invisible insect world -seems all astir, filling the air with a dreamy drowsy hum, just stirring -the waves of silence to a soft, low-uttered harmony. Some few of our -fellow passengers go ashore and ramble among the groves for half an -hour, when they return loaded with the luscious fruit, which they seem -to enjoy all the more having been allowed to gather all they desired for -themselves. - -We steam on for a few miles, when we come to Welaka, one of the -healthiest localities of the state. It stands on a high bluff, fringed -with a magnificent growth of live oaks, clothed in their own beautiful -robes of green, undecorated by the grey Spanish moss, which, while -adding to the graceful appearance of the trees, tells plainly that the -malarial fiend is lurking somewhere near. In this locality is grown some -of the finest oranges in the state, as the soil is rich and dry, and all -the conditions are favourable to their successful cultivation. Directly -opposite the landing stage is the mouth of the wonderful Ocklawaha, -whose weird depths we have so lately penetrated. Three miles farther on -we reach Norwalk, a primitive landing place, where there seems nothing -to land for, and nowhere to go to when you have landed. But the -settlement, it seems, is laid more than a mile back from the river, and -is rather an important little town, the neighbourhood producing a large -amount of garden vegetables and fruits. Very few orange growers settle -in that location; very few tourists visit it; it is a simple city of -homes; it has the regulation number of schools (indeed the simplest -hamlet is well off on that score, the means for education are freely -scattered throughout the length and breadth of the land; the poorest -tillers of the land or toilers of the sea have no excuse for ignorance), -churches, banks, etc., and a thriving population of busy workers. It is -at this point the lower St. John’s river ends, and we pass into a narrow -crooked channel, varying from forty to several hundred feet wide. Here -the water loses its clear opaline blue, and reflects the clouds in dark -murky shadows. This dingy colour of the water, they say, is owing to the -rich, rank vegetation of this tropical region of the St. John’s river. -Everywhere the shores are covered with dense forests of oak, cypress, -willow, etc., interlaced with gigantic vines, some barren, some bearing -a rich fruitage of sweet wild grapes. The grey Spanish moss hangs from -the green branches, and reeds, rushes, and all kinds of long tropical -grasses form an impenetrable jungle down to the water’s edge--nay, -encroach upon the water’s self and sway gently on its surface; and -flowers of immense size and brilliant colours are abundant everywhere; -they spread over the surface of the water, and flourish on the vines, on -the trees, on everything or on nothing, for we catch an occasional -glimpse of the mysterious golden-hued air plant among the luxuriant -green foliage. Here, too, the alligators and other hideous river -reptiles abound, but you must have sharp eyes to get a glimpse of them, -for as the steamer approaches they hurry back, and dive under the water, -or hide upon the land. This dense jungle scenery is apt to give one an -idea that we are going through some of Nature’s primeval solitudes, her -secret haunts, impenetrable and uninhabitable for the human race. But -that is a wrong idea; this is the low-lying valley region; the ground -slopes upwards from the water’s edge, and within a mile or two--nay, -sometimes much nearer, only a few hundred yards away from the -waterside--are wide clearings where some adventurous pioneer has -squatted and made his home, and cultivates the land, his own not by -right of purchase, but possession. Only a few hundred yards from the -malarial region you may breathe pure, healthful air. - -We soon emerge from these luxuriant picturesque regions, and are on the -wide river again. Rarely has one river so many phases as this -world-famous St. John’s; the scenery is always changing--a series of -panoramic views, land and water, combining to make one whole of -picturesque loveliness. We stop at two or three more unimportant -landing-places, pass some neat, solitary homes and thriving orange -groves, and then reach Georgetown, the entrance to Lake St. George. Here -a party of gentlemen with dogs and guns come on board. They are going on -a sporting expedition up the Indian river into wilder regions than we -dare to penetrate; for although the Indian river region is well known -and thoroughly appreciated, it is visited by very few tourists or -strangers, it being difficult of access, necessitating several days’ -water travelling, and the accommodation for travellers being of the -roughest description, and even then only to be obtained at rare -intervals. To make amends, however, for the scarcity of places of public -entertainment, the inhabitants are most hospitable, and a guest chamber -is generally reserved in even the humblest farmhouse, where the stranger -is always made welcome to the best the house affords. This kind of -primitive casual entertainment is often far preferable to the gilded -glories of the stereotyped hotel. These Indian river regions are more -sparsely populated than those of St. John’s; this too is owing to its -general inaccessibility, for nowhere in all the state is there a richer -or more fertile soil calculated for the growth of cereals of all kinds, -fruits, vegetables, and sugar-cane attaining sometimes to sixteen feet -high--a single stalk yielding more than a gallon of juice; and cacao, -date, cocoanut, ginger, cassava, and yams may be cultivated with equal -profit. The river affords rare sport for the fishermen, for it abounds -with a great variety of fish, and is remarkable for its superb mullet, -weighing from three to nine pounds, and measuring from fifteen to twenty -inches in length. Turtling is also largely carried on, and is a most -lucrative business. The splendid hammock lands all along the Indian -river have a magnificent growth of hickory, mulberry, red elm, iron -wood, and crab wood; both the latter are finely grained, and capable of -receiving a fine polish. The surrounding woods abound with small game -and deer, and occasionally a small black bear shows himself, while wild -cats and such-like creatures may be found without much difficulty by -those who seek them, and sometimes they make themselves more free than -welcome to those who do not. Not infrequently a panther appears upon the -scene, and is seldom allowed to retire unmolested to his den. It is -hardly necessary to state that the whole of this fertile Indian river -region is far below the frost line--the general temperature all the year -round being about 75°, though it has been known on rare occasions to -rise to 90° or fall to 55°. But we must draw our thoughts from the -Indian river and continue on our way; we are now upon Lake St. George. -Slowly we steam across this magnificent sheet of water, one of the -loveliest and most interesting of all the lakes in Florida; it is six -miles wide by fourteen miles long. These lovely lakes, of all shapes and -sizes, are scattered throughout the central region of Florida; they vary -from smooth, pleasant-looking pools of about an acre, hidden away in the -heart of the pine woods, to the spacious lakes of fifty miles. They all -lie far away from the large rivers and the sea-shore, and have always -pleasant if not especially attractive surroundings; their shores are -generally slightly rolling, and covered with palmetto or pine, or -sometimes the grassy slopes are outlined by a thick tangle of jungle in -the distance. Orange Lake County is one of the famous inland lake -districts. In the neighbourhood of Interlaken and Oceola the lakes are -most numerous; looking in any direction a dozen or more pretty lakelets -may be seen, and from one special spot in Maitland no less than nine -large lakes are visible. Farther South, still in the centre of the -peninsula, and surrounded by fine hammock lands (which always indicate -the richest soil), are several other beautiful lakes--Conway, Cypress, -Kissimmee, and Tohopekalaga and many more, large and small. The country -is prairie-like, and the vegetation throughout this extensive region -purely tropical, though as yet it is very sparsely populated. -Civilisation has not had time to develop the means of transport, and the -lands are lying waste, only waiting till the spirit of cultivation -sweeps that way. - -In this brief allusion to the lake regions, which constitute so special -a feature in the peninsula of Florida, I have made no mention of the -numerous springs of sparkling waters which dot the whole surface of the -land; in some cases they are like little lakelets, in some cases they -are springs of pure water, in others the water is medicated. - -Most of the lake shores in Orange County are dotted with pretty homes -embowered in green trees, their smooth lawns and flower gardens running -down to the water’s edge. Lake Okechobee covers an area of nearly seven -hundred square miles, and is the largest in the state; it is at the very -farthest point South, and penetrates into the region of the Everglades. - -Here, on Lake St. George, wild ducks and all kinds of water fowl seem as -numerous as butterflies on a warm summer’s day. Some of our fellow -travellers amuse themselves by shooting the wild ducks, and a hybrid -young darkie, who seems as much at home in the water as out of it, dives -down head foremost, and fishes them out, and seems to enjoy the fun of -it. - -There was one couple on board who attracted general attention by their -frank and unreserved appreciation of each others’ charms. They were not -young, they were not beautiful; they were a kind of attenuated edition -of the renowned Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Wardle. _He_ wore glasses, and the -tender passion filtered through a pair of green spectacles loses -somewhat of its romance. They were evidently veterans in the art of -amorous warfare; he sat with his arm round her waist, and carried on his -wooing through the medium of a bottle of champagne; they drank out of -one glass, and worked slowly to the bottom of it, and then called for -more. Some kinds of clay will bear a great deal of soaking. - -While we are still steaming along this beautiful river, past widening -valleys, through thickets of dense shrubberies interlaced with gigantic -vines, night closes in and shuts the wild picturesque scenery from our -view. All wise people retire to the saloon, where somebody makes a -feeble attempt to get up a concert; but as there are no singers and no -audience to speak of the idea is abandoned and everybody goes to bed. - -To make an entire exploration of the St. John’s river involves about -eight hundred miles of travel, which, however, is never wearisome, as -the scenery shifts and changes at every turn, and the boat is a most -comfortable floating home; any one who is not well satisfied with the -arrangement and accommodation must be very hard to please. As we are -nearing our journey’s end we meet another party of sportsmen returning -from an excursion up the Indian river. On board their boat they have -about one hundred gigantic turtles, the weight of each one being legibly -marked on its back; they were conveying them to Jacksonville, to be -shipped thence to the northern markets. - -We had intended to leave the boat at Enterprise and spend a few days -there rambling about the country and familiarising ourselves with the -scenery of the surrounding neighbourhood. However, we were doomed to -disappointment, for on arriving there we find the place deserted, the -hotel closed, and no prospect of entertainment until October, when it -will reopen for the season. - -Our captain suggests that there are some fruit-growers or small farmers -in the neighbourhood who would make us welcome and put us up comfortably -for a few days; but although we know that hospitality is boundless in -these regions, we do not feel disposed to take advantage of it. Some of -our fellow-passengers go ashore, intending to camp out and make their -way across to the Indian river settlement. We spend a delightful three -days and nights upon the river, and return to Jacksonville. It is late -in the evening when we arrive; we sleep once more at our delightful -hotel, and take the early morning train for New Orleans, where we hope -to arrive in about two days. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - Retrospective.--A critical conductor.--Montgomery.--Train wreckers - at work.--Weird scenes in the moonlight.--Silent watchers.--“Wild - Cat” train to New Orleans. - - -In the light of the early morning we bid adieu to Florida, its fruits, -its flowers, its sunshine and its people. We have found our own -country-people largely represented in all parts of the state, and -everywhere they are doing well, and look healthy, happy, bright and -contented; and on all sides we see evidence of their thrift, industry, -and general prosperity. We inquire to whom belongs some lovely extensive -orange groves, or some picturesque luxurious dwelling, and we are told -to “some English settlers,” who perhaps began with a shanty in the -wilderness, and have transformed it into an earthly paradise of peace -and plenty. Then a thriving farm, with its abundant cattle, its corn or -cotton-fields, and peach or pine orchards stretching away till they are -lost in the distance; the farmer is a man from the “old country”--in -fact, wherever the Anglo-Saxon spirit stirs, prosperity follows: “When -he sets his hand to the plough he doeth it with all his might.” There -are very few Irish in Florida, in fact so few that when the familiar -accent greets our ears it sounds strange to us in these latitudes, and -we turn round to look at the speaker. Their scanty numbers is somewhat -surprising, as nowhere could the tide of immigration set in with such -promise of success; indeed here is a veritable “Tom Tiddler’s ground,” -it needs but the shovel and pickaxe to turn over the soil, when all who -will may “pick up the gold and silver.” The foreign element is -altogether rather conspicuous from its absence, for there is but a poor -sprinkling of German settlers, and the Latin races are scarcely -represented at all; even the Spaniards who once were rulers in the land -have left but here and there a solitary specimen of their races, and -they are not often to be found in the great army of workers. A little -fruit, a little corn--such as can be obtained by little labour--contents -them; they have no ambition, either for the advancement of themselves, -or of their children who follow in their footsteps, and live as their -parents lived; if they can sit and smoke and dream under their own -fig-tree their cup of happiness is full. English and Americans -contribute the greater portion of the population; the stream of -immigration has set in from every state in the Union, but New England -appears to be the state most largely represented; nearly all the -railroads, steamboats, factories, &c., are the outcome of New England -and New York enterprise, brains, and capital. - -Coloured labour is generally used, both in the house and in the fields, -gardens, and groves, but it is uncertain and unsatisfactory in its -results; and the immigration of a few thousand of the quiet, -industrious, reliable Chinese would be cordially welcomed throughout the -State of Florida. They may have their drawbacks and be undesirable as -citizens, but as mechanical or field labourers or house servants they -are unsurpassed, being quiet, civil, obedient and obliging; set against -these good qualities their propensity for petty pilfering and lying; but -these vices once acknowledged, you can prepare for or guard against -them; their industry and faithful labour may always be relied on. Many -other nations have their vices without their redeeming qualities. There -is very little crime, comparatively, in Florida; assaults or robberies -are of infrequent occurrence. This is perhaps to be wondered at, as the -houses are so few and far between, and every facility exists for the -operations of tramps or burglars, but tramps and burglars are almost -unknown; if any of that genus ventures to interfere with the honest -working population a rough-and-ready kind of popular justice speedily -overtakes the evil-doer. - -The difference between the people here in the extreme South and those in -the extreme West is very remarkable. Here the stream of life flows on in -peaceful untroubled calm, it moves with a decorous quiet, is never in a -hurry; they till the soil, and sow, and reap, prune, and plant in a -leisurely fashion. They have made their homes and settled down there and -mean to stay. There is no vexatious hurrying to and fro, no sudden -influx of strangers from all lands, pouring in and overspreading the -country, bringing with them a whirl of evil passions, with murder in -their train, each elbowing the other, trampling down all rule and order -in their eager thirst for gold! Here there is no excitement, no mines to -develop, no visions of sudden fortunes to be grasped in a lucky hour, no -rush of eager anxious men in flannel shirts, top-boots, sombreros, armed -with knives and revolvers, such as we often see even in the cities of -the west; there is no gambling with fate, no endeavour to cheat -fortune’s blind old eyes. Here the dignity of labour, as “when Adam -delved and Eve span,” asserts itself supreme. Men know that to -conscientious labour will come success, with prosperity and ease in the -near distance. Well, we say farewell to this land of promise with -regret, and once more we establish ourselves on our pleasant Pullman -car, and are _en route_ for New Orleans. - -One of our casual acquaintances accompanies us to the station, loads us -with heaps of good wishes and a basket of beautiful flowers; we exchange -a pleasant farewell, and the train moves slowly off. We take our last -look at the majestic river, whereon we have passed so many delightful -hours; it is clothed with a silver sheen, and ripples and sparkles and -flashes in the royal light of the sun. The little Palatka steamer, with -a single white sail fluttering from its masthead, puffs fussily on its -way, bearing a fresh freight of happy tourists on their way to the -wonderful Ocklawaha--as it bore us only a few days ago; for a moment it -seems to be racing with us, then we pass out of sight. We take a last -look at the pretty embowered city of Jacksonville, and then proceed to -decorate our section with flowers, have a table set up, get out our -books and a little idle needlework, and settle ourselves comfortably in -our travelling home. - -The car is almost empty, and the few companions we have are of the -masculine order; the touristical element is absent. Our companions, -judging from, their conversation, are all Texan farmers who have been on -a trip through Florida, combining business with pleasure, investigating -the land generally, seeing how they could improve their own possessions; -and gathering up hints and facts and scraps for future use. One talked -of giving up his cattle ranch in Texas, and migrating to Florida -altogether. - -“Steers and heifers, and such-like are well enough raisin’,” he said, -“but them cattle lifters are always about, and keep us a little too -lively all the time. When we go to bed at night we are never sure we -sha’n’t find our cattle driven off in the morning, and then--well, -there’s generally a little shootin’ before we can get ’em back. I’ve -seen so much of that sort of thing that now I’m getting an old man I’m -tired of it. It seems all so quiet and peaceful down Florida, no lifters -nor raiders thereabouts. I think,” he added, after a pause, “I shall -turn my cattle into orange groves.” - -The conversation generally turned upon agricultural matters, in which, -of course, they were all deeply interested--in fact, so interested, that -they interested us. We could not help observing how much better educated -they seem to be than the same class at home. Two lively young fellows -entered into a brisk discussion as to the relative superiority of their -different States. One, a tall, lanky, loose-jointed specimen, was a -landowner in “Alabama”--or “Alabawmer,” as he called it, with a by no -means unpleasant drawl; the other was a restless, eager-eyed young -Texan, as full of quips and cranks as a young monkey. He seemed to -regard life generally as a good joke, and turned everything into a -laugh; sometimes the laugh was against himself, but he was shrewd and -sensible enough, though he had a queer, quaint way of handling his -subject. It was a pleasant journey on the whole; their rough-and-ready -talk was amusing, and gave us a new view of life in the wilds. Their -account of the various methods of cultivating lands in the different -States was most interesting, and we wish we could drop these grains of -useful knowledge among those who could benefit by it. The seeds we sow -and the harvests we gather have little to do with the agricultural -interests. - -Our conductor, as usual, when he has leisure from his official duties, -lounges across to our section and enters into a pleasant conversation -with us. He discusses the social, political, and literary questions of -the day with sound good sense and much discrimination. He opens his -stores of knowledge freely, and shows us through every department of his -mind; as one door shuts he opens another, takes a header, and plunges -from one subject to another without any preliminary leading up thereto; -he seems determined to make the best use of his time, and show us how -much worldly and intellectual gossip can be gathered in the wilds of -Alabama. He reminds us of the clever tradesman who conducts you through -the warehouse where all his best goods are on exhibition. He embellished -his conversation with poetical quotations from Tennyson and Shakespeare, -and occasionally fished up from the depths of his memory a mysterious -passage of Browning and tried to make sense of it. He endeavoured, but -failed, to extract the poet’s meaning from the conglomerated mass of -fine phrases and high-sounding words with which he had scrupulously -clothed and concealed it, as though he never intended anybody ever -should find it out; and, indeed, if he entered on the quest, might have -some difficulty in finding it out himself. Our conductor appears to be a -devotee of the drama, too, and is not disposed to hide his light under a -bushel. He waxed critical on the subject of Modjeska’s Juliet and -Bernhardt’s Camille; he had seen both once when he had been travelling -East. The time passed so pleasantly that we were sorry when his duties -called him away, but they did not very often. Our agricultural -companions evidently thought our conversation frivolous and foolish, and -occasionally snorted a disapproving snarl about play-acting. - -As there are no dining cars attached to this train, meals are served at -stated places. At Waycross we get an excellent supper--a thoroughly -enjoyable and satisfactory meal. Some of our fellow-travellers, having -been deluded into the belief that nothing eatable was to be had on the -road, abstracted from the bowels of their baskets stale sandwiches, -crumpled buns, and mashed fruits, a delightful provision against -starvation, which had got considerably mixed during the journey. - -We reach Montgomery about eight o’clock in the evening, and there we -have to wait two hours for the New Orleans train. It is not often we -have these long dreary waits by the wayside; as a rule the -correspondence between the trains is arranged so as to avoid this -inconvenience. However, we have to wait now, and had best bear the -annoyance patiently. We take a walk through the dimly-lighted town, -indulge in a little characteristic gossip with the natives, and -the time soon passes; it is useless to fret and fume over the -unavoidable--travelling has taught us that much. On our return to the -“waiting-room” (so called by courtesy, for it is a mere shed with a few -wooden benches), our attention is attracted by a young woman who is -seated in a dusky corner; she has a fractious child about a year old in -her arms, and in a tired voice is telling somebody of the long weary -journey she has had, and-- - -“Now,” she continues, with a low sob in her voice, “I have to go on a -common car all the way to New Orleans. I cannot get a sleeping berth; I -have just been to the office, and they say they are all taken.” - -I doubt this, as I have just had a choice of two; I volunteer to go and -see what I can do in the matter, and succeed in securing for her the -last berth. As soon as we enter the car I see that the woman is -_coloured_; perhaps this is the reason of her failure. One or two of -our fellow passengers look on her askant, as coloured people are not -generally taken on the Pullman cars, but no one was inhuman enough to -take exception to her presence. - -There is a stir, a momentary confusion in finding and settling ourselves -in our different sections; if we would only be guided by the calm -official mind, we should be guided thereto in less time and with less -trouble. We are both tired and sleepy, and in an incredibly short time -are in our closely-curtained berths fast asleep, wandering through the -land of nod. - -Suddenly we are violently shaken out of our sleep. Jerk! crash! and we -stand still. Doors open and shut, men pass hastily to and fro, the -gentlemen tumble out of their berths; soon everybody is astir, and -mysterious whispers and wonderings pass from one to another. “We’re off -the line,” says one; “The train’s wrecked;” “Any body hurt?” “It’s -brigands,” etc. We are in the last car, fortunately for us, and we step -out on to the platform to ascertain for ourselves what is really the -matter. A polite unknown voice issues from the darkness-- - -“Would you like to see the wreck?” it inquires. Yes, we would like it -very much; and two chivalrous but invisible escorts receive us as we -alight in a mud bank (where we nearly leave our shoes), and half lead -and half support us as we stumble along the track. There lies the -engine--a wreck among its expiring fires--the tender smashed beside it; -the two foremost cars are off the line, toppling sideways but not -absolutely turned over. Our car, the last, was the only one that kept -the rails--this accounts for the mere shaking the accident caused us. -The occupants of the forward cars were very much shaken; the baggage -master had his shoulder dislocated, but no one was seriously hurt. We -were all indebted for our providential escape to the presence of mind of -our engine driver, who, on feeling his engine jerk off the line, -reversed it, whistled “down brakes,” and having done all that could be -done for saving us, jumped from the engine and saved himself. On farther -inquiry we learn that our accident is believed to be no accident at all, -but the work of “train wreckers,” who have removed the rails, and are no -doubt lurking in the surrounding wilds, biding their time to swoop down -and rob the train--a little game they are rather fond of playing in this -part of the country. We are prepared for them, however. The gentlemen, -who are all well armed, turn out of the train, every one of them, join -the officials, and watch with them through the night. Meanwhile we are -locked into the cars, assured of safety, and solemnly adjured to retire -to rest, as we shall have to be astir at four o’clock in the morning. - -A great fire of pine logs is kindled on the track, and the dusky -figures of our volunteer guard pass to and fro, now illuminated by the -red glare of light, then vanishing like shadowy spectres into the -darkness, and the white watery moon peering out from a ragged mass of -leaden clouds, or hiding behind them, gives the whole scene a weird -look, like a living illustration torn out from some dead romance. There -is no talking, no sound, only the solitary figures of the watchers -stalking to and fro in the mysterious gloom. In the soft grey dawn of -the morning we are roused (though indeed few of us need rousing, we too -have been silent watchers through the night). We make a hasty toilet, -gather our belongings together, descend from the cars, and walk along -the line to meet the New Orleans train which has been signalled to stop, -and is already disgorging its living freight. The alighting passengers -meet us face to face with scared inquiring looks, as wondering why they -have been roused from their sleep so early. The sight of our dilapidated -train explains the mystery, and our sleepy melancholy processions pass -each other by; they go east by the train which has been sent from -Montgomery to meet them, and we enter the cars they have vacated. On -viewing our wrecked train by the morning light we realise more -completely the danger we have passed through. - -The transfer of baggage and passengers is soon made, and by the time the -beautiful sun has opened like a rich red rose in the east, we are once -more on our way towards New Orleans. - -All the usual transit arrangements have been thrown out of gear by our -accident, and we have to run on what is called “a wild cat train,” that -is to say, we have no time of our own, and have to get along as well as -we can, without any legitimate chum to the “right of the road.” We -shriek and whistle, and wriggle along for a few minutes, and then are -ignominiously shunted; our engine gasps, and swallows its own smoke, and -droops its iron wings in a most forlorn condition; even the fireman -hides his face, as the triumphant express dashes joyously by, as though -rejoicing in our humiliating condition. Even the usually despised -freight train passes _us_. We are something lower than an “immigrant -train”--we are a “wild cat.” We struggle on a little farther and then -are signalled out of the way again; we are always backing, pulling up -short, and being shunted into unexpected sidings--never knowing what we -are going to do from one moment to another, or where we shall get -anything to eat, or whether we shall have to starve till we get to New -Orleans. Sometimes during this weary waiting we get out and promenade -the track; it is rather rough walking, and we don’t do too much of it. -Or if we are brought to a standstill in the wilderness, we ramble for -half-an-hour through the sweet wet woods, for the gentle rain has -bathed the tall trees and brought out the perfume of the wild flowers, -and clothed all the wooded wonders with a dainty freshness. Who cares to -wander through the hot dry woods in the scorching summer time, when the -thirsty trees droop their long branches as though trying to reach the -running water, whose gentle gurgling they hear from afar off; and the -pale flowers, sick and sorely laden with their own perfumes, open their -parched lips prayerfully and wait for the freshening rain? Well, it has -fallen to-day, and the wild woods are chirping with vigorous -life--birds, and shrubs, and flowers, and all the insect world, fresh -from their showery bath, are waking and whirring joyously in the soft -sunshine; then we come upon a clump of magnolia trees, whose long buds -are slowly opening into flower, and somebody presents me with a magnolia -as large as a young cabbage. - -About twelve o’clock we pull up at a desolate-looking village; people -come out of their cottages, pigs and children tumbling one over the -other, to stare at this sudden irruption of humanity, at this hour when -no respectable train is expected to be on the road. We alight, and are -marshalled through numerous tumble-down cottages to a dilapidated -hotel--a cross between an Irish shanty and a low class refreshment bar. -Here we get a meal, or at least a substitute for one; we are all too -hungry to pay much attention to the quality of the food, provided we -get enough of it. The landlady, in large hoop earrings and a draggled -print gown, received us at the stair-head, and with apologies for the -poor entertainment she is able to afford us, on the ground of the -exceptional nature of the occasion; it is the very first time a train -has come to a standstill in this primitive part of the country. - -There is a general clatter and chatter; two or three small negroes -flutter round like a flock of frightened geese; everybody seems to get -in everybody else’s way--they tumble over each other, tumble over us. -There is a general scrimmage and rush for such eatables as are here -attainable; one gets a cup of steaming coffee while the milk vanishes in -the distance; another is refreshed with a bowl of sugar; one gets proud -possession of a yard of corn bread, another grasps a dish of rancid -butter--but the difficulty is getting the two together; fresh eggs are -plentiful, and are piled like mountains of white cannon balls upon the -table. A trio of adventurous gentlemen make a raid upon the kitchen, and -reappear proudly bearing their spoils aloft; by degrees things shake -down and we manage to fill the vacuum within us. Our damaged baggage -master, with his dislocated shoulder bound up by amateur hands, is -cheerful, albeit in pain, and receives the attentions of the ladies with -great placidity; he has to be fed like a big baby, for he can’t use his -right hand, and his left is sprained and swollen. Everybody is -laughing, chatting, and grumbling all in a breath; as for us we never -enjoyed a thoroughly British growl at so small a price--twenty cents a -head! - -On our way to the station we meet a wicked-looking little Topsy, with a -huge brown jug of new milk, just fresh from the cow; we speedily relieve -her of this responsibility, and in the twinkling of an eye change the -stone jug and its contents into a shower of “nickels.” - -Re-entering the car we are again on our way, and enjoy a series of -dissolving views of some of the most charming scenery of the -South--through plantations of cotton trees, and red and white blossomed -dogwood. Slowly the world of green disappears beneath the grey twilight -shadows; the sun, which has been blazing like a ball of burnished gold -all day, seems suddenly to grow tired of shining, and draws his crimson -curtains round him and sinks suddenly to rest. Soon the lights of New -Orleans loom upon our sight. - -Omnibuses and cars of all description are in waiting at the station, and -in a very short time we are driving through the up and down streets of -this quaint old city to the Hotel St. Charles, where we take our rest. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - New Orleans, “The Paris of the South.”--French quarters.--Tropical - street scene.--To Carrolton.--The Levées.--Classical - architecture.--A coloured funeral.--The dismal swamp.--Lake - Ponchartrain.--A gambling population. - - -The Hotel St. Charles is a very fine impressive building in the centre -of the city of New Orleans. It is of white stone, and the simple -colonnaded front, with its tall straight fluted columns, gives it quite -a classical appearance. It is the best hotel in the town, but it might -be better; it has spacious corridors, and handsomely furnished rooms, -but the cuisine is not so good as it should be in an hotel of such -pretensions, the table is poorly served, and it is wanting in that -liberality which is characteristic of the South. The service is very -scanty; one servant seems to have to do the work of six. Our waiter was -a simple biped--a mere man, when he ought to have had as many arms and -legs as a devil fish; he had need of them, he was always wanted here, -there, and everywhere, and seemed to flash about on invisible telegraph -wires. - -We start in the early morning on a pedestrian excursion through this -“Paris of the South.” We almost fancy that we have gone to sleep in the -new world, and woke up in the old fair and familiar city across the sea. -It is the same, yet not the same; there is a similarity in the general -features, especially in the vicinity of Canal Street, to which I shall -allude more fully by and by, and an insouciant gaiety in the aspect of -the people, which pervades the very air they breathe; an electric -current seems always playing upon their spirits, moving their emotional -nature, sometimes to laughter, sometimes to tears. It seems as though -the two cities had been built on the same model, only differently draped -and garnished, decorated with different orders, and stamped with a -different die. Coming down a narrow lane, we met a typical old -Frenchwoman, her mahogany coloured face scored like the bark of an old -tree scarcely visible beneath her flapping sun-bonnet. She wore short -petticoats, and came clattering along over the rough stones in her -wooden sabots, while her tall blue-bloused grandson carrying her -well-filled basket strode beside her; and a meek eyed sister of charity -bent on her errand of mercy passed in at a creaking doorway. These were -the only signs of life we saw as we first turned on our way to the -French quarter of the town, which still bears the impress of the old -colonial days. This is the most ancient portion of the city, and full -of romantic traditions of the days that are dead and gone. The long, -narrow, crooked streets, running on all sides in a spidery fashion, with -rows of shabby-looking houses, remain exactly as they were a hundred -years ago. Strict conservatism obtains here; nothing has been done in -the way of improvement; the old wooden houses are bruised and battered -as though they had been engaged in a battle with time and been worsted; -they are covered with discolorations and patches, naked and languishing -for a coat of new paint. There are no dainty green sun blinds here, but -heavy worm-eaten wooden shutters, and queer timber doors hung on clumsy -iron hinges; here and there we get a glimpse of the dingy interiors -while a few bearded men are lounging smoking in the doorways, and a few -children, chattering like French magpies, are playing on the threshold. -Everything is quiet and dull--a sort of Rip Van Winkle-ish sleep seems -drooping its drowsy wings and brooding everywhere, till a lumbering dray -comes clattering over the cobble stones, and sends a thousand echoes -flying through the lonely streets. - -From these stony regions, past the little old-fashioned church where the -good Catholics worshipped a century ago and we emerge upon Canal Street, -the principal business thoroughfare of the city; it is thronged with -people at this time of day, busy crowds are passing to and fro, the -shop windows are dressed in their most attractive wares, temptingly -exposed to view. Confectioners, fruit, and fancy stores overflow into -open stalls in front and spread along the sidewalk; huge bunches of -green bananas, strawberries, peas, pines, cocoa-nuts and mangoes, -mingled with dainty vegetables, are lying in heaps. We are tempted to -try a mango, the favourite southern fruit, of whose luscious quality we -have so often heard, but the first taste of its sickening sweetness -satisfies our desires. The street is very wide, and the jingle-jangle of -the car-bells, the rattling of wheels, and the spasmodic shriek and -whistle of the steam engine--all mingle together in a not unsweet -confusion. Lumbering vehicles, elegant carriages, street-cars, and a -fussy little railway, all run in parallel lines along the wide roadway. -This is the great backbone of the city, whence all lines of vehicular -traffic branch off on their diverse tracks into all the highways and -by-ways of the land. Here we get on to a car which carries us through -the handsomest quarter of the city. Quaint, old-fashioned houses, -surrounded by gardens of glowing flowers, and magnificent magnolias, now -in full bloom, stand here and there in solitary grandeur, or sometimes -in groups like a conclave of green-limbed giants, clothed in white -raiment, and perfumed with the breath of paradise. Past lines of elegant -residences, where the _élite_ of the city have their abode, and we soon -reach a rough wooden shed yclept a “depot.” Here the horses are -unhitched, and a steam dummy attached to carry us on our way. The little -dummy looks like a big-bellied coffee-pot as it puffs fussily along, on -its way, but it does its work well, and in a little time lands us at -“Carrolton.” - -We alight at the railway terminus, at the foot of the levées, the Mecca -of our morning pilgrimage. We ascend a dozen cranky steps, and stand on -the top of the levée, with the coffee-coloured flood of the great -Mississippi rolling at our feet, and look back upon the low-lying city -behind us. - -This king of rivers is here wide and winding, but drowsy and sluggish; -its vast waters rolling down from the north seem to languish here in the -indolence of the South; it stretches its slow length along, like a -sleeping giant with all its wondrous strength and power hushed beneath -the summer sun. - -The levées form a delightfully cool promenade, and are thronged with -people on summer evenings. Cosy benches shaded by wide spreading green -trees are placed at certain distances, and glancing across the broad -brown lazy river to the opposite side the view is picturesque in the -extreme. - -The architectural beauty of New Orleans is unique, and wholly unlike any -other Southern city; the avenues are wide and beautifully planted, a -generous leafy shade spreads every way you turn. The dwelling houses -which line St. Charles’s Avenue are graceful, classical structures; -there are no Brummagem gingerbread buildings, no blending together of -ancient and modern ideas, and running wild into fancy chimney-pots, -arches, points, and angles like a twelfth-cake ornament. Some are -fashioned like Greek temples, most impressive in their chaste outline -and simplicity of form; others straight and square, with tall Corinthian -columns or fluted pillars, sometimes of marble, sometimes of stone. The -severe architectural simplicity, the pure white buildings shaded by -beautiful magnolias and surrounded by brilliant shrubs and flowers, form -a vista charming to the eye and soothing to the senses, and all stands -silhouetted against the brightest of blue skies--a blue before which the -bluest of Italian skies would seem pale. - -The aspect of the city changes on every side; we leave the fashionable -residential regions, and enter broad avenues lined with grand old forest -trees, sometimes in double rows, the thick leaved branches meeting and -forming a canopy overhead. The ground is carpeted with soft green turf, -and bare-legged urchins, black and white, are playing merry games; a -broken down horse is quietly grazing, and a cow is being milked under -the trees, while a company of pretty white goats, with a fierce looking -Billie at their head, are careering about close by. Pretty pastoral -bits of landscape on every side cling to the skirts, and fringe the -sides of this quaint city. As we get farther away from St. Charles’s -Avenue the better class of residences grow fewer and fewer, till they -cease altogether, and we come upon pretty green-shuttered cottages, with -their porches covered with blossoms, and rows of the old-fashioned straw -beehives in front. Here and there are tall tenement houses built of -cherry-red bricks, which are let out in flats to the labouring classes. - -We happen to be the only occupants of the car, and our driver, glancing -back at us through the sliding door, and realising that we are strangers -in the land, divides his attention between his horses and his -passengers. He has a pale, fair, melancholy face and dreamy eyes--a kind -of blond Henry Irving--and we cannot get rid of an idea that Hamlet the -Dane has followed his lamented father’s custom of “revisiting the -glimpses of the moon,” and is doing us the honour of driving our car. - -Presently we come upon a procession that attracts our interest. A party -of people, chiefly of the gentler sex--I cannot in this case say the -fairer, as they are all black as coals--are slowly parading the -sidewalk, the girls, even down to little children three or four years -old, all clad in white. It has been raining and the streets are still -wet; they are tramping over muddy crossings in white satin slippers, -their white dresses draggling in the damp, while their brown or black -faces and black shining eyes beam with a kind of grotesque incongruity -through their white veils. - -“A bridal party?” we remark interrogatively to our Hamlet. The Prince of -Denmark shakes his head, and vouchsafes a grave and dreamy smile as he -corrects our mistake: “No, ma’am. It’s a coloured funeral.” - -Turning into Claiborne Street we fancy it must be the entrance-gate to -the forest primeval; as far as the eye can reach we gaze through long -vistas of ancient trees, whose huge trunks are gnarled and knotted and -scarred by the passing ages. This delightful avenue has four rows of -these glorious trees, with double car-tracks running under their cool -and welcome shade; down the centre, and crossed by rude rustic bridges, -runs what we supposed to be a narrow canal or natural running stream, -but we learn that it is an open sewer, the peculiar soil and sanitary -arrangements of the city necessitating a system of open drainage--which -is, however, by no means unsightly or offensive; and through the -arteries of the city there run these narrow sewers, carrying all the -impurities and refuse as a kind of tributary offering to the glorious -Mississippi. - -The burial grounds or cemeteries we pass on our way have a strange -appearance, as in consequence of the peculiarities of the soil and -climate, the dead are not buried under the earth, but are laid upon its -surface with the stone monument raised above them. - -Another day we have a light springy carriage, and avoiding the -car-tracks bowl over the soft green turf, beneath the arching trees, -with the sunlight glinting through. We drive out of the city, and wind -about among its picturesque suburbs--a charming drive, though the air is -moist and warm, and our strength seems oozing from our finger-tips. We -can imagine what New Orleans must be in summer time, when even in these -April days our vital forces grow faint and feeble. - -The public buildings, state offices, and churches, are remarkably fine -architectural features of the city. There is no need to describe them -here, for the written description of one church, unless indeed there is -some special history connected therewith, sounds much the same as -another; and any visitor to the city can get an excellent guide thereto -and familiarise himself with their appearance so far as he desires, and -some are interesting enough to repay him for his trouble. - -There is one very favourite excursion, largely patronised by the -inhabitants of the city on warm summer evenings, and one which the most -casual tourist should not fail to take. We enter the little railway -train in Canal Street, the very heart of the city, and steaming -leisurely along we soon reach the outskirts, and run through pretty -woodland scenery, with dainty dwellings scattered here and there among -the full-foliaged trees. Presently we come upon a long stretch of open -country; on one side is the canal, with a wide roadway and spacious -tracts of cultivated lands beyond it. On the other side of the railway -track, on our right, there runs a similar carriage road and footway -running along the edge of a luxuriant thicket of green low-lying bushes, -which seem like the ragged fringe of the virgin forest; then there rises -clusters of slight willowy slips; a part of the pristine family of oaks -and alders which have grown and developed into gigantic trees, -thickening and twining their long arms together till they form an -impenetrable mass of green, but instead of a bit of forest primeval, we -are told that this is a most dismal swamp of many miles extent, utterly -impassable for either man or beast, and varying from two to eight or ten -feet deep, the abode of repulsive reptiles and other obnoxious -creatures. They say that it is no uncommon thing at certain seasons of -the year for a huge black or green snake to wriggle out of its home of -slush and slime and coil itself up on the pathway, or an alligator will -sometimes be found stretched along the railway track, its lidless eyes -staring stupidly at the sun. - -The whole of this part of New Orleans has been reclaimed from these -extensive swamps, and no doubt, if the necessity should arise, the whole -ground may be reclaimed and cultivated or built over; but such a -proceeding could only be carried out at an almost fabulous expense, and -as the great lungs of the city have plenty of breathing room in other -directions, it will no doubt be left, for this century at least, in the -occupation of noisome reptiles, the refuse of God’s creatures. - -Lake Ponchartrain, where we are presently safely deposited, is one of -the most picturesque spots in all this region; a silver shining sheet of -water, on whose surface the passing clouds seem softly sailing, for the -skies are reflected therein as in a mirror. We look across the water -upon wide stretches of undulating cultivated lands, “with verdure clad,” -a soft mossy carpet with purple flags and long lance-like grasses -reaching down to the water’s edge. A lovely garden, artistically -arranged with tropical flowers, fully half a mile long, runs along this -side of the lake, and among the beds of gorgeous blossoms there are -pretty winding walks, and rustic benches are arranged beneath -wide-spreading shady trees. A glorious promenade runs like a golden band -along the borders, and a pretty fancifully-built hotel and restaurant -stands at the head of the lake. It is a perfect nest of a place, hung -round with balconies and covered with climbing plants, the luxurious -Virginian creeper with its wealth of purple bloom with white star-like -flowers mingling between. Surrounding the hotel is a wide space studded -with little marble-topped tables, dedicated to the convenience of the -hungry and thirsty multitudes who flock thither up from the hot, dusty -town on summer evenings, to breathe the fresh cool air which blows -across the surface of the lake. - -Tables and chairs are set in all kinds of shady nooks and corners, and -merry parties are sipping sherbet, lemonade, and ice-cream; even the -democratic “lager beer” is served in foaming goblets, and while the band -is playing people stroll to and fro or group under the trees eating -ices, and not always confining themselves to the above harmless -beverages. They enjoy themselves each after his own fashion, and it is -generally midnight before the last train returns with its living freight -towards the town. - -We take our last evening stroll through the streets of New Orleans, -which have a fascination unknown to them by day. They are everywhere -brilliantly illuminated; we fancy it must be some special occasion, but -it is always the same; electric lights and gas-jets in quaint devices -are flaring everywhere, strains of music are floating on the air, the -shops and stalls are ablaze with brilliant colouring, and appear in -fancy dress--as a lady throws off her morning robes and appears _en -grande toilette_ for the evening festivities; open air performances, -shows, and theatres are in full swing. Strange to say, places that have -seemed quiet and harmless, even dingy, during the daytime, bloom out -into gambling dens, where the rattling of dice and the rolling of -billiard balls make deadly music through the night. How often some -haggard form, hunted by ruin and despair, slips like a shadow from these -lighted halls; a pistol-shot, a groan, and he vanishes into a darker -night, “where never more the sun shall rise or set.” There are no laws -against gambling; they are a free people here, and are allowed to choose -each his own road to ruin, consequently gambling is carried on to a -frightful extent, and by all kinds and conditions of men. It seems -indigenous to the soil, for while men stake houses and lands, nay, the -very last coin from their pockets, the very children gamble over their -tops and marbles or dirt pies in the gutter. - -The inhabitants of New Orleans are never tired of expatiating on the -beauties of their city, and dilating on the golden history of its -romantic past, or the prosperous record of its present day. Their -devotion further insists on the general healthiness of its climate; they -admit there are occasional epidemics, but then at certain seasons -epidemics rage everywhere, they are not specially improvised for New -Orleans, and the black population suffers always more than the white. - -Lovely though it be--a most quaint, picturesque old city, with its -bright skies and gorgeous growth of tropical flowers--no sane person -could have faith in its sanitary perfections. A beautiful human nest it -is; low-lying, as in a hole scooped out of the solid earth, many feet -below the waters of the Mississippi, partially surrounded by swamps of -the rankest kind, and girdled by silver streams and deep flowing rivers, -it must necessarily be the favourite resort of the malarial fiend. Here -that scourge of the South, the yellow fever, too, rising from sweltering -earth, sends forth his scorching, blighting breath, and clothes the land -in mourning. But every man clings to his own soil; no matter whether it -brings forth thorns or roses, he is satisfied with the gathering -thereof. - -“Well,” exclaimed a devoted citizen as he cheerfully discussed the -subject with us, “in every country there is an occasional force which -carries off the surplus population; sometimes it is fire, or flood, -earthquakes or mining explosions. Nature sends us the yellow fever; of -course it is not a pleasant visitor, but it does its work well enough, -and I don’t know but it is as well to get out of the world that way as -any other.” - -It is impossible to enumerate half the pleasant excursions which may be -taken from New Orleans. Its wonderful watery highways are among the -finest in the world, and wind through the land in all directions. By -them you may travel anywhere and everywhere through the loveliest -scenery of the South, as pleasantly as though the panorama were passing -the windows of your own drawing-room. - -Splendid steamers--floating palaces indeed of gigantic proportions, -luxuriously upholstered, and fitted with all the carving and gilding so -dear to some travellers’ hearts--are eternally passing to and fro. We -were strongly disposed to take a trip on the “Natchez,” the sovereign -vessel, but time pressed, and we were compelled to move on. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - Atlanta.--A wilderness of bricks and mortar.--Lovely - surroundings.--Scarlet woods.--Memorial day.--Scenes in the - cemetery. - - -About five o’clock on a sultry afternoon we start on the cars for -Atlanta. The train is crowded, the day is bright, the spiritual -thermometer stands high, and everybody seems resolved to be social with -everybody else; they commence with a running fire of casual gossip, and -proceed to give gratuitous information of a confidential character -concerning themselves and their families. One gentleman is returning -from Texas, and fondly cherishes a banana tree, which he is carrying -home to his wife in Atlanta, intending to try and coax it into growing -in the garden there. He has tried the experiment before, he tells us, -but the banana will not take kindly to the soil; in spite of all care -hitherto it has invariably drooped and died. Still, he does not despair; -like the lonely scion of a sickly family he will cherish this last, and -endeavour to raise a new family on his native soil. - -We fare well on this journey; though there are no regular eating -stations erected on the way yet we are well provided for. People come on -the cars at certain places, bringing plates of broiled chicken and -meats, with delicious little brown crisp rolls of bread, hard boiled -eggs, and tarts, covered with snow-white napkins, and daintily arranged -so as to tempt the appetite; and baskets of delicious grapes and peaches -with the tender bloom upon them, and every kind of fruit that is in -season. Glasses of iced milk, a delicious beverage, may also be -obtained. - -We reach Atlanta the next day about two o’clock, and take up our abode -at Markham House, which is conveniently situated opposite the railway -station. This is an extremely comfortable and homelike hotel, without -any pretence to luxurious entertainment or upholstered grandeur; but we -find there a capital table liberally served. - -We are, however, somewhat dismayed on going to perform our customary -ablutions when we find our ewer filled with something strongly -resembling pea-soup. We demand water, and learn that this obnoxious -liquid is all the water we are likely to get for ablutionary purposes. -The table is supplied with something drinkable of a less soupy -description, though far removed from the “bright waters of the sparkling -fountain;” but for a few days we must perforce be content, and take our -mud bath with what appetite we may. - -There is nothing picturesque or attractive in either of the Atlanta -hotels; ours, we are told, is considered second rate, but there is -really little difference between them. Both are situated in crowded -thoroughfares, and both are within a stone’s throw of the railway -station, and are simple structures with no architecture to speak of. The -city is built in a rambling labyrinthine fashion, as though it had grown -up in a wild way of its own, straggling along here and there, without -any set plan or design beyond the convenience of the day. It has pushed -itself out in all directions, here pranking itself out in glowing -gardens and garlands of green, there rising up in huge brick buildings -seven stories high, massed together in blocks, or stretched in long -rows, lifting their stony heads high in the air, looking down -threateningly and frowningly as though they meant some day to topple -over into the narrow street below. It has grown large and strong, and no -longer runs in leading-strings, but asserts itself as one of the most -important cities of the South. - -The resources of the surrounding country are developing day by day, -being especially rich in the production of cotton of the finest kind, -quite equal to that grown on the famous Sea-islands of Carolina. All the -varied wealth of the country for hundreds of miles round pours into -Atlanta, which in turn distributes it to all parts of the world. This -conglomeration of bricks and mortar is not attractive in itself, but is -most interesting in its early history, its gradual growth and marvellous -development; all within the city limits is full of the stir and bustle -of commonplace life, its surroundings are simply lovely and most -romantic. - -A short car drive through the up-and-down stony streets, a ramble -through a winding lane, and we are in the midst of a beautiful wild wood -flaming with scarlet honeysuckle, creeping up, twining round, and -seeming to strangle the great strong trees in its close embrace, -drooping its bright blooms like a canopy above our heads; they are -lovely to the eye, but, like so many beautiful things, are poisonous and -scentless. We wander for hours, but do not get to the end of the crimson -woods. Every man, woman, or child we meet--black, white, or brown--have -their hands full of the gorgeous rose-red flowers of this Southern -honeysuckle, so far richer than its northern sister. Some are carrying -them home in baskets for domestic decoration, others make them into -wreaths, or wear them on their hats or on their breasts. - -No matter in what direction you turn on leaving the labyrinths of bricks -and mortar, you are at once plunged into a wealth of lovely scenery, -fringed on one side with the blazing woods; on one side it is skirted by -richly-timbered, well-cultivated lands, jewelled with wild flowers of -every hue and colour. Then we come upon a tangle of forest scenery or -thickets varying from a few to thousands of acres. These consist of a -dense growth of live and water oaks, dog wood, hickory, and pine, hung -with garlands of moss, or close clinging draperies of purple blooms, -birds are peeping and twittering in and out, butterflies and insects -humming, and a whole colony of frogs croaking joyously throughout this -luxuriant wilderness. We should not be much surprised to find a fairy -city hidden away in this labyrinthine mass of leaves and timbers; who -knows but when the evening shadows fall, and a thousand tiny twinkling -lights flash hither and thither, we think the fireflies are abroad, when -in reality it is the elfin army of lamplighters illuminating their fairy -city with wandering stars. - -In these sweet solitudes the morning passes quickly, and in the -afternoon we go to the cemetery, which is about three miles from the -town, to witness the decoration of the soldiers’ graves--for it is -Memorial Day--the one day set apart in every year now and for all time -for people to come to do honour to the dead who fell in the lost cause; -nay, for the dead who fell on either side. Streams of people crowd the -highways and byways, all flowing in one direction, and all mass together -at the wide-open gates of the cemetery. The ground is kept by sundry -mutilated remnants of the war; some with one arm, some with one leg, but -none have the right complement of limbs, while some are mere mutilated -crippled specimens of humanity, with bent bodies and limbs twisted out -of their natural form. We wonder how they have had courage to crawl so -far towards the end of their days, and to bear themselves cheerfully -too. But the great God who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb” has not -forgotten them. He sends them an invisible support and comforter we know -not of; He lays His blessed hand upon their heart-strings and makes a -music in their lives, grander and sweeter than is the blare of -victorious trumpets to the conqueror’s ear. They live their lives out in -this city of the dead, and through the sunny days or evening shadows, -sleeping or waking, are always there surrounded by their silent -brotherhood, who wait for them in the great beyond. They lie here under -the green sod with upturned faces and hands crossed upon their breasts. -“After life’s fitful fever they sleep well.” - -We arrive an hour before the ceremonial commences, and walk about the -pretty grave-garden and read the names upon the monuments, and listen to -anecdotes of those who rest below. The old soldiers seem to love to talk -of their dead comrades, to fight their battles over again. They tell us -how this one, “such a fine, handsome young fellow,” rode always into -battle whistling a merry tune as he dashed into the thick of it; and how -this one with the spirit of the ancient Puritans uplifted his voice to -the glory of God as he brandished his sword and rushed to the front. - -Presently a slow solemn strain of music with the roll of the muffled -drum reaches our ears. It comes nearer and nearer. There is a trampling -of feet, “the tramp of thousands sounding like the tread of one,” and -the committee, escorted by a detachment of soldiers with their arms -reversed and followed by a multitude of people, make their way across -the hilly ground, and through the winding pathways till they reach a -wide grassy slope, where, railed in and reached by a flight of marble -steps, there stands a huge plain shaft of granite, with the inscription -in large gold letters, “To our Confederate Dead,” engraved thereon. A -platform is raised in front of this, which is now occupied by some score -or two of ladies, all dressed in deep mourning, each carrying a basket -of flowers, which may be replenished from the miniature mountain of -violets and pale wild roses which are heaped upon the ground. Lying -around, spreading in all directions, are myriad nameless graves. Some -have a white headstone a foot high, some have wooden crosses, some have -but the green turf to cover them. Here Federals and Confederates lie -side by side, no enmity between them now. The treaty of eternal peace -has been signed by the sovereign lord, Death; all are now gathered -together and are marching through the silent land, under the banner of -their great Captain, Christ. - -There was a slight stir and a few elderly gray-headed men, accompanied -by a minister of the church, ascended the platform. A hush fell upon the -multitude, and all listen reverently and bareheaded while an earnest -simple prayer is offered up. - -Then a tall, soldier-like man, a well-known general, who had faced a -hundred fires, stepped forward and made a most touching and eloquent -address--to which friend or foe, victor and vanquished, might listen -with equal feeling of interest and respect,--glorifying the heroic -qualities of those who fought and fell in the lost cause, but, while -giving honour to the dead, detracting nothing from the living. The -keynote running through the whole discourse was like a prayer that the -seed sown amid fire and sword, and watered by the blood of patriots -(patriots _all_; no matter on which side they fought, each believed they -were fighting for their rights), might take root, grow, flourish, and -yield a glorious harvest for the gathering of this great country, her -unity never again to be disturbed and torn by the children of her love -and pride. - -At the conclusion of the address a hymn, “Nearer, my God, to Thee,” was -sung by the uplifted voices of the whole multitude, even to the -outermost edge they caught up the sweet refrain, and it rose and fell, -swelled and softened, till it rolled back upon our ears in waves of -melodious music, which stirred our hearts and sent a mist floating -before our eyes. - -Now the ladies descend from the platform and scatter themselves over the -ground, their mourning figures passing to and fro among the graves: on -every mound they lay a bunch of flowers, regardless on which side they -fought,--the “boys in blue” and the “boys in gray” are all arrayed in -one common raiment now. Who knows but a spirit army may be bending down -from the skies above, watching the pious work, and no longer seeing -through a glass darkly, longing to whisper, “All is well,” to the hearts -which are still sorrowing below. - -The solemn ceremonial over, drums beat, the soldiers resume their arms, -form in line, the band plays a stirring military air, and they march -quickly off the ground. We watch the crowd melt away, but do not feel -disposed to join the busy, chattering stream on its homeward road, -especially as by this time quite a miniature fair has risen up outside -the cemetery gates; and roast; peanuts, fruit, cake, and iced drinking -stalls are surrounded by thirsty multitudes, who keep up a lively rattle -among themselves; while the tag-rag of the gathering run after the -military procession, and follow it on its way back to the dusty town. We -wander for a while through the deserted cemetery, reading the strange -medley of mottoes, and the sometimes ludicrous and always commonplace -chronicles of the virtues of the sleeper. We are presently invited to -sit down and rest in the porch of a rustic dwelling, the home of one of -the crippled guardians of the place--a grand old man he was, with gray -hair and a face bronzed by exposure to many weathers, and scored and -wrinkled by the hand of time. He brought us a jug of deliciously cool -milk, and sat down and talked, as old men love to talk, of “the days -that are bygone”; and told us many pleasant anecdotes of “how we lived -down south forty years ago.” - -The evening shadows were lengthening, and lying like long spectral -fingers on the dead men’s graves, as we rose up and made our way -hurriedly to the horse-car which was to carry us back to Atlanta. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - Columbia.--Wright’s Hotel.--Variegated scenes.--Past and - present.--A Sabbath city.--The penitentiary.--Sunday service.--A - few last words. - - -We start for Columbia at half-past eight in the morning; it is dull and -misty during the earlier part, but as the day deepens the weather -clears, and by the time we are running through the great cotton belt of -Georgia, a bright sun is shining, and we enjoy the pretty, peaceful -scenery; which, however, has no especial feature till we reach the Great -Stone Mountain, a vast mass of gray granite, standing bald and bare, -rising far above the tops of the tallest trees, which are grouped round -its base, like a company of dwarfs at the feet of a giant. It is visible -for miles round--a huge, gray dome cut out of the blue skies. The stone -quarry from the base of this mountain is used, and has been used for -years past, in the building of public edifices and churches in the -near-lying cities, without any visible diminution or disfiguration. Here -and there is a deep dentation--as though you had scooped a spoonful -from a mountain of ice cream, nothing more. When it first looms upon the -sight, it looks like a huge globe rising out of the earth, smooth as a -billiard ball, silhouetted against the bright blue skies. - -It is nearly eleven o’clock at night when we reach Columbia; here hotel -omnibuses, as usual, are in waiting. Into one of these we get; and the -lumbering, creaky old vehicle leaps, and bumps, playing the game of -pitch and toss with us, as it rattles over the rough, stony way, through -a darkness black as Erebus. We peer out through the windows; there is -nothing but darkness visible--no signs of a city. Presently, rows of -trees, dark, spectral trees, seem to be marching past us--rustling their -leaves, waving their thick branches, stretching their leafy arms on each -side of us, as though they were trying to stop our way! Are we driving -through a forest? we wonder. - -There is only one other occupant of the omnibus--a tall, limp young man, -who has flung himself in a heap at the farthest corner. We venture to -inquire of him. - -“We seem to be going a long way. Are we far from the city?” and he -answers in a sort of dislocated voice, - -“Well--we’re getting along;” which patent fact brings no information to -our inquiring minds. - -Presently we catch a glimmer of light shining from among the trees, and -find we are nearing human habitations at last; for tiny lamps are -gleaming from pretty nests of houses, which are hidden away in the -woodland background. The lights gradually grow more and more numerous, -and wide streets develop out of the darkness, and the sounds of tramping -feet and voices reach our ears. Through these we rattle quickly, and in -a very few moments are deposited at our destination, “Wright’s Hotel,” -which, on closer acquaintance, we decide to be one of the cosiest and -pleasantest in all the south. It stands on the principal thoroughfare, -and has a wide and imposing elevation. The rooms are beautifully clean -and comfortably furnished; and the _cuisine_ is excellent. The everyday -cooking is elevated to a fine art: an omelette is as light and airy as a -dream; a broil has a flavour of poetry about it; and a fricandeau -arrives at a state of idyllic perfection. All the arrangements are -essentially English, and we settle down for a few days with a home-like -feeling in our hearts. - -The city stands on a lofty plateau--a hill, indeed, of great elevation, -and the surrounding country, sloping away in all directions, lies around -us a perfect panorama of natural beauty. Whichever way we turn our eyes, -they travel downwards and outwards, far away, over wide stretches of -wooded country. There a rapid river runs in and out, amid a paradise of -green; then a sheet of silver water, or placid lake, calm as an infant’s -sleep, dimples in the light of the sun; and wild wildernesses lie -nestling among what look like English fields of buttercups and daisies -and acres of waving grain; while a rich growth of variegated green -fringes the feet or climbs up the sides of the softly swelling distant -hills. Tender lights and shadows are lying restfully everywhere. It all -looks so calm and peaceful--as though nature, hushed to sleep, was -smiling in her dreams. - -The streets of the city are wide, and of course arranged as usual to run -at right angles; there has been no hurry or confusion in the building of -it, the spirit of the designer is visible everywhere, and the design has -been carefully carried out with harmonious effect; every vista is -pleasant and refreshing to the eye. Like most other southern cities the -thoroughfares are shaded with magnificent old trees, thickly planted, -and of prodigious size, on both sides of the road; and yet Columbia has -a character peculiarly its own. It is like an oasis lifted up and out of -the great world round it; a serene and silent city it sits apart, with a -life and story all its own; there is no noise or bustle, no hurrying -throngs of people streaming through the vacant streets, no jingling -bells of cars, no rattling of carriages passing over the stony -roads--only at certain hours the hotel omnibuses crawl to and from the -station--a drowsy hum is in the air, the shops have opened their glassy -eyes and are blinking in the morning light; they might as well go to -sleep again--nobody seems to want to buy anything--only a few stragglers -are wandering aimlessly about, everything moves leisurely, nobody seems -in a hurry about anything. Life itself seems to move onward with slow -and solemn footstep, scarce making a single echo on the shores of time. - -So stands this lovely city steeped in the southern sunshine, robed in -fair green garlands, with blooming gardens clinging about her skirts; -there is a refreshing sweetness in the air, a purity and harmony mingled -with a Sabbath stillness everywhere. - -A patriarchal simplicity pervades the atmosphere, the people seem to -know we are strangers, and as strangers greet us with a recognising -smile or pleasant word; the coloured folks relapse into a broad grin; -there is a gentle courtesy, an air of good breeding, even among the -loafers gathered at the street corners as they lift their ragged caps -and make way for us to pass. We turn down a pretty, shady thoroughfare -and as we are rambling along in a state of sweet contentment, imbued -with the brooding spirit of the place, a cheery voice bids us “Good -morning.” We look up and two black faces with laughing eyes and gleaming -teeth look down upon us from a perfect nest of roses, the two women are -sitting in their balcony with their dusky children rolling at their -feet; a game at questions, answers, and observations follows, and we -enjoy quite a pleasant characteristic conversation; one comes down and -brings us a handful of sweet-smelling flowers as we pass on our way. - -We wander through this idyllic city as through a land of dreams, and -have some difficulty in finding our way back to our hotel, as the -streets are all verbally christened but none have their names written -up, the houses too are unnumbered. I remarked that this is an awkward -arrangement or want of arrangement. - -“Not at all,” is the answer, “everybody knows everybody here.” - -“But it is certainly puzzling for strangers.” - -“Oh, strangers have only got to ask, they find their ways wherever they -wish to go, and get along well enough.” - -We “got along,” and one bright morning found our way to the university, -a fine old, red-brick building, standing back far away from the shady -street, in a quadrangle surrounded by tall red-brick houses, with rows -of trees planted before and blooming gardens behind them; a few -marauding geese are gobbling on the green, but there are no other signs -of life, not even a stray dog in the inclosure, the wide quadrangle is -empty of humanity; a soft breeze stirs the tall tree tops, rustling the -leaves with a whispering sound, as though they had brought a message -from some far-off lands. A cloistered stillness is about the place which -is almost oppressive as we wander to and fro, looking up at the tall -closed houses and pondering on the special history we know of some of -them. We cannot gain admission to the college, as the doors are barred -and we see no one to whom we could address an inquiry, so we turn away, -and with echoless footsteps pass over the green sward out into the -public high-road. - -The next morning we drive out, in a rather rickety, shandrydan vehicle, -over the broad sandy roads, past a pretty little valley or wild wooded -basin, so called a “park,” to the penitentiary or State prison. We are -received by a dignified-looking gentleman, the governor, and by him -handed over to the military guard, who conducts us through the different -wards. - -No idling here--shoemakers, carpenters, blacksmiths, all hard at work, -amidst profound silence so far as the human voice is concerned, for -prisoners are not permitted to speak, even in answer to the visitors’ -remarks addressed to them. The majority of both sexes are coloured, -there is but a mere sprinkling of white convicts. Some Boston tourists, -who have joined our party, sigh as they observe this. “Evidently the -white man’s offences are condoned, while the poor negro is invariably -convicted,” they say, shaking their heads deploringly. A good-natured, -cheery-looking matron takes us through the women’s quarters, where all -are busily engaged at sewing, stitching, or machine work; here, too, -strict silence is preserved, they make their requirements known by dumb -show; most of them keep their heads bent downwards as we enter, but one -or two look up, and a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, breaks over their -clouded faces, their eyes speak though their lips are mute, as they -recognise their matron’s kindly face,--no need of words to tell of her -popularity, for grateful glances follow her wherever she goes, even the -brush of her skirts as she passes seems to do them good; she gives an -encouraging pat here, a smile or kindly word there, and who knows but -the seed one kind heart scatters among their barren lives may take root -and help them to bear something better than prison fruit in the future. -She passes on, doing a true Christian’s duty in smoothing the way of the -unfortunate, who have fallen beyond the pale of human law, but not -beyond the reach of God’s mercy. - -The workrooms where they pass their days are light and airy, but the -small, bare, white, vaulted cells, where they spend their time from six -in the evening till six in the morning, look barren, cold, and silent as -so many narrow graves. There are no windows, they are honeycombed into -the wall, and air and light are only admitted through the iron-grated -entrance door, which gives on to a wide whitewashed corridor, where the -warder in charge keeps watch during the night. - -The penitentiary is surrounded by very extensive grounds, laid out to -supply the prison with vegetables, here a score or two of prisoners in -striped, zebra-like clothing are at work digging potatoes or cultivating -cabbages. A high wall surrounds this open space, a turret or watch-box -stands in the centre on the top of each section, commanding every inch -of the ground. These are occupied night and day by an armed guard, who -have orders to shoot down any prisoner who attempts to escape. - -“They don’t often miss their aim either,” observes our guide -complacently. - -On Sunday we attend service here. The barn-like building dedicated to -divine worship is not nearly large enough to hold half the prisoners; -they overflow outside the doors, swarm on the steps, and cling in groups -outside the windows. Nearly all are coloured, some pure black. The -leader of the choir, a tall, good-looking young fellow, we are told is a -“lifer,” in for arson, a very common crime among the negroes. The -southern laws seem to be far more rigorous than those of the north, -capital punishment being enforced for some offences which are met only -by imprisonment in the northern States. Amongst the crowd of coloured -folk, we notice there are three or four white women, who, according to -general custom, take precedence of the dark race; they enter first in -the procession, and sit in the front row. One keeps her head -determinedly bent down; we just see under the shadow of her calico -poke-bonnet a young rounded chin, a fair smooth cheek with a peach-like -bloom upon it; but her eyes and brow we never catch a glimpse of; she -sits through the whole service with eyes and head bowed resolutely down -out of our range of sight. What is her story? Somehow we feel it must be -a pitiful one, and our sympathies go out to her. Does the sight of us -“remind her of the state from which she fell?”--the descent so easy, the -return so hard and almost impossible! Next her sits another woman, a -striking contrast, an older woman with a powerful characteristic face, -dark defiant eyes, close thin lips, she seems to look her fate in the -face boldly, as though she had “dreed her weird,” and took her -punishment without shrinking; a hard Ishmaelitish face it is; she looks -as though _she_ was against all the world, and the world was against -_her_; no softening line, no gleam of sorrow or regret rested thereon. -Whatever crime she had committed, she looks ready to go out and commit -it again. Her hard cold eyes glare at us angrily, as though resenting -our presence. - -“What right have you to come out of your free sunny world to see us in -our home of shame and misery?” they seem to say. We feel quite restless -and uncomfortable beneath her stony gaze; we cannot avoid it, we cannot -get away from it; it has a sort of magnetic attraction, a fascination -for us; we turn our eyes away, and try to fix our attention on the -preacher, but it is no use; there is some disturbing element in the air, -and against our will our eyes are drawn back to that powerful face, with -its lowering brow and rebellious lips. - -We are glad when the service is over, and we get out into heaven’s -sunshine and breathe the pure fresh air again. Still that face haunts us -and casts a shadow on the sunlight, and at night those pale steely eyes -flash out between the darkness and our dreams. Somehow, on that glorious -Sabbath morning, we wish we had left our devotions undone. We feel that -somewhere and at some future time we shall see that face again--we -should know it, years hence, among a thousand. - -It is perhaps here in Columbia more than in any other city that we -realise to the fullest extent the ruin and desolation that has been; for -though, as a rule, throughout the main streets the houses in a -scrambling sort of way are built up again, yet there are wide gaps and -ruins of crumbling stone and charred wood, partly covered now with soft -moss or a rank growth of tall weeds. Here, round an extensive corner a -hoarding is raised to hide the utter desolation that lies where once -were lovely homes, now levelled to the dust, and blooming gardens, now -a wilderness of thorns and thistles, scattered over with the mute signs -of broken lives. These ugly features come upon us in the midst of -perfect peace--a calm repose lies over the land; but still they point -with spectral finger to the scar left by cruel wounds. And over the -sweet golden sunshine of that still Sabbath morning a shadow seems to -fall. In fancy we see the darkness of one awful night close over -Columbia, the signal rockets shoot up from that State House on the hill, -the fiery tongues of flame leap from crumbling homes and devastated -hearths. But these things are not to be thought of now. The “dark hour” -of Columbia is past, and we see her lying peacefully to-day in the light -of the rosy dawn. - -Our southern trip is over, and we turn our faces eastward, leaving many -regrets behind, and carrying many pleasant memories away with us. We -have seen the south, not in its full flush of prosperity, its hour of -pride, but in its struggles to rise up to a higher and nobler height -than it has ever yet reached. Industry and thrift have taken the place -of luxury and ease. Scarce twenty years ago and the whole land was -drowsily dreaming away its life, with only a sybaritish enjoyment of the -present; no ambition for coming years, no sowing the good seed for the -future harvest of mankind. The whole world’s centre was in themselves -and their own immediate surroundings; they gave no thought or care to -anything beyond; like the gorgeous butterflies, they rather looked down -on the working bees, who have the building up and are the mainsprings of -this world’s well-being. - -Cradled in sunshine, girdled by all that is lovely in creation, wrapped -in fine raiment, but with the earthworm Slavery curled about its roots, -sapping its nobler instincts, eating its heart away, and binding its -invisible soul with chains stronger than those which bind its own -miserable body, the South slept the sleep of a most baneful peace, till -the sleep was broken, and the thunder of war echoed through the silent -land. Then how grandly she awoke, shook off her rosy chains, and rose up -like a god, with her latent fires blazing, her energies new strung, -and--but everybody knows what followed. Never was desolation so great as -that which fell upon this beautiful land; never was ruin more proudly -met, more grandly borne. It is nobler, far nobler now than in its hour -of pride; there are no puerile regrets, no rebellious utterings, no -useless looking back; their motto is “Excelsior!” and with undaunted -spirit, men and women too (for the Southern women are “the souls of -men”) are striving to build up a glorious future upon the ruins of the -past. Every man puts his hand to the plough and devotes his life, and -uses his best energies as a kind of lever to lift up his country to the -“old heroic height.” Passionate devotion and fervent patriotism is -aglow through all the south, but every man is devoted to his own special -State rather than to the united whole; and everywhere they are at work, -immense factories are in full operation, mines are being opened, -railways built, and through the whole length and breadth of the South a -general stir and bustle of business prevails. Everywhere prosperity is -present, and the prospect widens of a growing prosperity in the future. -Meanwhile, new industries and new inventions crowd the market. One new -industry is the making of “olive butter,” which is a very fine oil, -extracted from the cotton seeds, which in the old days were regarded as -useless and thrown away. Many thousands of persons are employed in -carrying on this business, which brings (and is probably on the -increasing scale) to the Southern States annually the sum of fifteen -millions of dollars. - -Northern capital has generously outstretched a friendly hand, and poured -its wealth into the empty coffers, and given the means of general -rehabilitation; and the awakened South has brains to plan, and pluck and -energy to carry on its noble campaign, while the world looks on with -silent respect and expectation for the days that are to come. - - -LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Down South, by Lady Duffus Hardy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN SOUTH *** - -***** This file should be named 53758-0.txt or 53758-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/5/53758/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Down South - -Author: Lady Duffus Hardy - -Release Date: December 18, 2016 [EBook #53758] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN SOUTH *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="324" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p class="cb">DOWN SOUTH.</p> - -<h1> -DOWN SOUTH</h1> -<p class="c"> -BY<br /> -<br /> -LADY DUFFUS HARDY<br /> -<br /> -<small>AUTHOR OF<br /> -“THROUGH CITIES AND PRAIRIE LANDS”</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">London</span>: CHAPMAN AND HALL<br /> -<span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> -1883<br /> -<br /> -<small>LONDON<br /> -<span class="smcap">R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor.</span>,<br /> -BREAD STREET HILL.</small> -</p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="margin:auto auto;max-width:80%;"> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Two cities.—Our home upon the waters.—Southward bound.—“Only -a brass star.”—At Ford’s Hotel</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1"><i>Pages 1-13</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">To-day and the yesterdays.—Richmond—Its monuments—Its surroundings.—The -sculptor’s studio.—Andromache. </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_14"><i>Pages 14-28</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Fire and ruins.—Through sylvan scenes.—The Cave of Lwray.—A -jewelled city underground.—The white savages of Wise County </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29"><i>Pages 29-44</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Through the great swamp.—Charleston.—A memory of the Old -World.—Blacks and whites.—Peculiarities of the coloured folk.—A -ghost of dead days.—Quaint scenes </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45"><i>Pages 45-62</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">St. Michael’s chimes.—Architectural attraction.—Magnolia Cemetery.—A -philosophical mendicant.—The market.—Aboard the boat—Fort -Sumpter</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63"><i>Pages 63-83</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">The great Salt Marsh.—A break down.—We reach Savannah.—Fancy -sketches.—The forest city.—A gossip with the natives.—Cross -questions and crooked answers</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84"><i>Pages 84-90</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">To-day and yesterday.—General experience of travel in the South.—The -associated Southern railways</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100"><i>Pages 100-109</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang"><i>En route</i> for Jacksonville.—A few words about Florida—Its climate.—Its -folk—Its productions</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_110"><i>Pages 110-121</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Pine forests.—Arcadian scenes.—Strange companionship.—We reach -Jacksonville</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_122"><i>Pages 122-131</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Jacksonville.—Our hotel.—Greenleaf’s museum.—Floridian curiosities. -East winds and tropical breezes.—Strawberry packing</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_132"><i>Pages 132-143</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Fernandina.—Romance or history?—Dungeness.—To Tocor.—On board -the boat.—Oddities.—A lovely water drive</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_144"><i>Pages 144-158</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">St. Augustine.—A land of the long ago.—A chat with a Spanish -antiquity.—Quaint streets.—City gate.—Fort Marion.—The old -Slave Market.—The monuments.—The Plaza.—Cathedral and -Convent</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_159"><i>Pages 159-179</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">A chat by the way.—A steam bicycle.—Rough times.—At Ocala</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_180"><i>Pages 180-188</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">The “Okeehumkee.”—The Silver Springs.—The weird wonders of the -Ocklawaha</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_189"><i>Pages 189-203</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Picturesque scenery on St. John’s River.—“Sickening for the fever -ma’am?”—The inland lakes.—A pair of elderly turtle doves.—Sport -on the Indian river</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_204"><i>Pages 204-221</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Retrospective.—A critical conductor.—Montgomery.—Train wreckers at -work.—Weird scenes in the moonlight.—Silent watchers.—“Wild -Cat” train to New Orleans</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_222"><i>Pages 222-237</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">New Orleans, “The Paris of the South.”—French quarters.—Tropical -street scene.—To Carrolton.—The Levées.—Classical architecture.—A -coloured funeral.—The dismal swamp.—Lake Ponchartrain.—A -gambling population</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_238"><i>Pages 238-252</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Atlanta.—A wilderness of bricks and mortar.—Lovely surroundings.—Scarlet -woods.—Memorial day.—Scenes in the cemetery</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_253"><i>Pages 253-262</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><th class="c" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="hang">Columbia.—Wright’s Hotel—Variegated scenes.—Past and present—A -Sabbath city.—The Penitentiary.—Sunday service.—A few last -words</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_263"><i>Pages 263-276</i></a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h1>DOWN SOUTH</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Two cities.—Our home upon the waters.—Southward bound.—“Only a brass -star.”—At Ford’s hotel.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A dull</span> haze hangs over the city; St. Paul has put on his cap of clouds, -and the great dome looms dimly on our sight; the mystery of twilight has -taken possession of the city, and shrouds the streets in the open day. -The fine old trees in the parks and in the squares are losing their -green foliage, and stand half naked, shivering in the damp autumn air, -while their yellow shrunken leaves are swept rustling along the ground, -moaning their melancholy protest against the wandering wind, and even -thus early in the season—for it is only late September—visions of -November fogs are looming in the near future. But we turn our backs upon -the dreary prospect, and send our thoughts onward towards the <i>City of -Rome</i> whither we are fast journeying—not that ancient<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span> city which sits -upon its seven hills, like a discrowned queen, still ruling the world of -Art, swaying the minds of men, and, like a gigantic loadstone, drawing -the heart of the world towards herself, grander in her age of ruin than -her youthful pride; the glory of her dead days circles her with a halo -of poetry and romance which renders her immortal. Her ruined palaces and -temples lift their hoary heads and crumbling columns -heavenward—impressive, awe-inspiring, and time-defying, showing only -the footprints of the ages as they have passed solemnly onwards. The -stir and bustle of every-day commonplace life, the cavalcade of -nineteenth-century frivolities and fashions, have failed to drive the -spirit of antiquity from the place; it still sits brooding in the air, -permeating the souls and stirring the hearts of men with a passionate -enthusiasm for the days that are gone. There is no coming and going of -armies, no heathenish maraudings, no slave-trading, war-waging -population nowadays; no centurion guards, no glittering cohorts flashing -their arms and tossing their white plumes in the face of the sun; yet -they seem to have left their ghostly impression on the air, and in the -still evening hours we feel their presence revealed to us through (what -we call) our imagination, and the past marches solemnly hand-in-hand -with the present before our spirit’s eyes; and while we think we are -merely day-dreaming—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span>indulging in pleasant reveries—the subtle essence -of ourselves is mingling with an immortal past. But it is not towards -this ancient city we are fast hastening; our <i>City of Rome</i> is the -creation of to-day, it has nothing to say to the yesterdays; its kingdom -belongs to the to-morrows, which are crowded into the years to come. It -is not throned like its ancient namesake on seven hills, but rides upon -the myriad waves of a limitless ocean, and looks as though it could rule -them too—this floating city, which is to carry us three thousand miles -across the fascinating, fickle, and inconstant sea. Like a strong young -giant our noble vessel lifts its great black bulwarks into the sunlight, -and we climb its steep sides in the full confidence that much of the -nauseating horrors of a sea voyage will be spared to us. The Atlantic -steamers, as everyone knows, are all luxuriously appointed, but this is -the most luxurious; our state room has two windows draped with green -rep, a cosy sofa, and—luxury of luxuries—a reading lamp; one berth is -four feet wide, with a spring mattress, downy pillows, and plenty of -them; the upper berth is the usual size.</p> - -<p>It takes us some hours to explore the vessel from end to end, as we are -kindly permitted to do; occasionally we lose ourselves, and are picked -up by a stray hand and set in the right way. We stroll through the grand -saloon, where some frantic musician is already evoking solemn sounds -from the grand organ,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span> while the passengers are clamouring for seats at -special tables, and the bewildered stewards are distracted in their -endeavour to oblige everybody. It is a case of bull-baiting—British -bull-baiting; the poor bull is on the horns of a dilemma; he manages to -extricate himself somehow, and things settle down to general -satisfaction. Descending to the engine-room, we seem to have a glimpse -of the infernal regions—such a rattle and clatter of machinery, -whizzing and whirling amid the blaze of a hundred fires, some lashed to -white heat, others blazing with a steady roar, their red flames leaping -over their fiery bed, lighting up the swarthy faces of the firemen, who -look like dusky gnomes flitting among eternal fires. By the time we -reach the upper deck the tender has departed, the anchor is up, and—are -we moving? We seem to be still stationary, but the shores of England are -receding from us, the long, curving lines of the shore growing dim and -more dim, the forest of shipping with its tall masts and fluttering -sails fades slowly from our sight, and as the twilight closes in we are -almost out of sight of land; it vanishes away till it looks like a bank -of low-lying clouds fringing the horizon; now and then a white sail -flashes out of the darkness and is gone.</p> - -<p>The night is simply superb, and the heavens are ablaze with stars, like -a jewelled canopy stretching over us as far as the eye can reach. Such -brilliancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span> above! Such a soft, hazy atmosphere around us! We seem to be -floating away into dreamland, as our giant vessel glides like a phantom -ship through the drowsy night; but for the phosphorescent waves which -run rippling at the side, or swirl in white feathery foam round the bow, -we should not know that we are moving—yet we are going at the rapid -rate of sixteen knots an hour, so steadily her iron keel treads through -the world of waters. Some of our fellow-passengers group themselves on -the deck, or stroll up and down singing old home songs or catches, and -glees. Lulled by these pleasant sounds and occasional echoes of the -sailors’ voices, we sleep soundly through our first night at sea.</p> - -<p>To some this voyage is a new experience, and to them everything is a -pleasure and delight; their senses are on the <i>qui vive</i>, and they -extract a keen enjoyment from the slightest matter; whether they are -watching the shifting colours of the sea and skies, strolling idly up -and down, or leaning over the bulwarks, straining their eyes over the -vast expanse, eagerly expecting a school of whales to go spouting past, -they are equally happy and content, seeing mountains where never a -molehill exists; the atmospheric changes interest them, the whistling of -the wind through the shrouds makes a new music to their ears, and the -life on board ship with all its variations has the charm of novelty. But -the novelty soon wears<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span> off and they gradually awake to the fact that a -sea-voyage is a most monotonous affair. This the <i>habitués</i>, to whom the -voyage is as an oft-told tale, realise from the first moment; they know -precisely how the next ten days are likely to pass, and at once set -their minds to enliven the monotony, every one contributing something to -the amusement of the whole. We are especially fortunate on the present -occasion, there being several of Colonel Mapleson’s company on board, -who are most amiable in their endeavours to amuse their -fellow-passengers. There is also an unusual amount of amateur musical -and dramatic talent on board, and they combine together and organise a -concert or some kind of dramatic entertainment every evening.</p> - -<p>About eight o’clock everybody turns out in pretty, simple toilettes, and -the stream sets towards the music-room. Great Britain is sparsely -represented, and I don’t think with the best specimens; the scanty few -seem manufactured for foreign travel only, and are not of the finest -workmanship, either of art or nature.</p> - -<p>On the evening of the first entertainment a gorgeous apparition appeared -in the shape of the master of the ceremonies, the only evident reason -for his filling that position being his possession of a swallow-tail -coat. He was a fair, slim young man, with his hair parted down the -middle. He was in full evening dress, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span> a huge artificial flower—a -sunflower—in his buttonhole, and white gloves too long for his fingers. -He was a British-Australian, we learned. When he opened his mouth he -dropped, not pearls, but <i>h</i>’s; he dropped them in one place and picked -them up in another, and in his attempt to announce the different -operatic airs he mangled the soft Italian language till it fell upon the -ear a mass of mutilated sounds. He had to run the gauntlet of a good -deal of masculine chaff, which he bore with a stolid equanimity born of -self-contentment; however, he unconsciously contributed to the general -amusement, and gave rise to some humorous illustrations which served to -beguile the time.</p> - -<p>The weather continues delightful, a balmy atmosphere brooding over a -smooth, grey sea. In quiet uninteresting calm the days pass by, but at -night nature rallies her forces and gives us some glorious sunsets, -filling the pale skies with cloud islands of golden light, while white -and crimson feathery plumes, like spectral palms, float hither and -thither across the sea-green sky. But nobody cares for a second-hand -sunset, it must be seen to be appreciated—no word-painting or most -brilliant colouring on canvas can convey an idea of it.</p> - -<p>About mid-ocean we fall into foul weather, and a violent game of pitch -and toss ensues; a clatter of broken china, contused limbs, and half a -score of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span> black eyes are the result. There is a tough-fibred, -strong-brained missionary on board, whose very face in its stern -rigidity is suggestive of torments here and hereafter. He takes -advantage of the occasion and lifts up his eyes and voice in violent -denunciation of all miserable sinners, exhorts everybody to repent upon -the spot as the day of doom is at hand—the Lord has come in storm and -tempest to break up the good ship and bury her living freight at the -bottom of the sea! He aggravates the fear, and tortures the nerves, of -the weaker vessels, till several ladies are carried to their berths in -violent hysterics. Some few husbands, fathers, and lovers, expressed a -strong desire to have that missionary “heaved overboard.” We pitied the -poor heathens who would presently benefit by his ministrations.</p> - -<p>We pass out of the storm into genial American weather—blue skies, soft, -ambient air, and brilliant sunshine. A foretaste of the lovely Indian -summer greets us long before we reach the shore. Our vessel, owing to -its gigantic size, is a long time swinging round and entering its dock. -We are in sight of New York at three in the afternoon, but it is late in -the evening before we are able to effect a landing.</p> - -<p>Everybody knows what a New York winter is like. We plunge at once into -the hurly-burly, and for the next few months we “do as the world -doth—say as it sayeth,” and being bound to the wheel whirl with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span> it -till the hard king, frost, melts and disappears under the genial breath -of a somewhat humid spring; then we turn our faces southward.</p> - -<p>It is impossible for the best disposed person to extract much pleasure -from a dismal drive across the plains of Pennsylvania, while the heavens -are weeping copiously, drenching the sick earth with their tears, and -dropping a grey cloud mantle over it. A heavy mist is hiding everything, -and moves like a shrouded funeral procession among the tall trees, as -though it had wrapped the dead winter in its grave-clothes, and was -carrying it away for burial in some invisible world we know not of. A -damp chillness clings and crawls everywhere; it finds its way to our -very bones; we shiver, and draw our wraps closer round us. The whole -world seems veiled in mourning for the sins of our forefathers; even the -buoyant spirits of the famous Mark Tapley must have gone down under -these dreary surroundings.</p> - -<p>There is nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, but the pattering rain -upon the windows, and the snort or occasional scream of our engine, like -the shriek of a bird of prey, as it sweeps on its iron road. We look -round us; everything and everybody seems in a state of depression, -wrapped in a general gloom. The whimpering cries of the children sink -into a dismal rhythmical wail, as though they wrangled by arithmetic, -and wept according to rule.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<p>There was a small family of these human fledglings aboard, and the -parent bird was sorely tried in her endeavour to keep within bounds the -belligerent spirits of her flock; in vain she called their attention to -imaginary “gee-gees” and the invisible wonders outside—they stared out -into the blankness, discovered the deception, and howled louder than -ever. The cock-horse limped on its way to Banbury Cross, and even the -lady with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes made music in vain. -At last a mysterious voice issued from a muffled man in a corner, -offering “ten dollars to anybody who would smother that baby.”</p> - -<p>We all sympathised with the spirit of the offer, but perhaps the fear of -after-consequences prevented anybody from accepting it. The mother dived -into a boneless, baggy umbrella, which apparently served as luncheon -basket, wardrobe, and, I verily believe might have been turned into a -cradle; thence she abstracted crackers, apples, and candies—and cotton -handerchiefs which she vigorously applied to their little damp noses.</p> - -<p>This interesting family got off at Baltimore and left us for diversion -to our own resources, to feed upon our own reserve fund of spirits, -which afforded but poor entertainment.</p> - -<p>As we reached Washington there was a rift in the clouds overhead, and a -brilliant ray of sunlight darted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span> through, lighting up the city, and -gilding the great dome of the Capitol with heavenly alchemy; it might -have been that some immortal eye had opened suddenly, winked upon this -wicked world, and shut again, for in a moment it was as dark and -cheerless as before.</p> - -<p>Here we change cars, and as we pass through the little waiting-room -there is a general rush, a clustering at one spot, and a babel of voices -clash one with another; we catch a few wandering words—“Here’s where he -fell, right here,” “Carried out that way,” “The wretch, I hope he’ll be -hung,” &c. We look down and see a small brass star let into the ground, -which marks the spot where poor Garfield fell; women prod it with their -parasols, men assault it with their walking-sticks. We have no time to -shed the “tributary tear”; the bell rings “All aboard, all aboard,” and -in another moment we are on our way to Richmond. The weather clears, a -few glancing gleams of golden sunlight stream through the broken clouds, -then the sun closes its watery eye and goes to sleep, with a fair -promise of a bright to-morrow.</p> - -<p>We roll on through the fresh greenery of Maryland till the evening -shadows fall and the death of the day’s life goes out in gloom and -heaviness. We spend the hours in anticipatory speculations till we reach -Richmond about ten o’clock; we drive at a rapid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span> pace through the rough -stony streets till we pull up at Ford’s hotel, where we intend taking up -our quarters. A night arrival at a strange hotel is always more or less -depressing—on this occasion it is especially so; we pass from the dim -obscurity of the streets without to a still greater obscurity within. -Preceded by a wisp of a lad we ascend the stairs and pass through a -dimly-lighted corridor; not the ghost of a sound follows us, the echo of -our footsteps is muffled in the thick carpet, and swallowed up in the -brooding silence.</p> - -<p>Our attendant unlocks and throws open a door, flourishes a tiny lamp -above his head, then, with an extra flourish, sets it on the table, -inquiring with a hoarse voice, as though he had just made a meal of -sawdust, “do we want anything more”; as we had had nothing we could not -very well require any more of it. By the light of our blinking lamp we -inspect our apartment, which is at least amply supplied with beds; there -are three of them, each of Brobdignagian proportions—rivals to the -great bed of Ware—they fill the room to overflowing and seem struggling -to get out of the window. We are soon lost in a wilderness of feathers -and wandering through the land of Nod. It seems to me that the worst -room in the house is always reserved for the punishment of late -arrivals, which is bad diplomacy on the part of hotel proprietors, as it -frequently drives<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span> their guests away in search of better quarters. It -might have been so with us; but the next morning our smiling host -appears and ushers us into a delightful suite of rooms on the ground -floor, opposite the gardens of the Capitol, where the playful squirrels -are so numerous and so tame that they will come jumping across the road -to your windows to be fed, take nuts from your hand, and sit demurely by -your side and crack them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">To-day and the yesterdays.—Richmond.—Its monuments.—Its -surroundings.—The sculptor’s studio.—Andromache.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> is at Richmond we get our first view of the South and the Southern -people. Although we are only twelve hours from the booming, hustling -city of New York, yet we feel we have entered a strange land. The -difference is not so much in mere externals, as that the whole character -of life is changed, and from all sides it is borne upon us that we are -in the land of a “lost cause;” it impregnates the very air we breathe, -and is written on the grave earnest faces of the people; it reveals -itself everywhere and in everything.</p> - -<p>A few hours in Richmond, and somehow we feel as though the war was of -yesterday. The victor may forget, but the vanquished, who have tasted -the bitterness worse than death, remember; it is ever “yesterday” with -the mother who mourns her dead. The passion for Virginia glows in every -Virginian breast, and a myriad hearts beating as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span> one mourn with proud -regret for her noblest sons. Not Virginia alone; the generous North and -faithful South unite in yielding due reverence to the indomitable -Jackson and to Lee—the stainless gentleman and pure patriot. Here, in -Richmond, those names are household words, and every day we hear fresh -anecdotes of their lives and deaths. But the South does not waste its -time in lamenting over their graves; there is no greater mistake than to -imagine that it is frittering away its energies in vain regrets. The -past is past, the dead are buried; and on the ruins of the old life the -South is building up a new—in fact, it is recreating itself. New -railways opening, great factories arising on every side, bear witness to -the energy with which the South is throwing itself into the work of -restoration. The reviving South of to-day bears promise of fairer -fruitage, a far nobler future than could ever have been reaped from -their beloved and buried past. Now that the curse of slavery, the -inherited evil—not their crime, but their misfortune—has been torn out -of the fair land, at the root of whose seeming prosperity it lay coiled -like a canker worm—now that the blot is effaced, washed away in the -life blood of the best and bravest of the North and South—their -undaunted spirits are united in one grand effort to lift up their -beautiful land till it shall stand in the foremost rank among many -nations.</p> - -<p>No one visiting the South to-day can recognise a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span> single feature of its -ancient self, so complete is the change that has swept over the whole -land, so silent the revolution that has worked in the minds of men and -the arrangement of things. It is like a creature that has been dead, -buried, and resurrected to a higher and nobler state of existence; in -fact, looking back upon its life among the yesterdays it can scarcely -recognise itself; the very atmosphere seems changed from a sultry -enervating air to an invigorating breeze, affecting the spirits as well -as the bodies of the people.</p> - -<p>Never was ruin so proudly met, defeat so grandly borne; there is no -useless looking back, no lingering regrets over the irrevocable -past—their eyes and their energies are bent on the onward march. But we -must hasten to take our first view of the city of Richmond.</p> - -<p>It is situated something like its namesake, our own English Richmond, -only instead of being laved by our broad familiar Thames, it is girdled -by the grand historic river “James,” which winds in graceful coils in -and out and round and round like a silver serpent gliding through a -paradise of green. The city stands on a series of low-lying softly -undulating hills; the Capitol, a building of pure classical -architecture, stands in the centre of the city silhouetted against the -bright blue sky, and is a landmark for miles round. Standing on this -Capitol Hill, the highest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span> point, we have a magnificent view spread -panoramically before and around us, while on every side the landscape -blends all the softness and brilliant colouring of the lowlands with the -strength and majesty of the highland scenery, variegated by picturesque -near views of land and water, here a white sail flutters in the soft -breeze, and groups of grand old forest trees lift their leafy crowns -high into the cloudland, and are sometimes lost among the fleecy -cloudlets grey and white that are sailing by, leaving the azure blue far -above them; from this point of vantage, we look down, to where the city -fades away in ragged fringes of poor squalid-looking dwellings, -apparently inhabited by our brethren of African descent. The principal -residential streets are certainly fine and wide, with handsome detached -houses in varied styles of architecture, which redeem from any monotony -the quiet, dignified, and emphatically “gentlemanly neighbourhood.” -Looking to the left we see the shabby one-horse cars crawling along the -crazy up-and-down streets, running hither and thither, stretching away -till they are hidden in a wilderness of green or lost in the pale blue -mist of the distant horizon, and the public buildings, cathedral, and -many-spired churches are prominent features therein. The river -stretching away to the right widens and hides among the foothills, then -reappears again and again till it dwindles into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span> narrow thread, -seeming to sew the land and skies together. Looking round on this -imposing scene, so rich in memories of bygone days, our thoughts -naturally connect the present with the past, and wander through the long -line of dead years to a time more than two centuries ago, when the great -ships ploughed the breast of this river, and brought the first freight -of civilisation to what was then a wilderness.</p> - -<p>Away to the left, about two miles along the banks of the river, we -descry the spot where Powhatan wielded his sceptre and ruled his dusky -tribe as kings rule not in these days; we can almost fancy we see -Pocahontas launch her frail skiff upon the bosom of the placid water.</p> - -<p>All trace of the tribe and of their dwelling is swept away; only the -grand old trees marked by the finger of passing ages still stand, with -gnarled and knotted trunks, quivering leaves, and withering branches, as -though they were struggling in their death agony, and must soon lie low, -with the rest of earth’s perishable things. Only a stretch of fancy, and -we see Captain Smith surrounded by swarms of threatening faces, passing -under their green vigorous branches, as he believes, to a barbarous -death.</p> - -<p>Before descending the hill, we make a tour of inspection around the -splendid groups of statuary which adorn the gardens. First in public -favour and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span> in general interest stands the Washington monument; a -gigantic and finely executed equestrian figure of George Washington, -mounted on an imposing granite column, rising from a star-shaped base; -beneath and around him, standing on separate pillars, are the full sized -figures of Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and sundry other heroes and -statesmen of past days; but of later and fresher interest, is the bronze -statue said to be a life-like portrait of Stonewall Jackson. This fine -production is believed to be the last and best work of the celebrated -English sculptor Foley; it bears the following inscription:—</p> - -<p>“Presented by English gentlemen as a tribute of admiration for the -soldier and patriot, Thomas J. Jackson, and gratefully accepted by -Virginia in the name of the Southern people. Done <small>A.D.</small> 1875, in the year -of the Commonwealth.” “<i>Look! There is Jackson, standing like a stone -wall.</i>”</p> - -<p>Yes; there he stands to-day, in dark and strong relief against the -burning blue of his own Virginian skies! Stands, every inch a chief, as -he will stand for ever shrined in the hearts of the Southern people—a -monument of all that is staunch and true in human kind; not more -immovable now upon his marble pedestal, than at that hour when the ranks -of his men in grey stood like granite under the Federal fire. In the -Capitol library hangs the Confederate flag, dusty and battle-worn, -proudly pointed out to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span> strangers, and regarded with reverence by those -who followed it, and saw it flutter through the smoke of battle. Round -the library walk are ranged the portraits of the great Southern leaders. -Here is the noble and thoughtful face, “the good grey head that all men -knew,” of General Lee, and there the dark stern brow of Stonewall -Jackson; and here is Jefferson Davis, and many other statesmen and -patriots of the fallen Confederacy.</p> - -<p>An ardent Virginian accompanied us on our tour through his beloved city; -with lingering eyes, he gazed tenderly upon the figure of the general -who had led them through so many fires.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said he, shaking his head regretfully, “there’ll never be another -Stonewall, he was popular even with the union men; they all admired our -dashing commander.” He added with kindling eyes, “I remember one day, -when our troops were camped on the south bank of the Rappahannock about -a mile from the shore, the Federal troops occupied the opposite side; -both encampments extended for several miles, a line of pickets was -stretched along both banks, and though within easy rifle shot of each -other, firing was by tacit agreement for a while suspended. Although -talking across the river was strictly prohibited, the orders were not -heeded, and lively wordy skirmishing was carried on. One day, loud -cheering was heard on the left of the Confederate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span> line, and as brigade -after brigade took it up, the sound rolled down the southern side of the -river.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>What’s all that cheering about, boys?’ asked the Federal pickets.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>It’s old Stonewall riding along the line,’ was the reply, shouted -across the water; and the pickets on both sides of the river took up the -cry, and foes and friends together were waving their hats and shouting—</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Hurrah! hurrah! for old Stonewall!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Having duly admired all we ought to admire, we descend the hill and -commence our explorations of the town. We thread the pretty shady -streets, pass the Monumental Church, erected above the ruins of the -Richmond Theatre, which was destroyed by fire in 1811 during the -performance of <i>The Bleeding Nun</i>, when scarcely a dozen of the audience -were saved, and many of the most influential families of the town -perished in the flames. We pause a moment before the “Allan House,” -where that strange mystical genius, Edgar Allan Poe, passed the early -years of his most troublous self-tormented life. It is a square, -old-fashioned, brick building, with a high sloping roof, surrounded by -ragged, forlorn-looking weedy grounds; ruin is fast working its will -with the old house, and desolation seems to flap its wings from the -tumbling chimney stacks, while memories of brighter days are brooding -behind the shuttered windows. Presently we pass the Libby Prison—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span> -large, low, melancholy-looking building on the banks of the river. We -shudder as we remember the tales of bygone sufferings there, and pass -quickly on our way to visit the tobacco factory of Messrs. Mayo and Co. -No overpowering odour such as we had apprehended greets us there as we -enter the premises, but a sweet pleasant fragrance, like that of Spanish -liquorice or some agreeable confection, pervades the atmosphere. We -arrive at the busiest business hour of the day, and the “hands,” -consisting of several hundred negroes, are industriously at work, -weighing, sorting, sifting, and pressing with all their might; a hive of -the busiest of human bees, singing their quaint songs, but never for a -moment relaxing in their labours—their melancholy, melodious voices -rising and falling, swelling and rolling, in waves of harmonious sounds. -As, one after the other, they become conscious of the presence of -strangers, their voices die away, and a hush gradually falls over the -entire mass.</p> - -<p>Seeing how much we are struck by those peculiarly sweet negro voices, -Mr. Mayo courteously desires a select number to gather at one end of the -extensive room, and sing for our special benefit. Chairs are brought, an -impromptu auditorium formed, the dusky troop assemble, and a tall, -coal-black negro, with white gleaming teeth and shining eyes, steps -forward, strikes the first note, and leads his fellows through<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span> the -musical maze. They wander away from the fields of their own quaint -melodies, and, I presume in deference to our presence, start at a run -into the realms of religious poetry, and sing some of their stirring -revivalist hymns, characteristic of their race and reflecting their tone -of mind.</p> - -<p>Before we leave, however, they descend from their heights, and ring out -some catching popular airs, winding up with an old favourite, “The -Suwanee River.” After a most pleasant hour we take our leave, and carry -with us an impression we shall not easily forget. Down on the main -street we pass the “old stone house,” the most ancient building in the -city. Tradition connects it with the names of Washington, Lafayette, and -many other celebrities of bygone days; there are several other roomy -old-fashioned houses scattered about the city, more interesting from -their historical association than their architectural beauty. -Progressing still downwards, we cross the bridge which connects Richmond -with the suburb of Manchester, a dreary-looking, scattered town on the -opposite bank of the river. We stand for many minutes on the centre of -the bridge, and gaze round in simple awe and admiration. The river, no -longer a tranquil stream, boils and bubbles in whirling eddies beneath -our feet, rushing in roaring rapids on its tempestuous way, leaping in -white foam flecks over the rough boulders, and hissing round the base<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span> -of the beautiful islands which rise from its stormy breast—not bald or -barren islands, but covered with a rich growth of variegated shrubs and -trees, which spread their green branches, like blessing hands, over the -face of the stormy waters. It is a wonderfully fine view, full of -suggestive poetry and romance, and for many moments holds us -spell-bound; this rich woodland, growing out of the depths of the -turbulent water in serene loveliness, contrasting with the white -gnashing teeth of the foaming wave-crests below. On our left rises the -city of Richmond, seated like a queen upon her throne, clasped by her -girdle of green, and living waters flowing at her feet. On our right -stands the homely city of Manchester, a foil to the grace and loveliness -of the fair city on the opposite shore; before us lie the ancient -hunting grounds of Powhatan; around us the land-locked waters rush -foaming and roaring on, winding through banks of glorious green till -they fall into the quiet far-off bay and there find peace, like unquiet -spirits sinking to eternal rest. Low-lying upon the shore close by are -the Tredegar Iron Works, belching forth flames and smoke, flinging their -lurid light in the face of the summer sun.</p> - -<p>We are travelling with flying feet, and have little time to loiter on -our way; having taken in the chief points of interest in the city of -Richmond, we drive out to the beautiful cemetery of Hollywood; this is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span> -rather a melancholy pleasure, for on every side are monuments raised to -the illustrious dead, whose names are familiar to our ears as household -words; they are written in emblazoned letters on the scroll of fame, and -will be read by trumpet-tongue when they are unrolled in the light of -heaven. Here is the invariable monument to the “Confederate dead;” it is -the first we see, but not the last, by many. No Southern city is so poor -but it can afford to lavish its tribute of honour to its loved and lost.</p> - -<p>Before leaving Richmond we pay a visit to the studio of the well-known -sculptor, E. V. Valentine, of whom Virginia is so justly proud. The -studio is full of minor works of art; hands and feet, as though they -were lately amputated, are flung in dusty corners; masks and faces frown -or smile from the walls, and many-winged cherubs are flying over our -heads. Some have flown away, and are fixed in monumental marble in some -far-away graveyard; and bygone beauties, some robed in white, some in -the salmon-coloured glory of terra-cotta, are crowded on the shelves, -face downward or upward, tumbled one over the other without the -slightest regard to their dignity. On one side of the room stands a -dwarfed equestrian figure of General Lee; he appears to have been -arrested sword in hand as he was galloping to the front, the look and -attitude are startlingly life-like; we can almost fancy we hear the word -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span> command issuing from the stony lips; one touch of the magic wand -would make the marble palpitate and live; but the living must die, and -this piece of sculptured stone will stand for ages to come; long after -generation on generation has passed away, he will still stand in the -light of the world’s eyes even as he is standing before us now, with the -“light of battle on his face” and the word of command upon his lips. On -the opposite side of the room lies the reverse figure; there the patriot -chief is stretched full length upon his bier as on a bed of rest, the -noble face set in a mighty calm, the left arm thrown across his breast, -the right straightened at his side, grasping his sword, “the attitude in -which he always slept upon the battle-field.” So one of his faithful -followers tells us as he looks down on the recumbent figure.</p> - -<p>“Why represent him in <i>repose</i>?” he demurs. “To me, who have seen him so -often in <i>action</i>, it is not the attitude in which he should have been -immortalised.”</p> - -<p>We think otherwise as we gaze on the serene and noble face set in the -calm of—is it sleep? or death? After action, repose; after the -battle-fever, rest. To us it is sweet, not sad, to think how—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“To the white regions of eternal peace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The General has gone forward!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<p>In the centre of the room a huge calico extinguisher has descended from -the ceiling, and hides something we are about to see; some invisible -machinery upraises the extinguisher, and reveals a muffled group, -swathed in wet linen, which is slowly unwound—and we gaze upon the -sculptor’s masterpiece, <i>Andromache</i>, modelled in clay. He has chosen no -moment of tragic agony for his work; but a still scene of home life. -Hector has gone to the war—the pain of parting is over, and Andromache -sits at her spinning-wheel, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, the -thread still between her fingers, her eyes looking forward but seeing -nothing. Her thoughts have wandered after her hero, and are lost on the -battle-field. The attitude, full of grace, is one of utter despondency, -the lovely face is full of sadness and longing, shadowed by a weariness -that tells of almost helpless despair. A lizard, the emblem of death, is -stealing out from among the folds of her drapery, to snap the thread -that lies so loosely in her hand. Her child, a sunny-faced, smiling -cherub, has climbed upon her lap, and is playing with her neck ornament, -trying in vain to attract her attention, and watching for the smile of -recognition to dawn upon her lips.</p> - -<p>The work is still in an unfinished state; the artist being occupied in -arranging the draperies and carrying out other details of his work. It -is exquisite in design and finely executed. I have no doubt that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span> this -rare work of art, will, when completed, find its way into the European -galleries. Meanwhile the artist turns a shower of spray upon the -beautiful group, wraps her again in her damp swathing clothes, the -calico extinguisher descends, and Andromache is lost to view.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Fire and ruins.—Through sylvan scenes.—The cave of Luray.—A -jewelled city underground.—The white savages of Wise County.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> spending a delightful week in Richmond, we begin to think it is -time to be “moving on.” So anxious are we to resume our journey -southward, we decide to go by the evening train, but unfortunately about -mid-day a thick smoke fills the air, and over-spreads the city like a -funeral pall. We learn that the railway bridge is on fire, burning so -furiously, and spreading so rapidly, that in the space of an incredibly -short time the buildings on either side are gutted, and the wind carries -the flying sparks over the city, and for a time it is in danger of total -destruction; people rush out of their houses, and watch breathlessly the -result; but the sparks fly over the house-tops in a flaming shower, -setting fire to one roof after another; and at last, after scaring half -the town, catching at the tindery thatch of the Allan House, threatening -to destroy one of the chief landmarks of the ill-starred<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span> poet’s life, -but the passers by rush to the rescue, and the old house is saved for -the benefit of new generations of relic hunters.</p> - -<p>We fear that the destruction of the railway bridge will cause us -difficulty, and detain us in Richmond to our inconvenience; but our -landlord assures us we shall be able to start in the evening, as we had -originally designed. “Things are sure to be fixed all right,” he says. -Wonderfully expressive, and variously applied is that little word “fix,” -in the idiomatic language of this “Greater Britain.” Never did so small -a word mean so much! It does duty as a “word of all work,” in the -kitchen, in the stable, and in the lady’s chamber; the ladies “fix” -their hair, the gentlemen “fix” their whiskers, they “fix” their -dinners, they “fix” their babies, they “fix” their weddings, they “fix” -their funerals—in fact that little insignificant monosyllable is -imported into all the articles of their daily life, and they live in a -general atmosphere of “fixing.”</p> - -<p>In accordance with our host’s kind assurance, things are pleasantly -“fixed” for our departure, the only inconvenience being that we have to -drive across the foot-bridge (so called because it is a wide carriage -drive) over the river, and take the train from Manchester on the other -side. The shades of evening are fast falling round us as we drive down -the narrow streets towards the river, and thence take our last view of -these Richmond hills, which remind us so strongly of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span> that other -Richmond, girded by our winding river Thames.</p> - -<p>The Capitol with its silent groups of heroic dead is dimly shadowed -forth in the fading light; here and there the street lamps are lit, and -look like glimmering glow-worms crawling up the narrow winding ways; and -from the stained glass windows of many churches the mellow light streams -through, revealing a fantastic kind of mosaic in brilliant hues—blue -and crimson, green and gold, blending harmoniously together; the roll of -the organ, and the united voices of the singers follow us down through -the hilly street until they are lost in the distance.</p> - -<p>The dark river is rushing beneath the foot-bridge at our feet; and on -our right the foaming flood is lighted by the fading fires of the still -burning wreck of the railway bridge. The whole structure is down, and -the huge beams lying like fiery serpents on the river’s surface, now -smouldering in red sullen fires, then up-leaping in tiny flickering -tongues of blue flame, licking round and feeding upon every remnant that -remains of the bridge that only at noon had stood proud and strong -against the sky, its iron limbs spanning the dark water. It had been -supported by twelve brick pillars, which are still left standing; each -one wearing its crown of jewelled flames, burning in lurid flashes, like -altars of the Eastern fire-worshippers, or beacon lights at sea, showing -the gloomy gaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span> between, whence the burning masses had fallen into the -sea. These colossal pillars blazing in the darkness, between the sable -shadows of the river, and the moonless midnight of the sky, threw a -light bright as the brightest day around us. On both banks of the broad -river, before and behind us, rise the gaunt ruins that were prosperous -factories in the morning, now mere blackened shells, yet picturesque and -radiant in the soft golden ruddy glow of the beautiful cruel flames, -that still lick and twist serpent-like in and out of the empty window -frames. Successful commonplace prosperity at noon, they are transfigured -into resplendent ruin at night. Well, the train awaited us on the -opposite side, and there the owners of the destroyed property were -already talking together, planning the rebuilding of their factories -with improvements; wasting no words in useless regrets; they were -scheming, and in their mind’s eye reconstructing the works, while the -ruins still smouldered before their eyes.</p> - -<p>The road to Western Virginia leads through some of the most beautiful -scenery of the south. Lying near, and around us, are soft swelling hills -and undulating valleys, with here and there dark pine woods, grouped in -sombre masses; their branches standing out stiff and grim, like serried -ranks of swords, pricking the skies—a standing army of nature’s wild -recruits rooted to her breast, their only warfare being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span> carried on with -the raging elements, when the storm king comes crashing down from the -distant mountains in a whirlwind of raging wrath, and armed with the -invisible horrors of the air hurls itself upon the woodland kings, -tearing their stiffened limbs, wrenching and twisting their tall -straight trunks, and leaving them a shapeless shivering mass upon the -ground, broken like a gallant army, but not vanquished; the earth still -holds them fast, wrapping her soft moss about their bleeding wounds, -fanning them with sweet airs, and lifting them up again to flourish in -the face of the sun. Here and there broad bands of the silver stream -sandal the foothills, and lace the ragged fringes of the earth together. -We look round on a wide panoramic view of variegated green, where hill -and valley, wooded knolls and rocky ridges, frowning forests and smiling -meadows, are blended in one harmonious whole, and a soft hazy atmosphere -lies like a heavenly mystery over all. The view is bounded and shut in -by the lofty range of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Winding slowly and -almost by imperceptible gradations downwards, we soon reach the -beautiful Shenandoah valley, <i>en route</i> for the wonderful cave of -“Luray,” which lies in the centre of Page county.</p> - -<p>The earth’s surface here and for miles round is rugged and broken, as -though by some great upheaval centuries ago; huge grey boulders are -lying in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span> directions, as though some ancient Titan had flung them -down in sport. Giant rocks, the work of the great sculptor Nature, lie -in folded ridges, their stony draperies falling about them in massive -magnificence that is beyond the reach of art. Rivulets of living water -trickle down their gaping sides, and gather, and swell, and flow through -darkened chasms half hidden from the light of the sun, playing an -everlasting game of hide and seek, then rushing forth sparkling and -laughing in its light.</p> - -<p>Eastward about a mile from the pretty village of Luray, and partially -screened by the dense thickets which crown the hilltops, there exists an -extensive cave. Concerning its first discovery, many years ago, -tradition tells an interesting story, indicating a man named Ruffner as -its first discoverer. He with his family, it is said, was among the -first settlers in the valley below, and one day he went out on a hunting -expedition and never returned. After a search of many weeks, his gun was -found at the entrance to the cave, and in due time he was discovered, -having wandered among its labyrinthine courts and passages till he was -lost and dead of starvation. From this event it was called “Ruffner’s” -cave, and is so printed on the maps both of that period and since. -Little interest, however, attached to the cave, and for a time it seemed -to have passed from the memory of man, and remained neglected and hidden -away in the heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span> of the mountain until the summer of 1878, when a -number of gentlemen formed themselves into a company not only for the -more complete exploration of the old cave, but for a regularly organised -search for new wonders. They hoped to discover even a more extensive -cave, which from their geological survey they believed to exist in the -neighbourhood. They ranged the hillside, penetrated dense thickets and -tangled woods; crept and groped under rocky ledges—first taking care to -rout the brood of rattlesnakes from their slimy bed, and hunting the -frightened foxes from their burrows under the ground, where for ages -they had lived in savage security—but for many weeks their search was -in vain. However, on returning one evening, exhausted and disheartened, -along the northern side of the hill, they observed a suspicious looking -hollow choked up with straggling bushes, loose stones, weeds, and -rubbish of all kinds, the accumulation of years. They set to work at -daydawn, clearing away the tangled brushwood, tossing out the loose -stones, and plunging deeper and deeper into the dark abyss, till they -felt a rush of cool air creeping up through the broken earth, and after -a few hours’ laborious endeavour they found themselves in a lofty -passage, which formed a kind of antechamber to a vast palace of wonder -which had been building since the world began. Thus was the Luray cave -discovered; but it is only during the last year that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span> has been -rendered accessible to the public. Nature hides her most beautiful -secrets so closely within her breast, and surrounds them with so many -mysteries, that art and labour, hand in hand, must come to the fore -before they can become the property of the world outside.</p> - -<p>Surely Aladdin’s magical lamp never lighted up such jewelled wonders as -are to be beheld here! Here are halls and corridors, stairways and -galleries, chasms and bridges, built or hollowed out with a weird -architectural magnificence wonderful to behold. We stand in the spacious -nave of the cathedral, and gaze at its groined and glittering roof, and -Gothic columns of many-coloured stalactite. The utter silence (which -never exists in the outer world, where there is always the whirr of -invisible insects, the stir of leaves, the whispering of grasses, and a -thousand other nameless sounds) here is supremely impressive; the air, -laden with solemn stillness, lies heavy and close round us. We listen -for the roll of some hidden organ to fill the darkening shadows with -music, and tempt us to fall upon our knees in worship of the Great -Unknown. We pass through a narrow jagged passage full of grotesque -shapes and caricatures of things real and unreal, till we come to a -damp, low-roofed opening called the bridal chamber, which is profusely -ornamented with fantastic formations of crystalline rock. It is said, I -don’t know how truthfully, that some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span> benighted imbeciles have already -been married on this spot. The roof is everywhere supported by hundreds -of columns of various gradations of colour and size, from a thin walking -cane to the grand pillar in the “giant’s hall,” which is nearly twenty -feet in circumference, and is ribbed and rugged like the bark of a tree. -A curious feature in this particular cave is the profusion of thin -icicles—I do not know by what other name to call them; it seems as -though threads of ice had been woven together in a veil of frost work -unknown to decorative art. They hang from the edges, and drape the walls -in falling folds like a tapestry curtain; they droop in graceful folds -before Diana’s bath, and are drawn round the couch of the “sleeping -beauty”—for a symmetrical form that is almost human lies shrouded in -ice beneath it. Fancy has found some appropriate name for every nook and -corner, form and figure, of this underground world. However fantastic -these stalactite embellishments may be they are never inharmonious, one -thing never seems out of keeping with another. Here we may gather to -ourselves lessons of loveliness, and the mysterious mingling of the -beautiful in form and colour that æstheticism tries in vain to teach.</p> - -<p>We wander through the “garden,” and gaze round with still greater -amazement upon the gorgeous colouring and delicate formation of these -stalactite flowers, so airy and fragile; they look as though a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span> breath -would wither them, yet they have been in bloom for ages, and will bloom -on for ages more. The grey stone is covered with this growth of glassy -flowers, with quivering petals of pink and violet and white. We are -inclined to smell them, scarce believing they are cold and scentless. -Presently we come upon a glacial forest scene, where the fluted columns, -uprising like knotted trunks of trees, spread their thin, brittle -branches till we fancy we see them quivering in the still air. Let fancy -take the bit in her mouth and run away with our reason, and we shall -believe we are standing amid a spectral group of ancient willow and elm -trees which have perished from the upper world, and live out their -frozen life of ages here below. Here and there a tiny rill of water -trickles like a silver thread down among the folded draperies, till it -is lost among the fretted frostwork below. Then crossing a rude stony -balcony we look down into a wide, deep chasm, which yawns beneath our -feet, and it is not difficult for the imagination to evolve the most -uncanny creatures of weird, unearthly forms from the depths of darkness -which the magnesium lights illuminate but cannot penetrate.</p> - -<p>At last we come up from those vast underground realms to the light of -the living sun, awestruck and impressed with the wonders thereof. While -we are carrying out our small human lives, taxing our intellect, our -imagination and our skill to build up vast edifices<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span> of brick and stone -on this outer earth, which in a few short years must crumble away, an -unknown and invisible world is being slowly perfected beneath our -feet—a world not made by hands—every touch and tint the work of a -passing age; silently and slowly the viewless workers labour on, under -the land and under the sea, while cycles and ages pass! Will not this -outer crust whereon we live slowly crack like a shell, and one day fall -away, and leave a world such as the Revelation tells of, whose jewelled -palaces are of silver and gold, the glory and wonder whereof this world -knoweth not! We feel as though we had stood on the outermost edge and -caught a glimpse of the wonder-land where nature is working her will in -silence and darkness.</p> - -<p>Some of the most picturesque and sublime scenery of the South may be -found in the regions of Western Virginia, where nature in her wildest -mood holds sovereign sway among her everlasting hills, clothed with -majestic woods running down to the narrow valleys and winding lands -which intersect the mountains. Here in these solitudes, scattered -through these lonely regions, live a primitive people, leading a -primitive life.</p> - -<p>They are supposed to be the descendants of the Irish and Scotch who came -over to this country about two hundred years ago, and wandered on and on -till they reached these solitudes and then settled down in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span> sparse and -scattered groups far apart, not in villages but in single families, -where they have been living undisturbed through all these changing -years, marrying and intermarrying with some kind of ceremony peculiar to -themselves, from generation to generation. Children have been born, -grown to be old men, and died, having never passed out from their own -solitary homes.</p> - -<p>They hold no communion with the outer world; no “iron horse” steams -through their solitudes, and few and far between indeed are the -travellers who invade their wilderness. Even with each other their -communication is scarce and scant—their nearest neighbour may be -residing from five to twenty miles away; visiting is therefore a rather -difficult process, especially as there are no roads leading from one -place to another. People have to find their way, or rather make their -way, over the rough, stony mountain, and through the tangled woods, -wading through brooks and leaping across dangerous chasms before they -can enjoy the luxury of looking on a human face! These poor people can -neither read nor write, they have no means of learning to do either; -they are beyond the reach of the school-board, without the pale of -civilisation. There are no schools, no books, no newspapers, no post, no -highroads, no church, no law but what their own untaught nature lays -down; no religion save that which they evolve from the mystery<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span> of their -own being—for even in the most savage, untutored breast, a still small -voice is always whispering speculations as to the unknown from the -beginning to the end and after. They build their own log huts (some of -which are in the last stage of dilapidation) and make their own rough -furniture. Having cleared as much land as they want, they grow patches -of corn, cabbages, and such like; nuts, fruits and sorrel, and other -kinds of green stuff which they use for food all grow plentifully in -these uncultivated lands. Some own a cow and a few fowls, and wild hogs -are numerous enough to supply them with all they need of animal food.</p> - -<p>In all this region cotton grows abundantly, and they weave their own -clothes, the old spindle of two hundred years ago being still in use -among them. The men wear shoes—when they can get them—all the year -round; but the women go barefoot except in the winter time and during -the inclement season, when the streams are turned to frozen ice, and the -earth is shrouded in thick snow. It is the women who do the outdoor -work, while their lords and masters, following the example of savage -Indian tribes, stay by the fireside and smoke their pipes. Occasionally, -once in a year or two, some one of this scattered community will load -his mule and fill his cart with different commodities of his own and his -neighbour’s and make a pilgrimage to the nearest town—which may be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span> -hundred miles off or more—and sell or exchange them for such -necessaries as they require, and with which they cannot supply -themselves. The existence of these primitive people is very well known -to such travellers as from time to time have penetrated these solitudes; -but this state of things will not be allowed to remain long unchanged; -the spirit of progress is abroad, and is already making a subtle and -invisible progress even among these primeval solitudes.</p> - -<p>Some three or four years ago a solitary gentleman of engineering -proclivities started on a voyage of discovery through these desolate -regions, and after long wanderings and many disappointments fell -figuratively upon his feet at last, and after a patient investigation of -certain localities came to the conclusion that some of nature’s rich -resources were hidden away in the heart of these mountains. Having once -convinced himself of this truth he returned to civilisation, and with -little difficulty organised a company, and in the course of a few months -returned with a staff of engineers and workers necessary for the full -development and carrying out of his design. The shaft was sunk, the mine -is now in full working order, and promises to be a great success.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile there have been many and great difficulties to be overcome in -the suspicious ignorance and sturdy opposition of these, the original -inhabitants of the soil, who regard the new order of things with evil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span> -eyes, and watch with ill-disguised dissatisfaction, and low, muttered -threats that the invasion of their privacy shall be paid for by the -lives of their invaders, who, however, go steadily on with their work -with a fearless determination to carry it through in spite of the -opposition of this hostile community.</p> - -<p>The new comers associated with the old inhabitants, whenever occasion -served, in a frank, friendly fashion, endeavouring to convince them that -any act of violence on their part would be followed by speedy punishment -and the total expulsion of the whole scattered community from the soil -where they had become rooted for generations past. But in vain they -tried to persuade them that the new order of things would be for their -benefit, and would bring them into connection with the great world, -giving to them and to their children an opportunity of rising and -improving their condition. They have no ambition, and being utterly -unconscious of their ignorance are content therewith. They don’t know -anything nor don’t want to know anything; they have many curious -traditions circulating among them, descending from father to son, and -growing and deepening in wonder by the way. They are full too of strange -superstitions, as a people living so utterly apart from the rest of the -world, lost in the speculations and mystery of their own lonely lives -would naturally be; they may have a kind of dreamy conviction that -somewhere across<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span> the mountains the inhabitants boil and eat brown -babies, and, if occasion serves, are in no ways loth to indulge -surreptitiously in the luxury of a fine fat white boy!</p> - -<p>However, they are day by day getting more reconciled to the presence of -their civilised brethren, who by general tact and little helpful -kindnesses have won their toleration and good will. Though they still -stand aloof and watch the progress of affairs with curious eyes, they -give <i>no</i> assistance and offer no opposition.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile public attention having been called to the existence of the -valuable mines throughout these districts, the construction of a railway -is under consideration; and if the projected undertaking be carried out -villages and towns will spring up like magic in these untrodden wilds, -the echoes of life and labour resound through the now silent solitudes, -and the flood of a new strong life will burst among these wandering -weaklings of humanity, and either absorb them into their own strength, -or drive to still deeper and farther solitary wilds the white savages of -Wise County.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Through the great swamp.—Charleston.—A memory of the old -world.—Blacks and whites.—Peculiarities of the coloured folk.—A -ghost of dead days.—Quaint scenes.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> much loitering and a keen enjoyment of the wilder beauties of -Virginia we start on our way to Charleston, one of the oldest historic -cities in America, and doubly interesting to us from its connection with -the old colonial day, when the British flag fluttered over the -inhabitants, and the stars and stripes were things of the future.</p> - -<p>Our way lies through wide stretches of uncultivated lands, dotted here -and there by negro huts with black babies and pigs tumbling together in -the mire. In the course of a few hours we emerge from these -uninteresting wilds, and are running through the great swamps which -extend for miles along either side of our iron road, and are strictly -impassable for either man or beast, though it is said that hundreds of -poor human creatures in the old days chafed and fretted and grew -discontented with their condition<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span> of life, and in their foolish -endeavour to escape from it were lost in these wilds. Who knows what -cries to God for help and mercy have gone up from the inner gloom of -these dismal swamps?—cries that perhaps the angels heard and came down -from heaven to answer.</p> - -<p>Although we are journeying through perfectly flat country, with never an -undulating wave of land in sight, the scenery is ever changing, and -never presents the same picture to the eye for two minutes together. -There is, of course a certain monotony in the character of the natural -pageant that is gliding past us, but the combinations vary both in form -and colour, now advancing, now receding as we flash past them; the air -is full of light, and queer-looking grey birds rise up and wheel in -eddying circles over our heads, flapping their wings, and uttering -strange cries, which our engine’s voice has not strength enough to -smother.</p> - -<p>The idea of a swamp had always presented itself to our mind’s eye as a -vast expanse of shiny, slushy soil, half mud, half water, with here and -there a rank undergrowth of bushes and stiff grass, and briers, through -which it must be a melancholy task to travel,—but it is not so. In -travelling through these swampy regions the prospect is neither a dull -nor an uninteresting one; whole forests of grand old trees rise up from -the watery waste, the rich varied foliage growing so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span> luxuriantly, and -in such impenetrable masses that scarce a ray of sunshine comes glinting -through. We feel as though by some strange accident we have been caught -up by some modern magician, clothed in steel with a heart of iron, and -whirled along through the forest primeval.</p> - -<p>For hours, nay, for the whole day long we speed through this world of -green, now and again the great trees turning their leafy arms into a -perfect arch above our heads, as we go thundering on.</p> - -<p>Some of our fellow travellers go to sleep, others yawn over a book which -they have not energy enough to read, some get out the cards and play -poker or <i>écarté</i>, according as the spirit of gambling moves them; we -hear murmured complaints, “There is nothing to see,” and “What a -horribly monotonous journey.”</p> - -<p>But to us it is not monotonous; there is life and beauty in the -ever-changing lights and shadows of the forest, sometimes most -Rembrandt-like in their depth and dim obscurity; in the dainty colouring -of the leaves, and the many strange formations of these ancient kings of -the forest, standing in deep rank and file, sentinels and guardians of -the silent land, their green heads lifted to the skies, their gnarled -and knotted feet firmly planted on the earth below. We wonder are they -quite dumb and speechless? Deaf to the low whispering of the wind, -stirred only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span> to a gentle rustle by its balmy breath? Who knows? What to -us is the mere soughing of the wind may be to them a living language -coming straight down from the Great Unknown, with a message cheering -them in their solitude here with a promise of a hereafter, when they -shall bloom in paradise, and angels walk and talk beneath their leafy -shade. They seem so lonely here; they have never heard the sound of a -human voice; no foot has ever strayed among their fallen leaves, no -lovers’ voices made sweet music in the night, no childish babble echoed -through their bended boughs.</p> - -<p>We are still lost in contemplation, with our thoughts wandering through -the soft luxuriant beauty of this forest land, when we slowly emerge -from its density into the open country. The landscape changes, -widens,—Charleston is in sight! In a few minutes the cling-clanging of -the engine bell tells us we are nearing the station—another moment, and -we are there.</p> - -<p>It is evening now, the lamps are lighted, and but a few scattered groups -are making their way homeward through the quiet streets, for they keep -early hours in Charleston, and by ten o’clock all decent folk are at -home in their beds.</p> - -<p>The gloomy grandeur of the “Charleston House”—and it is really a -handsome stone building—attracts us not; we stop at the “Pavilion,” a -pretty homelike hotel with a verandahed front, and balcony filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span> with -evergreens and flowers, on the opposite corner of Meeting Street. Our -room has the usual regulation furniture, without any pretensions to -luxury—clean, comfortable beds, chilly-looking marble-topped tables, -and the inevitable rocking chairs, without which the humblest home would -be incomplete. We go to bed and sleep soundly after our twenty-four -hours’ run.</p> - -<p>Within all was bright and pleasant enough, but without the prospect was -anything but cheering. Our windows opened upon a dingy courtyard, -surrounded on three sides by dilapidated buildings two stories high; the -rickety doors hung loosely on their rusty hinges, the windows were -broken or patched with paper or old rags, and the venetian blinds swung -outside in a miserably crippled condition—all awry and crooked, every -lath splintered or broken, the paint was worn off in rain-stained -patches everywhere, and the woodwork was worm-eaten, and rotten. The -place had altogether a miserable appearance, as though the ghost of the -old dead days was haunting and brooding over it in the poverty of the -present. It seemed to be deserted too, for as we looked out upon it in -the light of the early morning, we heard no sound, nor saw a human -creature anywhere.</p> - -<p>We learned afterwards that these had been the original slave quarters, -and are still occupied by the same inhabitants—the freedmen of to-day, -the slaves of yesterday, in many cases still serving their old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span> masters -in the old way. The servants of the hotel, waiters, chambermaids, etc, -are all coloured, or rather coal-black; for as we go farther South the -mixed breeds are more rarely to be met with; it is only here and there -we come across the mulatto or others of mixed blood, which is rather a -surprise to us, for we expected the half breeds greatly to outnumber the -original race.</p> - -<p>In Charleston two thirds of the population are black, and almost without -exception in all Southern cities they largely preponderate over the -whites, whose superiority they tacitly acknowledge, and work under their -direction with amiable contentment.</p> - -<p>Their inherent respect for the white race is exemplified in many ways, -especially in the small matters of everyday life. In many of the -coloured churches they have white preachers, and these are always the -most popular. One old “mammy,” who had nursed a friend of mine forty -years ago, and who still occupies her old position in the same family, -is accustomed to walk three miles to and from church, though she is over -seventy years of age. On her mistress inquiring why she went so far, -when one of her own people held service close by, “I’se no sit under no -nigger preacher!” said the old woman, shaking her head contemptuously.</p> - -<p>This kind of feeling penetrates even into the nursery. The dark nurse -will be most devoted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span> the white baby, while she utterly neglects her -own,—hence the great mortality among the dusky brood, which, -comparatively, more than doubles that of the whites. An attempt to -secure the services of a young coloured girl for an infant of her own -race (whose mother was nursing a white child) was met with the scornful -answer, “I’se no tend no nigger babies,” the girl herself being black as -coal!</p> - -<p>It is the same in the schools, for though both white and coloured pass -exactly the same examinations, they will not send their children to be -taught by their own people. The rank and file of teachers may be -coloured, but they must be led, and in all their duties superintended, -by the whites! Woe be to the coloured teacher who dares to put a naughty -Topsy in the corner! The maternal virago swoops down upon her with -direst outcries, and lays her case before the authorities with as much -solemnity as could be used in the court-martial of a refractory colonel.</p> - -<p>The master mechanics, builders, carpenters, blacksmiths, etc., are -generally white, while the journeymen and labourers are coloured; it is -the same with the shopkeepers and small traders, their employés being of -the opposite race.</p> - -<p>The great drawback in the labour market throughout the Southern States -is the uncertainty of the labour supply. The blacks as a rule are -excellent mechanics,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span> but they will not work well unless under strict -supervision, and they will only work while necessity demands they -should. They have no sense of the responsibility which rests upon their -employer, and cannot see that their idle self-indulgence must result in -his ruin and ultimately in their own. So soon as they have earned a few -dollars they enjoy a spell of idleness till they have eaten them up, and -then go to work for more; but this peculiarity is not confined to the -dark race. They are a good-natured and simple, but shiftless and utterly -irresponsible, people; to-day is all; they apply the scriptural text -literally, and “take no thought of to-morrow.” Gay, thoughtless, fond of -pleasure and every kind of self-indulgence, and having led for -generations past a life of dependence on the will and direction of -others, they can exercise no discretion of their own; they are mere -machines to be set in motion by the master hand. Generations must pass -before they can learn the lesson of self-government, and be led to feel -that their own prosperity must be the outcome of their co-operation with -the prosperity of others. I speak of the general character of the -people; of course there are exceptions to this rule, and many of them. -Education is doing its work slowly but surely; there are schools -everywhere, where they receive exactly the same training as the whites, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span> consequently the coloured population of to-day is a great advance -on the enslaved race of twenty years ago.</p> - -<p>We spend our first day in Charleston in a rambling promenade through the -city, so gathering a general view of the whole before we take the -special points of interest.</p> - -<p>It is a bright sunny day, with a cool fresh breeze blowing, not at all -the sort of weather we ought to have considering the season; instead of -the hot sun blazing and burning in vindication of its Southern -character, compelling us to creep along every inch of shade, and melting -us even then, it simply looks down upon us with a kind, genial eye, -occasionally winking and playing bo-peep with the woolly white clouds -which come sailing across the azure sky, and the balmy breath of the -wind is sufficiently cool to render our wraps not only comfortable but -absolutely necessary.</p> - -<p>Before we have gone many steps on our way we come upon a pleasant party -of some half dozen negroes, sitting on a fence like a gathering of black -crows, each one whittling a stick and chewing tobacco in solemn -silence—not the silence of thought, but the silence of emptiness, their -great shining eyes staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, like lazy -cattle basking in the sunshine in supreme idleness.</p> - -<p>On returning some hours later, we find them in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span> exactly the same place, -whittling the same stick and chewing the same quid; they do not seem to -have stirred an inch. In odd nooks and corners, entangled in the ragged -edges of the city, we come upon similar groups, and I believe if we had -returned in six days instead of six hours we should have found them in -precisely the same condition.</p> - -<p>The aspect Charleston presents at the first glance to the stranger’s eye -is impressive in the extreme; apart from the historical and romantic -interest which clings to the place, it has a character peculiarly its -own, and bears slight resemblance to any other city we have seen. It -seems to have stood still during the last century, and is strictly -conservative in its appearance and in its ways.</p> - -<p>Quaintly tangled streets and alleys cling to the main thoroughfares, -running up and down, in and out, in a sort of -thread-my-grandmother’s-needle fashion; making a loop here, tying -themselves into knots there, and resolving themselves into a perfect -puzzle which the pedestrian has hard matter to piece together with his -weary feet.</p> - -<p>The houses in these out-of-the-way parts of the town are old-fashioned, -odd-looking places, some so crippled in their lower limbs as to need the -support of strong oaken beams, or patches of bricks and mortar; some are -rickety in their upper stories, and lean affectionately on one side so -as to support<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span> themselves on the strength of their neighbours, as weaker -human creatures are apt to do. Everything seems pining for a fresh coat -of paint; but they do their best to conceal their need of it, covering -themselves with creeping plants or tawdry hangings, hiding their -discolorations and bruises with gorgeous hued flowers, and clasping -their green mantle round them as we may have seen an aristocratic beggar -draw his robe across his breast to hide his rags and tatters. -Occasionally, in some obscure corner of the city, we come upon a -rambling old mansion of quaint, picturesque architecture, once the home -of refinement and wealth, where the great ones of the country lived in a -state of ease, luxury, and almost feudal splendour. It is occupied now -by hosts of coloured folk; swarms of black babies crowd the verandahs or -climb and tumble about the steps and passages, while the dilapidated -balconies are filled with lines of clothes to dry; the negro smokes his -pipe beneath the eaves, and the women folk, with their heads turbanned -in gay-coloured handkerchiefs, laugh and chatter from the windows and -lounge in the doorways. How long ago is it since the clank of the -cavaliers’ spurs rang upon the crumbling pavement, and sweet ladies with -their pretty patched faces laughed from the verandahs, while merry -voices and music and hospitality echoed from the now dingy, -time-dishonoured halls, and stately dames in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span> the decorous dress and -manners of the old days walked to and fro, adding by their gracious -presence to the attraction of the festive scene? But these good old days -are over; no imperious dames, in stiff brocades and jewelled slippers, -pace the wide corridors, or dance the graceful minuet upon the floor; -there is no sound of flute and tabor now, but the many sounding notes of -labour, the tramp of busy hives of working men and women, and the -plaintive voices of the negroes singing is heard instead of it, and who -shall say which makes the better music?</p> - -<p>It was on the balcony of one of those houses Jane Elliot stood to see -her lover, William Washington, march past with his cavalry regiment on -their way to the war, more than a century ago. Drums beat and bugles -sounded, and as the gallant men marched on she observed they had no -flag! For a few brief moments they halted beneath her window while with -her own hands she tore the crimson brocade back from one of her -drawing-room chairs, and improvised a banner, which they triumphantly -bore away, marching double quick time to the tune their hearts were -playing.</p> - -<p>Years after, in 1827, when she was widowed and old and grey, she stood -on the same spot and gave this, her dead husband’s battle banner, to the -Washington light infantry of Charleston. It is now held by them almost -as a sacred relic, and is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span> carried on days of grand parade or other -special occasions. We may catch a glimpse of life as it was in this -Charleston of old times from a writer in 1763, who says:—</p> - -<p>“The inhabitants of this Carolina province are generally of a good -stature and well made, with lively and agreeable countenances. The -personal qualities of the ladies are much to their credit and advantage; -they are genteel and slender, they have fair complexions—without the -aid of art—and regular, refined features, their manners are easy and -natural, their eyes sparkling and enchantingly sweet. They are fond of -dancing; many sing well, and play upon the harpsichord and guitar with -great skill. In summer riding on horseback or in carriages—which few -are without—is greatly practised. In the autumn, winter, and spring, -there is variety and plenty of game for the gun or dogs; and the -gentlemen are by no means backward in the chase. During the season, once -in two weeks, there is a dancing assembly in Charleston, where there is -always a brilliant appearance of lovely and well dressed women: we have -likewise a genteel playhouse, where a very tolerable set of actors, -called ‘The American Company of Comedians,’ exhibit. Concerts of -instrumental music are frequently performed by gentlemen. Madeira wine -and punch are the common drinks of the inhabitants, but few gentlemen -are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span> without claret, port, Lisbon, and other wines of Spanish, French, -or Portugal vintages. The ladies are very temperate, and only drink -water, which in Charleston is very unwholesome. There are about 1,100 -houses in the town, some of wood, some of brick; many of them have a -genteel appearance, though generally encumbered with balconies or -piazzas, and are all most luxuriously furnished. The apartments are -arranged for coolness, which is very necessary.”</p> - -<p>Charleston, as I have said before, is strictly conservative in its -principles, and in many respects is much the same to-day as it was then. -In spite of all its reverses—the internal struggles of the Cavaliers -and Puritans, who brought hither their old quarrels and prejudices along -with their household gods, from over the sea, its strife with the -Indians, its troubles during the British occupation, and its terrible -disasters during the late four years’ conflict—it still retains many of -its old characteristics; its features are the same, though cruelly -scarred with the flames and sword of war. We pass on our way through -Meeting Street, one of the chief thoroughfares of the city; it is a -long, straight, not overwide, shady street, with beautiful trees on -either side, and has a look of almost cloistered quiet about it. There -are several handsome churches embosomed in bowers of green, and the -ruins of an ancient<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span> cathedral, which was burned by accident more than -twenty years ago; they point this out as proudly, and cherish it as -fondly, as though it were a legitimate ruin, a wreck that old time had -left upon their shores.</p> - -<p>The long stretch of houses on either side are not of any specially -varied or picturesque style of architecture; they are three stories -high, and have a rather curious appearance, as they turn their backs -upon the streets, or rather stand sideways like pews in a church, their -fronts facing seaward, to catch the cool sea breeze which blows down -from the battery above. The three-storied piazzas running round every -house, the green venetians wholly or partly closed, not a soul in sight, -either from within or without, give an appearance of almost oriental -seclusion to the place; one half expects to see some dark, laughing -beauty peeping out from among the flowers. The dear old city is full of -romance and beauty everywhere, and as we pass through the silent -street—silent, yet speaking with an eloquence that surpasses -speech—the ghost of the dead days seems marching with muffled feet -beside us, and the very stones seem to have a story to tell. We feel as -though we have fallen upon an enchanted land, where time is standing -still, and the years have grown grey with watching. Here and there we -come upon a large empty mansion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span> one of the grand dwellings of old -colonial days, whence the tenants have been driven by adverse -circumstances; it stands staring down upon the street with blank, glassy -eyes, perhaps with a rent in its side, and its face bruised and -battered, its discoloured, painted skin peeling off, and slowly rotting. -People have neither time nor money to rehabilitate these ancient -mansions; they must needs be deserted by their owners, who have gone to -seek their fortunes in the eastern cities, while the old homes are left -to decay.</p> - -<p>From this pretty shady street we come out upon the Battery, and stand -for a moment to look round upon the peaceful scene, and enjoy the balmy -breeze which sweeps straight from the near Gulf Stream. This is a -delightful promenade and pleasure ground, where the good Charlestonians -from time immemorial have come for their evening stroll, or to sit under -the leafy shade of the scrub-oaks, gossiping with their neighbours. The -Battery grounds front the land-locked bay—a sheet of crystal water -about three miles wide—around which, and on the opposite side, lies a -perfect garland of softly-swelling green islands, which stretch far away -out of our sight. On each side, running like arms from the bay, are the -Ashley and Cooper rivers, holding the town in their watery embrace. -Around three sides of the Battery there runs an elevated promenade, -raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span> about two feet from the grounds, which are beautifully laid out -in pretty, white shell walks, grassy turf, and gorgeous flower beds, -while groups of fine old forest trees, that have heard the whispering of -many centuries, spread their leafy branches far and wide. Turning their -backs upon the town and facing this lovely land-and-water scene, stands -a variegated collection of fine old-fashioned houses of quaint -architecture. Some are landmarks of the old colonial days; each one -differs in form and colour from the other, but all are fanciful -structures with elaborate ornamentation; some are circular, some flat -fronted, some curving in a fantastic fashion, and seeming to look round -the corner on their friends and neighbours, to assure them they are not -proud though they have turned their backs upon them; some have wide -balconies of stone, some light verandahs with green venetian blinds or -graceful ironwork clinging to their front; but everywhere creeping -plants and brilliant flowers are growing.</p> - -<p>The view on all sides is most picturesque and lovely, and the fragrant -air is a delight to the senses. Here is the real aristocratic part of -the city, and here to this day, in spite of the many freaks of fortune, -the descendants of the old Huguenot and Cavalier families inhabit the -homes of their ancestors, whose familiar names still echo on the ears of -the town. With lagging footsteps we take our way homeward through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span> -city, losing ourselves and finding ourselves more than once. Altogether -we come to the conclusion that Charleston is a sober suited, gentlemanly -city strongly impregnated with the savour of old days; somewhat worn and -grey, but thoroughly dignified and pleasant, full of old-world -prejudices and decorum that no flighty tourist would care to outrage.</p> - -<p>We have merely glanced at the outer aspect of the city, to-morrow we -must visit some interiors and the more definite features within and -around it. As we enter our chamber after our long ramble we hear the -sounds of merry voices, and the passing of people to and fro in the -courtyard; then suddenly amid the shouting and the laughter there rises -a choir of voices, a hush falls everywhere—they are singing “The sweet -by and by.” We approach the window and look out. A group of coal-black -negroes are sitting round one table piling up rich ripe strawberries for -our dessert; close by is another party shelling peas. It is these groups -who are singing. Their plaintive melancholy voices affect us solemnly; -but even as the last notes are trembling on their lips they begin to -play monkey tricks on one another, turning somersaults in the air, -grinning from ear to ear, and chattering like magpies!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">St. Michael’s chimes.—Architectural attraction.—Magnolia -Cemetery.—A philosophical mendicant.—The market.—Aboard the -boat.—Fort Sumter.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A closer</span> acquaintance with Charleston, its surroundings, and its people, -deepens our first impression. A dignified gravity seems to be set like a -seal upon their lives, whence all light frivolous things have been cast -out, and replaced by high hopes and noble aspirations, born of a past -sorrow. There is a look of preoccupation on their faces, as though their -thoughts and desires have outstripped their powers of action, and they -are pushing the world’s work forward that they may come up with them and -realise the state of their holy ambitions. They dress sombrely, in dark -neutral tints, with a quiet elegance and simplicity. They are as the -sober setting to a brilliant picture, where the coloured folks supply -the flaunting figures and gaudy colouring—the blacker they are the more -gorgeous are their personal adornments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span></p> - -<p>Passing up the long shady Meeting Street, with its rows of tall trees on -either side of it, the most prominent object in view is the old Church -of St. Michael, which is a great point of interest to visitors. It was -built more than a century and a half ago; the quaint and somewhat sombre -interior, with its high box pews, groined roof, and dainty columns is -impressive as only such ancient places of worship can be. The tall, -graceful, steeple towers high above all other spires and is a landmark -for miles round. It has a wonderfully fine peal of bells, too, with a -most romantic history. In 1782 when the British vacated Charleston they -seized these bells and shipped them to England, considering them as a -military perquisite. However, in the space of a few weeks, they were -re-shipped to Charleston, and replaced in the belfry. In 1861 they were -sent to Columbia for safety, and in the terrible conflagration which -destroyed that city they were so much damaged by fire as to be perfectly -useless. They were then sent once more to England to be recast, and, -strange to say, this delicate piece of work was performed by the -descendants of the same firm which made them nearly a century and a half -ago! They were recast from the same model, and perfected as nearly like -the original as possible, and when finished were returned to Charleston, -where they were detained in the custom-house for some time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span> the -authorities being too poor to pay the duty, which amounted to several -thousand dollars! These public boards are seldom public-spirited—red -tapeism seems to tie down their sympathies, and strangle their -patriotism. However, after all their vicissitudes, the bells were -reinstated in their old place, and all Charleston went wild with -excitement when the musical chimes rang out once more, seeming to tell -their story in rhythmical rhyme! And when their brazen tongues again -clashed out upon the ears of the people, who knows what other tales they -told, or what mournful memories they sent echoing through the city, -stirring all hearts like the roll of a muffled drum?</p> - -<p>Both within and without, St. Michael’s is perhaps the most interesting -of all the churches. Its preachers have always been men of note; -enrolled among them are many who are now world-famous. There are places -of worship for all denominations of sinners, who can choose their own -road, through highways or by-ways, from this world to the next.</p> - -<p>They can travel express through the mystic musical region of the highest -of high churches, where the spiritual leader takes the train in hand and -is answerable for all accidents by the way; or they may wander through -quiet, peaceful meadow-lands, where only the voice of the shepherd calls -their attention to the tinkling bells of salvation in the distance, -whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span> music will ring out clearer and sweeter as they near the great -beyond. Indeed, people may take their religion in any form they please; -the means are abundantly supplied, from the undiluted draught of simple -faith to the modest mixture of half-and-half measures, where soft music -is falling, candles faintly burning—and always extinguished at the -right moment—and on to the hottest, strongest spiritual essence, with -incense burning, banners flying, and—why not?—drums, fifes, and -trumpets playing on the march to celestial glory! And no doubt the -Salvation Army will soon come streaming from the east, laden with patent -piety warranted to cure the most diseased soul, and secure a front seat -in the halls of heaven in a single day!—not without payment, though, -for the “almighty dollar” plays a prominent part in these spiritual -proceedings.</p> - -<p>The many handsome churches and public buildings add largely to the -attractions of Charleston, and are, to a certain extent, a reflex of the -minds of the people. As the descendants of old families concentrate -their energies and their pride on their ancestral home, so the good -Charlestonians from generation to generation have devoted theirs to the -glorification of their beloved city; and in erecting new buildings, -public companies as well as private individuals, instead of building -according to their own special taste, have had some regard to that of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span> -their neighbours; every stone has been laid thoughtfully one upon the -other, not only with regard to its own features, but as a part of a -whole, and in perfect harmony with the general aspect of the city. One -building never mars the effect of the other; the eye is hurt by no -incongruity of architecture, no false colouring, but everywhere is a -pleasant blending of symmetrical forms and delicate tints. The effect -upon the eye is the same as that of a perfect melody upon the ear—no -slurred notes, no flat where a sharp should be, nothing jarring, no -false rhythm anywhere.</p> - -<p>In secluded streets as well as in the public quarter of many a large -city the eye is often struck with discords in bricks and mortar, marble, -or stone; each structure perhaps tasteful enough in itself, but the -effect being marred, and marring by contrast the work of its neighbour.</p> - -<p>Fancy the effect of knee-breeches and a tall beaver on the Apollo -Belvedere, a flat nose on “Antinous,” or a <i>nez retroussé</i> on the Venus -of Milo!</p> - -<p>The first question you are asked on entering a southern city is: “Have -you been to the cemetery?”</p> - -<p>This is one of the chief places of interest which everybody is anxious -to point out; for next to the city of the living they cherish the city -of their dead. It is here they come to while away their leisure hours, -and bring the fresh flowers of every season to lay above<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span> the dust of -their departed—for you seldom see an undecorated grave.</p> - -<p>The Magnolia Cemetery is about three miles from the city; we pass first -through a grand avenue to the German burial-ground, which is beautifully -kept, with shining white walks winding among blooming flower beds and -rare shrubberies, shaded by grand old oaks, clothed in their mantles of -soft grey moss. Carved upon the headstones the solemn words “Her ruhet -in Gott” meet the eye at every turn. Passing through this grave-garden, -we soon come to the main entrance to Magnolia Cemetery; within the -massive gates a colossal bell is suspended from a lofty scaffolding, -which tolls slowly as the funeral approaches; a pretty Gothic chapel, -where the services are held, stands to the left. Passing under the -archway we come upon a few score of white wooden headstones, which stand -like special guardians at the gates of death; beneath these lie the -Federal dead. Farther on lies the wide Confederate burial-ground; here, -side by side, and rank on rank, by hundreds—nay, by thousands—lie the -soldiers of the lost cause sleeping their last sleep, happily -unconscious of the ruin that fell on the land they loved before yet the -grass grew over their graves. Few, very few, have an inscription to mark -who rests beneath, but soft green hillocks swell in low waves on all -sides of us; these hide the unknown dead, and over them are daisies and -sweet wild flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span> growing. Beyond these again lie the more fortunate, -who have died at home, surrounded by friends and kindred, and fitly -mourned in monuments of marble; there are symbolical urns and broken -columns, groups of mourning friends in every possible or impossible -attitudes of depression; there is a cherub blowing a trumpet as though -striving to wake up the heavenly host with the news “another recruit is -coming.” He is blowing so hard he seems to have blown himself out of his -draperies, which are fluttering in the wind behind him, and weeping -angels are drying their eyes with stony pocket-handkerchiefs, as though -bemoaning that all the virtues of all the world lay perishing beneath -them—at least, so says the inscription written there. As it always -happens in the great cemeteries of north, south, east, and west, some of -the departed are mourned in doggerel rhyme, some in ungrammatical prose. -I think that many would rise up from their silent beds and wipe out -these effusions if they could; but the dead have no remedy against the -imbecilities of the living. One feels disposed to envy the unknown dead -whose worth is chronicled and memory kept green in the hearts that loved -them, with no marble monument to point the place where they lie “carved -in dust.”</p> - -<p>Passing through this silent world, we find ourselves in a wide white -street which runs through the Catholic cemetery from east to west, in -the centre and at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span> highest point of which stands a gigantic black -cross. Cedar and ash and willow trees are growing in picturesque masses; -green shrubberies refresh the sight, and rich red and cream roses are -blooming everywhere. The grave gardens here are laid out in various -shapes and sizes—square, circular, triangular, &c.—like a geometrical -puzzle spread over the ground. The simplest grave has a cross above it, -sometimes of wood, of iron, or of stone; the symbol of Christianity, as -though growing out from the hearts of the sleepers, is lifted on all -sides.</p> - -<p>The sun is shining, the sweet air blowing, and a look of serene calm and -most perfect peace is smiling everywhere. How the vexed and troubled -folk, who wander here to get away from the busy, noisy world, must long -to creep down under the roses and hide from this world’s noisy strife, -and lie beside the sleeper under the sod, with hands crossed, eyes -closed, at rest for ever more. Here is a grave covered with -“forget-me-nots,” and a cry—a hard, cold cry—written in stone, craving -to be “kept green in men’s memories;” as though the dead could hope to -be remembered, when <i>we</i> who are living have to lift up our voices and -struggle to the front that we may not be forgotten even while we live! -Tall costly shafts of granite, wreathed with everlasting flowers, prick -the skies, and elaborate architectural designs are erected here and -there; one has brass cannon at the gates and sabres crossed upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span> the -threshold, pointing the way the sleeper took to his death. After -wandering about for some time we sit down to rest under a cedar tree, -luxuriating in the sweet scent and bright colour of the waving -flowerbeds, quite alone, as we thought, till a voice rather suggestive -of “beer and skittles” came out of the silence:</p> - -<p>“Nice weather, marm; things is sort o’ springin’ up everywheres, and -some on ’em is full blowed, ain’t they?”</p> - -<p>I look up; the owner of the voice has evidently just sidled round from -the other side of the tree. He is an elderly man, with a ragged beard -and patched clothing—the forlorn and decaying remnants of military -glory; his face has a sodden, dissipated look, and his eyes a weak -gin-and-watery appearance, anything but prepossessing. He was not -exactly a nice kind of human ghoul to meet in such a solitary spot. I -answered with an assenting smile or some kind of commonplace cheap -civility, which evidently satisfied him, for he edged a little nearer, -adding philosophically—</p> - -<p>“Yes, it takes a good deal o’ sunshine to set things a startin’ out; -sometimes I think I’d as lief be lyin’ down there in the dark as -starvin’ up here in the sunshine—leastways the sun don’t always shine, -not on me. I’ve been a soldier, marm,” he added with a slightly Irish -accent, “and done my duty on many a gory field, and—oh! a—ah!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span></p> - -<p>He groaned a low guttural sort of groan—his feelings were evidently too -much for him; he took out a red cotton handkerchief, shook it out for -one moment as though unfurling a battle flag, then buried his face in it -and boo-hoo’d behind it till his broad shoulders shook with emotion. I -felt embarrassed. I was not sure I should not have that six feet of -suffering manhood in another moment grovelling at my feet; but he -recovered his mental equilibrium, replaced his handkerchief, shook his -hat well forward on his head, and said somewhat irrelevantly but with a -mournful intonation—</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Tain’t no use trying to cross yer fate. I’ve tried it, and it don’t -answer; but one thing always puts me in mind of another; n’ flowers, n’ -trees, n’ grass, n’ sich-like strikes me jist now as oncommon like human -natur, for the sun o’ charity must shine on the human heart, before it -will open up and give out the perfume from its inhuman pockets as it -oughter—” There was a momentary and suspicious silence on my part; then -my ragged and somewhat poetic philosopher added insinuatingly, “Yer -don’t happen to hev a stray quarter hanging about yer clo’es anywheres? -’cause a sight of it would do me a deal o’ good.”</p> - -<p>This ancient sinner wheedled the quarter out of my “clo’es,” and fearing -lest he might move up his guns for another attack I got up and walked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span> -away a poorer and wiser woman, resolved never again to become the prey -of a hoary impostor, but to fly from the first wag of his tongue as from -the first clash of the tail of a rattlesnake.</p> - -<p>We saunter on, and looking from the eastern point of Magnolia we have a -magnificent panorama of the city and the clustering vessels afloat in -the harbour, while stern and grim Fort Sumter looms in the distance; the -white sails flutter to and fro, and dainty vessels curtsey to their own -shadows reflected on the placid water; not a ripple stirs its surface, -and the sun pours down a flood of silver on this sea of glass, lighting -up and brightening the prospect all around, the purple pines and -low-lying forts on the surrounding islands forming a charming background -to the panoramic scene.</p> - -<p>Charleston is reported by its inhabitants (and surely they ought to -know) to be a perfectly healthy city, free from epidemics of any kind; -if you dared to doubt it, all good Charlestonians would have you stoned -to death on the spot. It certainly <i>may</i> be true within the limits of -the city, but of its surroundings the healthfulness is more than -doubtful. It lies low, and is surrounded by marshy lands, which at -certain seasons of the year are covered with water—the overflow of the -two rivers, Ashley and Cooper, which compass it on either side.</p> - -<p>On returning through the suburbs from our visit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span> to the cemetery, we -come upon a very handsome house in a solitary situation, surrounded by a -somewhat neglected garden and wide-spreading meadows. Leading to the -entrance is an avenue of fine old English oaks, draped with grey Spanish -moss. Although secluded, it has the spires and steeples and other -prominent features of Charleston city in full view. It is in a state of -perfect preservation, with no signs of dilapidation anywhere—it is -simply deserted utterly both by man and beast. The dog kennels are -empty, not a bird sings from the boughs, not even the domestic cat -crouches upon the tiles or creeps along the weedy garden paths; even the -stone lions which guard the entrance look in a damp depressed condition, -as though they too would be glad to get away if they only could! On -inquiring the cause of this desertion, I am answered:</p> - -<p>“Oh, it belongs to a very fine family—they cleared out some weeks ago. -They always leave in March and come back in October.”</p> - -<p>“What a pity! It seems to me that they are away at the very pleasantest -season.”</p> - -<p>“But the most unhealthy; it is impossible to live about here during the -summer months.”</p> - -<p>“Malaria?” I hazard interrogatively.</p> - -<p>“Worse—what we call country fever, which is more dangerous and often -fatal. If it once gets<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span> thoroughly into the system people die of it, or -are sufferers for life.”</p> - -<p>Presently we are overtaken by waggon loads of men, both black and -white—all singing merry rollicking songs, and driving at a rapid pace -towards the city. We draw our modest vehicle to one side as they rattle -and clatter past us. We then learn that they are the factory phosphate -hands, driving back to their homes in the city. Although the phosphate -works are only an hour’s distance from Charleston they are totally -deserted every evening; not a single living creature remains upon the -premises, as it is injurious to breathe the poisonous air after the sun -has set, for then the noxious vapours rise and fill the air with disease -and death. Over the extensive works, where the sound of pickaxe and -shovel and whirring wheels and human voices are echoing all the day, a -silence falls, and the malarial fiend wanders through its confined space -seeking, but seeking in vain, for some human prey to torment and kill -with its subtle kiss.</p> - -<p>This lurking evil lies only in the one direction of the city; on the -other side and extending round the harbour are some delightful summer -resorts, Mount Pleasant and Sullivan Island being among the most -prominent, both being easily reached by a pleasant river trip. The Ferry -Company’s boats make the journey in about an hour, and make it many -times in the day;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span> but perhaps the loveliest of all Charleston’s -surroundings is Summerville, which is reached by the South Carolina -railway. It is situated in the heart of the pine woods, on a ridge which -extends from the Ashley to the Cooper river; the climate is -health-giving and invigorating, and in summer, though the days are warm, -there is always a deliciously cool breeze in the evening, and there are -no mosquitoes to make night horrible to the sleeper; it is serene and -peaceful as a corner of the original paradise.</p> - -<p>On our way to Fort Sumter we have to pass through the market, which is -quite unique of its kind. It is a remarkably fine building in the form -of a temple; the front faces Meeting Street, the most picturesque of all -Charleston thoroughfares. Passing through a handsome lofty archway with -a carved stone front and iron gates—now open, as the marketing -operations are in full swing—we find ourselves in a long narrow -corridor with groined roof and wide windows and doors on either side, -where gawky, ill-looking buzzards are gathered, flapping their wings and -feeding upon refuse.</p> - -<p>As we walk up this narrow aisle piles of rich luscious fruit rise to the -right and the left of us; there are hills of pine-apples, and yellow and -red bananas, festoons of purple grapes, and mountains of strawberries, -bushels of black and white currants, pumpkins, and that arch impostor, -the great green water-melon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span> all artistically arranged, and forming a -perfect mosaic of nature’s own colouring—only the rough red face of the -honest British gooseberry is nowhere to be seen.</p> - -<p>Next comes the vegetable department, where everything green looks crisp -and fresh, with the diamond dew-drops still decorating the folded -leaves, and everything coloured seems painted in Nature’s brightest -hues. Dainty young carrots, and tiny turnips, looking like baby -snowballs, are nestling among the sedate old cabbages, whose great white -hearts seem enlarged almost to bursting; and the oyster and egg plant, -unknown in European markets, are hiding among the common but useful -rough-coated potato; and the delicate asparagus, with its purple tips -and straight white stems, bound up in big bundles, the large and -well-proportioned rallying round and covering up the crippled weaklings -of their kind, and performing this manœuvre so artfully that the most -Argus-eyed housekeeper is sometimes taken in by the false pretence. The -scarlet runners and fine marrowfat peas seem bursting out of their skins -with joy at being gathered at last; from the very moment when they first -unfolded their pink and purple buds they have been forced to creep up -and cling to those tormenting sticks, twisting and twining and working -so hard, night and day, till they were tired of living, and would really -have gone soon to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span> seed, and once more hidden themselves in their native -earth. Now they are at rest—they don’t know they are going to be boiled -in an hour.</p> - -<p>Here and there we come upon a silly-looking turtle lying on its back, -its flabby flippers wriggling feebly as though trying to turn over and -crawl back to its native element.</p> - -<p>Next we arrive at the fish and poultry division. There are golden pats -of butter dressed in white frills and ornamented with violets, which, it -is said, impart to it a delicious fragrance and flavour; and eggs from -all the feathery tribe, white and brown, speckled and light blue, are -eternally rolling over, trying to crack one another’s shells with all -their might. Here plump young chickens, who were unfortunate enough to -be born in the early spring, are strung up beside their tough old -grandfathers; and prairie hens, and other wild birds from desolate -regions, hang with stretched necks and drooping wings above the slabs of -white marble, where fish from all waters are spread in tempting array. -The shining red mullet, and the fat ugly sheep’s-head, and even the -humble red horse, lie side by side with the aristocratic salmon; and the -poor little baby porker, slaughtered in its infancy, before it had even -had time to wear a ring through its nose or grout in the gutter, is -lying close by, stiff and stark, with a lemon in its mouth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<p>Framed, like a picture, by the archway at the opposite end of this long -aisle, lie the sparkling waters of the bay, with the swelling green -hills beyond, and the little wheezy vessel which is to take us to Fort -Sumter bobbing up and down by the pier. The little steamer, with the -stars and stripes fluttering front the masthead, is puffing and blowing -and making a great fuss, plunging head foremost, and shrieking like an -angry virago for us to make haste, as she is in a hurry to get away.</p> - -<p>With the fresh breeze blowing in our faces, and the sun shining in our -eyes, as only a Southern sun can shine, we step on board, and in another -moment our brisk little convoy is dancing over the water like a joyous -child released from school; it trembles and leaps like a living thing, -and we almost fancy that its iron heart must be beating with a feeling -of sentient enjoyment like our own.</p> - -<p>All kinds and conditions of men are crowded round us—high and low, rich -and poor; evidently we are all out for a holiday, and in the most -perfect <i>sang-froid</i> fashion, and without the slightest ceremony, -everybody talks to everybody else. A lady from the North sits beside me, -and shading her complexion from the sun, softly drones into my ear her -whole family history, from the birth of her first baby to the -vaccination of her last. I learn that she is now travelling in search of -health, and cannot find<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span> it—the farther she goes, the farther it flies -from her.</p> - -<p>“And yet,” she murmurs plaintively, “I know it must sometimes be quite -near me, if I could only lay my hands upon it.” She talked of health as -a thing to be caught on the “hold fast” or “let go” principle.</p> - -<p>“It seems to be like a game of ‘hot boiled beans and butter,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> I remark -somewhat flippantly, “only there is no one to tell you when you are -growing ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Why will people afflict their fellow-travellers with the history of -their family troubles or personal ailments, and so indulge in a luxury -which is even forbidden to hospital patients! Our sympathies cannot be -worked like a fire-engine; it is impossible for the most sympathetic to -pump up a sudden interest in Jeremiah’s gout or Matilda’s inward -complications, especially when there are beautiful scenes and delicious -airs around you, which you may have come thousands of miles to enjoy; -but there are some people to whom nothing is attractive or interesting -outside of that great ogre “self.”</p> - -<p>With the exception of ourselves they were all Americans on board—men -from the East, men from the West; some were for the first time making a -tour through their own Southern States, but east and west, north and -south, walked up and down the deck,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span> side by side, fraternising in the -most friendly fashion, chatting upon passing scenes, or talking quietly -one with another, indulging in reminiscences of that long long ago, when -the links of brotherhood had been for a time broken. Close by was an old -man with a stubbly grey beard and a mangy fur cap, that looked like a -drowned kitten tied round his head; he had gathered a few hoary-headed -comrades round him, and they were talking of old days, fighting their -battles over again, setting up their guns, and drawing plans upon the -deck. So, as the future narrows and closes round us, we are driven to -the past for comfort. Flashes of sentiment and scraps of conversation -were floating round us, and the very air seemed impregnated with a -subtle something that was new and strange to us. While looking round -upon this pleasant peaceful scene, the white sails dipping and -coquetting with their own shadow in the water, the soft green hills and -the grim old forts beyond, all bathed in peaceful sunshine, it is -impossible but the mind will travel back to the day when the air was -filled with lurid battle smoke, and the cannon stationed all around the -shore belched forth blazing fires, while a hundred hungry, angry tongues -of flame leapt from their iron mouths. Just such a calm as this lay upon -the city the day the first gun was fired, though the passions of men -were brooding below like a strong and silent tide, which is soon to -overflow and flood<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span> the nations. A Carolinian poet thus describes the -scene, and the vivid picture is present to-day as it was then:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Calm as the second summer which precedes<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The first fall of the snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The city hides the foe.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">As yet, behind their ramparts stern and proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Her bolted thunders sleep—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Looms o’er the solemn deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scar,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">To guard the holy strand;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">But Moultrie holds in leash the dogs of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Above the level sand.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We pass by “Sullivan Island,” girdled by its beach of golden sand, with -a beadwork of white foam embroidered in living light fringing the shore, -and its pretty homes surrounded by lovely gardens and farmsteads, and -tall church steeples, gleaming in the sunshine. We have but a distant -view of Fort Moultrie, which is a striking feature on the low-lying -land, but we have no time to pay it a visit, our hearts and our eyes too -are anchored on Fort Sumter, and thitherward our saucy vessel turns its -head, a crazy plank is flung to the shore, and we land at last. Federals -and confederates, foreigners and strangers, saunter on together.</p> - -<p>There is little of the old fort standing; it is a ruin now—a grim -picturesque rugged ruin, almost levelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span> to a mound of rock and sand; -desolation, with its empty socketless eyes, stares from the narrow -loopholes, where twenty years ago there flashed the fiery orbs of war. -We descended, or rather scrambled, down a flight of broken steps—it -seemed we were going into the bowels of the earth—peeped into what -looked like dark, narrow graves, where the men used to lie, smothered -and half stifled, while they worked their guns, and living through this -death in life for four long years, they came out of their darkness to -the light of the sun to find their martyrdom had been in vain—their -cause was lost. But the gates are closed upon all these things, and God -keeps the key.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">The great Salt Marsh.—A break down.—We reach Savannah.—Fancy -sketches.—The forest city.—A Gossip with the Natives.—Cross -questions and crooked answers.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> the sweetest of spring mornings, when the sunshine seems to reach -down into our hearts, and the soft breeze stirs our pulse and sets our -thoughts playing a jubilant melody, while our hearts sing a soft sweet -song that the ears hear not, and that our own spirits can but dimly -comprehend—we turn our back on the quaint old city of Charleston, and -resume our journey South.</p> - -<p>Squatting about the platform of the railway station we find groups and -whole families of negroes, or, as they are now more respectfully called, -“coloured folk,”—from the queer little black ball of a baby, to the -withered old grandmother with a face notched and scarred, as though time -had kept his calendar and scored the passing years in wrinkles, till -they all run one into the other, and the face was made up of nothing -else. They are dressed, as is the custom of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span> their kind, in all the -colours of the rainbow, and are heavily laden with baskets of fish, -fruit, vegetables, and bundles of their personal belongings, with their -“piccaninnies” sprawling at their feet and crawling in and out like -little black eels. We are struck with an idea, almost a dread, that they -are going to ride in our car—not that we object to the colour of “God’s -image carved in ebony,” but their neighbourhood is not odorous.</p> - -<p>“We has second class on dis line,” said the porter, in answer to our -inquiries, “and dey be gwine dere; dey’s no company for white folk—not -clean, nor nice in dey’s manners. I’s black myself, but I knows dem -folk’s no company for ladies and gen’l’men.”</p> - -<p>With much tumbling, and clutching their brood together, they scrambled -into their appointed places, in a seedy-looking car adjoining ours, and -we are off; the city spires and steeples fade from our view, and our -faces are set towards Georgia. We are well beyond the region of the -maple trees now; but forests of pine and cypress, dashed here and there -with the snow-white blossoms of the dogwood, close on all sides of us, -except where our narrow iron path makes its way through them. Soon we -come to an open clearing, where the forest trees have been cut down and -timber huts built up; this is a wood station, and mountains of logs are -piled on each side. Here we stop to feed our engine, while a diversified -company<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span> of wild hogs—gaunt, lean, hungry-looking creatures, all legs -and heads, like swinish tramps who get their living in the woods—gather -and grunt in herds almost under our car wheels, and goats with large -families of youthful nannies and billies stand staring mildly in the -background, now and then playfully butting one another.</p> - -<p>We are soon off again; racks of wood are stationed at certain distances -all along the line, coal being scarce in these localities, and wood much -lighter of digestion. Our hungry engine insists on having four square -meals a day, and even then grows weak and feeble, and demands a snack in -between; it slackens, and snorts, and grumbles, till the driver, often -aided by the passengers (who seem to enjoy the fun), gets down and cuts -a few dainty branches just to appease its appetite, and coax it on to -the next station.</p> - -<p>We pass through the great salt marsh, where the grand old pines, rank on -rank, are standing with their roots in pickle, and their half bald heads -fringed with green lifted heavenwards. A bush fire has broken out -somewhere in the distance, and the flames come leaping along the surface -of the marsh, with a blue, lurid-looking light, feeding upon whatever -they can find; now they glide in graceful spiral lines, like fiery -serpents round the trunk of some grand old tree, and leave it a charred -and blackened stump.</p> - -<p>As the evening shadows fall we enter the cypress<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span> swamps; the dusky -forms of the forest giants stand stiff and stark in the gloaming, making -up a weird and somewhat romantic scene. Night closes in, the great -golden moon climbs slowly into the purple skies, and the balmy evening -air has a delicious fragrance as though it came from worlds unknown. But -with all its sombre subtle charm, a cypress swamp is not exactly the -place one would choose to break down in, and just here our engine, which -has been crawling and groaning like a crippled maniac for the last half -hour, elects to stop short. She (I believe engine is feminine) stops, -and shows no sign of ever intending to move again.</p> - -<p>American <i>sang-froid</i> is difficult to disturb, but on this occasion the -passengers deign to manifest some interest in the cause of the delay. -They bombard the conductor with questions, and skirmish round the -engineer, sending their suggestions flying round his devoted head, till -a peremptory order is given, and they are driven back into the cars with -some loss of patience. As if by magic, a breakdown gang is soon gathered -round the engine—heaven knows where they came from, whether they -dropped from the skies, or emerged from the bowels of the earth, for -human habitation thereabout seemed impossible, unless they had built a -nest high up in the dark cypress boughs.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile various editions of the cause of our delay<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span> are freely -circulated. One piece of official information at last reaches us: The -mainspring of our engine is broken. One reports that they are making a -new one; another that they are mending the old one. “No, they are -propping it up with a piece of wood,” says a third. “That’s impossible,” -cries another unlicensed authority; “the idea of an engine hobbling on -wooden legs!” Then begins a game at speculation, and we all take a hand: -“How long shall we be kept there?” “Perhaps all night—perhaps all day!” -“Will they send help to us?” “They can’t, there’s only a single line of -rail, and no telegraph near.”</p> - -<p>Then some of our fellow travellers begin to relate, at the top of their -voices, a chapter of the worst accidents that have ever happened -anywhere or to anybody, ending with the relation of a terrible -catastrophe which happened only a week ago, when the trestle work, which -runs for six miles across the Savannah river a little further on, gave -way, and the whole train was precipitated into the river—“not a soul -saved,” adds the narrator with great gusto.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile everybody is getting hungry; and buns, biscuits, and morsels -of stale crumbly cake are fished up from bags or baskets. I have nothing -to fish up from anywhere, and a good Samaritan gives me an orange and a -piece of rye bread; never was voluntary contribution more thankfully -received. Presently a plausible youth comes along the car selling cold -hard-boiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span> eggs. Where he comes from, where he got, or how he cooked -his eggs is a mystery; but hunger bids us hasten to invest in his wares. -Alas! he and his eggs prove a delusion and a snare! The eggs we throw -out of the window—but the deceiver has disappeared.</p> - -<p>By degrees the clatter of tongues ceases; silence falls over us. -Alligators and frogs are croaking in the swamps; I don’t know which -croaks loudest; their language seems so similar, I can hardly tell one -from the other. Everybody regards the situation with irritating good -temper, nobody grumbles. Are the true Americans ever heard to complain, -I wonder? They are patient, cheerful always, and stoical and -philosophical as Red Indians. Oh, for a good British growl! I lift my -voice feebly once or twice, but am shamed into silence by the example of -my companions.</p> - -<p>Presently we begin to move, and slowly as a royal progress we roll on -towards Savannah. When we reach it the small hours of the morning are -already far on the march and we go supperless to bed. On taking a survey -of our surroundings by daylight we have reason to be very well satisfied -with our quarters. We have two large sunny rooms, most comfortably -furnished, opening on to a wide verandah overgrown with greenery, which -is luxuriant everywhere South.</p> - -<p>A few words here concerning the accommodation for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span> tourists which is to -be found in all Southern cities. On first setting our faces thitherward -we received a mass of gratuitous information—all of which we accepted -<i>cum grano salis</i>. We were neither disposed to be led nor misled by -friendly counsels. “There are no decent hotels—nothing but ramshackle -old buildings, mere refuges for the destitute.”</p> - -<p>“Where you’ll always find lively companionship—especially by night.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps an alligator in the morning, or a comfortable moccasin or black -snake coiling round your feet to get themselves warm.”</p> - -<p>“A family of young roaches six inches long flying out of your shoe as -you go to put your foot into it.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to eat but tough steaks, and hominy fried in fat, or rusty -bacon served in its own grease.”</p> - -<p>“Alligator soup is a rare dainty.”</p> - -<p>“And they’ll dish up a rattlesnake into a tasty ragout. No fresh -milk—no fresh meat—nothing but tallow-fried steak; ground beans in -your coffee-cup in the morning.”</p> - -<p>These fancy sketches, however, bore not the slightest resemblance to the -actual truth; they were born of a <i>too</i> lively imagination, with no -experience to keep it from rambling into the realms of fiction. In <i>all</i> -the Southern cities we visited there was most excellent hotel -accommodation to be found, though the hotels are not as a rule, either -so large or luxurious as those in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span> other portions of the United States. -There are fewer grand corridors, less velvet upholstery, less carving -and gilding and gorgeous mirrors; but the rooms are large, airy, and -conveniently furnished, and nowhere is a comfortable lounge or -rocking-chair found wanting. The cuisine is not always such as to tickle -the palate of an epicure, or gratify the taste of a gourmet. There is no -attempt (and how often in the most pretentious hotels it is <i>only</i> an -attempt) at French cookery—no <i>entrées</i>, no “high falutin” arrangements -at the dinner table; but there is generally good soup, a great variety -of excellent fish and vegetables, poultry, fruit, and pies, and -puddings, and most delicious crisp salads of all descriptions—and what -can a whole-souled, hungry mortal desire more? No one with a healthy -appetite and good digestion will complain of Southern fare, to which -Southern courtesy imparts perhaps its sweetest savour.</p> - -<p>There are plenty of wild fowl, but a scarcity of all such animal food as -beef or mutton, in consequence of there being so little grazing land, -and that little is of very poor quality; the cattle they do raise is of -the most inferior order—Pharaoh’s lean kine; and as they are not able -to satisfy their own appetites, are not qualified to gratify ours. The -native meats are tough and flavourless. Private families get along very -well with the articles of consumption enumerated above. The good sirloin -or succulent saddle is rarely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span> seen upon their tables, though the hotels -import largely; indeed, throughout Georgia, Carolina, &c., the -substantials are always supplied from the eastern states. Our bill of -fare reads thus:—“Tennessee beef,” “Boston pork,” “New York mutton,” -and even “New York lamb.”</p> - -<p>On a sunny morning we take our first ramble through the “forest city” of -Savannah, and how well it deserves the name! It seems to have grown out -of the very heart of the “forest primeval,” whose giant progeny still -keep guard over the nest of human kind. Whichever way we turn, we look -through long vistas of shady streets crossing each other at right -angles; at each of these crossings, throughout the entire city, is an -open space laid out as a pretty little pleasaunce or toy garden, -carpeted with soft turf and tiny beds of bright flowers, and sometimes -planted with green shrubberies, while the fine old forest trees, which -time and civilisation have left standing, spread their wide branches for -colonies of wild birds to build and sing in. These spaces are like -slightly improved miniature editions of Paddington Green, but every one, -though it be but twelve foot square, is dignified by the name of “park.”</p> - -<p>Some of the widest thoroughfares have four rows of trees planted the -entire length, the branches here and there meeting overhead, forming a -perfect archway, while the open street cars on the Central<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span> Avenue -beneath seem to carry us along through primeval bowers of luxuriant -green; we can hardly believe that anything so prosaic as “iron rails” -supply part of the motive power.</p> - -<p>We find these open street cars a most convenient and pleasant mode of -locomotion, and spend much time riding about the city in this democratic -fashion, for the streets are ill-kept and dusty, and the roadways -sometimes a foot deep with heavy sand, so that it is impossible either -to walk or drive in a private vehicle with any comfort. Once we are -attracted by big red letters painted on a car side “Concordia,” “Forsyth -Park.” Everybody says we must go there; we take everybody’s advice, and, -as usual, find “nothing in it.” Concordia is a fine name for a small -tea-garden; Forsyth is a pretty shady spot, though it might be railed -into a small corner of Kensington Gardens; but the warm southern breeze, -and the oleander, orange, lemon, and magnolia—although the latter is -not yet in bloom—have made our short expedition a most agreeable one.</p> - -<p>There is little architectural beauty anywhere in the city or its -surroundings—scarcely any attempt at ornamentation. The houses are made -up of doors and windows on the strictest utilitarian principles.</p> - -<p>The natural beauties of this Arcadian city are so great they don’t seem -to care at all for the embellishments of art. Among the pleasant drives -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span> the city suburbs, is one to Laurel Grove. We step from the cars at -the terminus, and inquire of an old negro our way to the nearest point -of interest. He regarded us a moment with his beady black eyes, with his -head on one side like an inquisitive old bird. “Why! why! I thought -everybody know’d everywheres about Laurel Grove. But maybe you don’t -live nigh Savannah—come a long ways, perhaps?” he added curiously.</p> - -<p>We explained our nationality.</p> - -<p>“My lord! England!” I wish I could paint the expression of astonishment, -curiosity, and interest that overspread his good-humoured old monkey -face as he added, inspecting us admiringly, “My! Think o’ that! I never -spoke to an English lady but once before. It’s a cold country over thar, -ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>The old man seems inclined to talk, and I am disposed to encourage his -loquacity; so much information may be gained in those gatherings by the -wayside—one feels the pulse of the spirit of the people, and learns -which way their hearts are beating. It is wiser to feed upon such crumbs -as chance throws in our way, than to wait till a full banquet of -stereotyped facts are spread before us. He asked me many questions, -which I answered in the way best suited to his understanding; then I -began a short catechism on my side. He was very communicative, and -answered me frankly enough. He had been born<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span> a slave, he said, on a -cotton plantation a few miles from the city, and in the season still -worked for his old master.</p> - -<p>“But since you are now free,” I inquire, “why don’t you go North, and -break all connection with the old life? surely you would find more -advantageous employment and opportunities for improvement there?”</p> - -<p>“Na, na,” said the old man, “we never go North; the Yankees set’s free -and gie’s votes, but it ain’t home-like to us thar. We likes to stay -along o’ them as we was raised wi’; ole mass’rs know all ’bout us, n’ we -know all about them.”</p> - -<p>We found the changes rung to the same tune with but slight variation -throughout the South. The coloured people will serve their old masters, -will ask their advice and guidance, go to them for consolation in their -trouble, and seek their assistance when they are in difficulties; but -they will not vote for them, nor in any way serve their political -influence. They seem to have a hazy notion that they might be taken back -into slavery; they cannot realise that such a thing is impossible, nor -can they understand that their masters are glad to be rid of the -responsibility which slavery imposed upon them. The masters rejoice in -their freedom as much as the slaves do in theirs.</p> - -<p>Beautiful in itself, beautiful in its surroundings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span> Savannah is an -ideal city for a summer lounge, with its pleasant shady promenades and -myriad miniature parks, thronged with people who are always well dressed -but never loud in their attire; there is a quiet refinement and dignity -about them which savours of old world conservatism.</p> - -<p>A host of good fairies seem to have been hovering round at the birth of -Savannah. In 1733 the city consisted of only a few tents pitched under -the pine trees between what is now Bull and Whitaker Streets, now it is -one of the most thriving cities of the South; both wharves and quays are -crowded with men and merchandise, for a brisk and flourishing business -is carried on in the timber and cotton trade. It is a most important -commercial centre, both its imports and exports being on a largely -increasing scale.</p> - -<p>It is impossible not to enjoy thoroughly a saunter through this Arcadian -city, a chat with the natives included. We were constantly amused by -finding ourselves playing at a forced game of “cross questions and -crooked answers,” our inquiries on any subject never receiving a direct -reply. In years gone by I had a passing pleasant acquaintance with a -family who lived in Savannah, but who, I afterwards learnt, were then -sojourning in England for a time. It would have given me great pleasure -to renew the acquaintance, and I inquire of the hotel <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span>clerk if Mr. —— -is still living in Savannah?</p> - -<p>“Ain’t seen him for a long while; think he’s dead or gone to Europe, but -I’ll ask.” He telephones the inquiry to some invisible party, and a -sepulchral voice answers back—</p> - -<p>“Don’t know—but Peter Green he died last week.”</p> - -<p>The connection between the deceased Peter Green and my acquaintance, -Mr. ——, I have yet to learn. Another time we ask—</p> - -<p>“Which is the car for Thunderbolt?” and are promptly answered,</p> - -<p>“That red un is startin’ right away for Laurel Grove.” I inquire the way -to the railway station, and am directed to the river side. I ask about -the morning train, and am answered with detailed information about the -evening express. However, on sternly reiterating my question, and -emphasising the note of interrogation, I sometimes succeeded in at last -receiving the desired information.</p> - -<p>No one should leave Savannah without visiting the ancient cemetery of -Buonaventura, the former residence of a fine old family, which passed -from their hands many years ago, and after undergoing many changes has -been at last converted into a cemetery. On entering the noble avenue, -and passing beneath the arching glories of the grand old oaks, with -their long weird robes of Spanish moss, it is difficult to believe that -we are entering a city of the dead, by whom indeed it is very sparsely -populated, the graves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span> are so few and far between; one can almost fancy -that the dead had wandered thither, and moved by the sublime repose of -the place had lain down to rest, while nature wrapped them round about -with her soft mantle of green, and showered her sweet-scented wild -flowers above them. There is a profound mournfulness too hovering around -these silent, solitary avenues, where groups of sombre giant trees stand -brooding and wrapped in their grey moss mantles, with drooping arms, and -hoary heads bent low together, as though they were whispering mysteries, -holding a solemn council, and pronouncing the eternal sentence on the -dead below.</p> - -<p>There is nothing prosaic or commonplace about Savannah; it is a -perfectly idyllic city, primitive and simple in its ways, with no stir -of frivolous worldly gaieties to rouse it from its sublime repose. No -sound of drums and trumpets runs echoing through its streets; the only -music is that which the wind makes as it whistles in many monotones -through the tall tree tops, and calls soft melodies from the tremulous -leaves, as the ancient god Pan made music by the reedy waterside. It is -not grey with age, nor marred and scarred by the hand of time; it seems -to luxuriate in eternal youth, and live a dreamy life of unaltered -poetry and sunshine. Even that most prosaic of all institutions, the -police station, is in perfect unison with the rest of this Arcadian -city; it seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span> to have nothing to do but drone away its hours in one -ceaseless <i>dolce far niente</i>, as though the ugly serpent sin crawled low -down out of sight—perhaps stirring the hearts, but rarely inciting the -acts of the people. There seems to be a great scarcity even of small -sinners. It is a low, clean, brick building in a cool shady part of the -city; covered with climbing plants and held close in the embrace of an -ancient vine, which twines in and out of every nook and cranny as though -it could never be torn away but with the life of the building.</p> - -<p>Well, our last day in this forest city closes; the mocking bird, that -sings only in the dark, holds its last concert on our verandah, and we -are sung to sleep by the sharp cutting cries of a family of youthful -alligators which some northern tourists are taking home in a tank.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">To-day and yesterday.—General experience of travel in the -South.—The associated Southern Railways.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> first starting Southward everybody warned us of the great discomfort -of Southern travel; we were therefore prepared for all kinds of -inconvenience and annoyances by the way—partly arising from the alleged -dearth of proper meal stations, and the long waits at the little wayside -stations, where we expected to be turned out of one train and left -disconsolately waiting in the wilderness till we are picked up by -another, and we were prepared to resign ourselves to jolting cars and -rough roads, indeed to a series of jerky rickety journeys, ill fed by -day, ill lodged by night.</p> - -<p>Having reached thus far, we have continued to pick up many crumbs of -experience by the way, and I think this is a fitting place to pause, and -say a few words on this and some few other subjects. First, I have no -doubt that my many friendly informants spoke according to the light -which illuminated their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> minds, reflected from the days gone by, when -things generally were in a chaotic state, trembling in the balance -between order and disorder; or perhaps they thought retrospectively of a -time still earlier, when there were few travellers and scarce -accommodation—for the one must grow in accordance with the other. <i>Mais -nous avons changé tout cela.</i> In no country in the world are changes so -rapid and complete as in the United States. North and south, east and -west—all are animated by the same spirit of progress; always on the -onward march; carrying on their social revolutions with a rapidity that -astonishes and takes away the breath of the dear old world, which has -been working for centuries building up cities, gathering peoples -together, making laws, and evolving constitutions from the heart of -ages, lopping off and pruning the rotten branches till it has grown -tired of its labours, and would fain fold its hands and rest. But the -new world has its life before it; like a strong young Samson, it is full -of restless energies, it must always be “up and doing,” and trying its -strength in all directions—building up on theoretical principles, -bombarding and pulling down as practical necessities lead them, changing -the features of the land, modelling and remodelling day by day till, -were the whole skies turned into a looking-glass, it would not recognise -its own face as reflected therein.</p> - -<p>The South of to-day is not the South of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> yesterdays. It has slept -and dreamed through so many generations of beautiful repose beneath -sunny skies and soft sweet airs, enjoying an eternal <i>dolce far niente</i> -and giving no thought to anything beyond itself. Now it is awake, it has -unsealed its eyes, shaken off the luxurious flowery chain that has held -it like links of iron, stretched its limbs, and, as a sleeping army -springs to life at the sound of the trumpet, it is up and doing; -developing its marvellous resources on the earth and under the earth, -building factories, opening mines, and utilising its wonderful water -power—forcing the quiet river out of its accustomed way, lashing it -till, after much foaming, flashing, and groaning, it grinds the corn, -crushes the rough ore, and labours at the world’s work like a sentient -being.</p> - -<p>In the old days there was not much travel through the Southern States. -The wealthy planter lived literally under his own vine and fig tree—a -life of luxurious ease and sweet contentment. There, on his own domain, -he kept a kind of feudal state, surrounded by his dusky subjects. There -was no stimulant, because no need for exertion; the refinements and -elegances were in a state of high cultivation, and his requirements were -gratified by his immediate surroundings; he rarely looked beyond them. -Everything bloomed in his own garden, except, perhaps, heartsease, for -he always listened for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> storm which he knew must arise on some -future though indefinite day. Perhaps in due course his sons went the -tour of Europe, and then returned to the old homestead to tread in their -father’s footsteps, and live through life in the old primitive, -luxurious fashion. On the rare occasions when they decided to travel -through their own states to and from points out of the beaten path made -by the main railway lines, or the steamboats ploughing their watery -highways, they had to journey across the country where roads were rough -or existed not at all; the arrangement needing much consideration and -being attended by considerable expense.</p> - -<p>The journey they could take in twelve hours by rail would occupy four or -five days, when they must carry their own servants and provisions with -them, and also be provided with a supply of tents, and generally camp -out from the beginning to the end of the journey. They required to -travel very carefully too, not only from the generally swampy state of -the country, but from the risk they ran of making acquaintance with -slimy reptiles and other odious creations. These considerations rendered -the expedition one that could hardly be taken for pleasure; but now, in -these later days, it is a delight to travel in this sunny land; -travelling is made easy even to the most remote portion of the Southern -States, and every day things are everywhere improving and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span> making a -royal progress as near perfection as we can ever hope to arrive.</p> - -<p>The main line of railway runs, like an iron vertebra, a kind of -backbone, from north to south; the directors of the southern line of -railway, realising the necessity of extension, and desirous of giving -easy access to all parts of the country, have laid down branch lines in -all directions, running out like the arms of an octopus, grasping at -distant towns and villages, and halting at the most beautiful secluded -spots in the inmost quarters of the land. Having due regard to the fact -that people will not travel unless they can do so with a tolerable -amount of ease and comfort, the projectors of the southern lines of -railway have paid due respect to the requirements of the public, and -have formed their plans and carried on their operations with a view to -the convenience and comfort of their temporary guests.</p> - -<p>The lines are carefully laid over level roads with the best steel rails, -and are carried through some of the most picturesque as well as the most -weird and wild portions of the country. The carriages are new, the -drawing-room and sleeping cars elegantly fitted up with luxurious spring -seats, mirrors, and gorgeous surroundings.</p> - -<p>In order to insure safety, so far as safety can be assured in any branch -of human life, the trains are in the command of the most experienced -engineers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> and are supplied with the patent Westinghouse automatic air -brakes, and all other new and improved appliances, so as to reduce the -risk of travelling to a minimum degree. Everything is done with -leisurely dignity and quietude in the South; there is no bustle or -confusion, no general rush, even at the depots. The iron horse, in his -bright brass harness, comes up to the platform with a few dignified -snorts; there is no puffing, nor blowing, nor demoniacal shrieks, as -though a score of fiends were struggling to get free from their fiery -prison. He deposits his living freight according to their several -desires; then, answering to the call of the engine-bell, as a good steed -responds to the spur of his rider, with a stately tramp moves onward, -the thin blue smoke curling from his cavernous nostrils, as though he -were some metallic monster going for an evening stroll with a gigantic -cigar between his iron lips.</p> - -<p>Those who take delight in going at express speed must abandon that idea -in travelling South. There is no rapid transit there, no “Lightning -Express” nor “Flying Dutchman” thunders through those sylvan scenes; but -you are carried along at a decorous pace, at the rate of twenty, -sometimes thirty, miles an hour. This is a great gain to those who -travel for pleasure only, as they are enabled thoroughly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> to enjoy the -scenery of the state they are moving through.</p> - -<p>The rich, romantic forest, with its hoary-headed army of grand old -trees—grim cedars, lofty pines, and light skirmishing lines of graceful -palmettoes, all dressed in their regimentals of varied greens—march -slowly and solemnly by, saluting you gravely with their bowing branches -as they pass in panoramic review before your eyes; you have time to take -in the individual character of these glorious hummocks and savannahs as -you pass them by. For personal enjoyment it is surely better to travel -in this leisurely fashion than to fly through the air, hurled and -whirled along at express speed, till earth and sky seems blended -together in one blurred mass of mingled blue and green.</p> - -<p>There are well-provisioned restaurants stationed at certain intervals -all along the road. The excellence of these, of course, varies according -to the management; at most you may enjoy the luxury of a thoroughly well -cooked meal—the universal steak, fried chicken, varied vegetables, -dessert, and milk and coffee <i>ad libitum</i>. At some you get a dainty meal -that even an epicure might enjoy; I call to mind one perfectly luxurious -entertainment. The train drew up at a secluded wayside spot; it was no -station at all, only a few pretty cottages embowered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> in trees were -scattered about in sight. We were convoyed by our polite train conductor -through a blooming garden to one of these, with the porch overgrown with -honeysuckle and a wealth of white roses; here, in a simply furnished -dining-room, preparations had been made for our entertainment. We were a -party of about twenty, including the engineer and conductors; and while -the brown bees were droning at their pleasant work outside, the -brilliant-hued flowers peeped in at the windows, nodded their plumed -heads at us, and kept up a whispering concert while we regaled ourselves -on the good things set before us. It was a dainty feast, fit for the -gods; there was no vulgar display of huge underdone joints—the very -sight of which is apt to chase away the appetite without cost to its -owner; there were broiled chickens with mushrooms, delicate lamb, crisp -salad, new potatoes stewed in cream, new laid eggs, strawberries, dainty -omelets, and other tempting dishes. A steaming cup of fragrant coffee -was handed round as, our twenty minutes having expired, we were summoned -to depart by the stentorian cry of “All aboard! All aboard!” Everybody -complimented our hostess—a widow lady—on her pleasant entertainment, -and promised to advise everybody to stop there and taste her -hospitality.</p> - -<p>The train only stops here once in the twenty-four<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> hours; the rest of -the time the cottage and its inhabitants are left to enjoy their sweet -seclusion. Of course this kind of thing is an exception, though at -several stations we enjoyed excellent meals well worth the tourist’s -while to remember. As the happiness of a human being largely depends on -the state of his stomach, if that portion of machinery is judiciously -treated it helps to keep the rest in order, and is an aid to general -good spirits.</p> - -<p>At one place—Smithville in Georgia—a capital home-made wine, -“Scuppernong,” was supplied liberally and without extra charge. The cost -of a meal was sometimes fifty cents, but more usually seventy-five -cents. Occasionally the steak may be tough, the “rooster” have outgrown -his early youth, but with plenty of fresh eggs and bacon, vegetables, -salad, and bread and butter, the hungry may be well satisfied.</p> - -<p>I have perhaps dwelt on this subject more than it was necessary I should -have done; but so many misapprehensions exist, so many false reports (no -doubt ignorantly) circulated concerning Southern travel, that I have -thought it well to give my slight experience on the subject, and I am -sure my testimony will be supported by all who have followed or may -follow in my footsteps. Of course, in the great army of tourists there -is always a contingent of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> native-born grumblers who are never -satisfied, and wander through the sullen groves of discontent and fret -the very air with their endless complaining; and even when they enter -the gates of heaven they will complain, like the dissatisfied cherub, -that “their halo doesn’t fit.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c"><i>En route</i> for Jacksonville.—A few words about Florida.—Its -climate.—Its folk.—Its productions.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> the associated Southern railways cease to exist the Florida Transit -takes up the matter, and conveys you with equal comfort to some of the -most attractive points of the state.</p> - -<p>We are soon <i>en route</i> for Florida, which is the kind of Mecca of our -hearts’ desires. Florida! The very name is suggestive of sunshine and -flowers, orange groves, and the sweet-scented air of “Araby the blest.” -I have but little time and little space to devote to this varied and -beautiful land, and fear that my brief sketch will convey but a faint -idea of the country; though it may perhaps serve to waken the interest -and induce some few to follow in my footsteps, or rather to make a visit -of inspection on their own account and see and judge for themselves. If -they go from mere curiosity only they will find plenty to gratify it, -and if with any idea of settling there the field is so wide, the -attractions so varied,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> they will find no difficulty in settling -according to their hearts’ desires; whatever they seek in the way of -climate or of soil they will surely find there if they give themselves -time and trouble to seek it out.</p> - -<p>This being one of the younger children of the state, having been born -into it indeed only in 1845, its progress has been slow—much slower -than that of many of the other states in this “go-ahead” land, many of -which have grown to maturity at a single bound, like the magic tree the -Indian jugglers show us, which is planted, grows, bears buds, flowers, -and fruits in the very hour of its birth. Although the natural -advantages of Florida are unequalled, its development has been very -gradual, and its population, scanty and scattered, is much smaller in -proportion than that of any other state in the Union. We may, perhaps, -except Nevada and Colorado, both of which are mountainous, rocky -regions, whereas Florida is a level land, its highest elevation being -about 500 feet above the sea, and very rarely attaining to that. There -is, however, a constant tide of immigration flowing into the state, and -the increase of the population during the last dozen years is -surprising. Still some of the finest portions of the state are yet -unpenetrated—luxuriant wildernesses left in a state of nature; but -these are being rapidly cleared, and there is room enough for another -million of workers and a promising field for their speculations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span> Let -the settlers flock in as fast as they may, provided they come with an -adequate supply of patience, industry, and discrimination in their -choice of a settlement, a prosperous career may be assured to them; for -Florida has a soil fitted for the production of every possible kind of -fruit, flowers, vegetables, and forest produce that can be cultivated in -any part of the temperate or semi-tropical world.</p> - -<p>Many of us have heard (and regarded as fabulous) of its growth of -oranges and lemons, but these marvellous accounts are in no way -exaggerated. Some orange groves have produced for their owners from 300 -to 3,000 dollars an acre, and a single acre of pines has produced as -much as 1,200 dollars in one season! Such prolific productions and large -profits are by no means uncommon, especially when there is a railway -depot near at hand which renders the transport easy.</p> - -<p>It is not uncommon to see wide stretches of wheat fields ripening in -January. Sugar cane and pines are largely cultivated in the -semi-tropical portions of the state, which yield an immense profit; and -of garden vegetables, sometimes, nay often, two or three abundant crops -are produced from the same tract of land within the year. Common -vegetables as well as dainty fruits grow abundantly, and peach trees -attain to a prodigious size; the largest known grows in Volusia County, -its branches spreading nearly eighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> feet in diameter! Everything grows -with a spontaneity that is surprising—fruits and flowers everywhere in -the woods and wildernesses in wild luxuriance. The very nature of things -seems to be reversed; pears grow on graceful vines, peas on stately -trees, and some things (as witness the air plant) grow on nothing at -all. But in spite of the richness of the soil, the geniality of the -climate, Florida is not exactly a paradise; here as elsewhere man must -carry out the great law, and labour for his daily bread. Nature is -prolific, and yields her treasures ungrudgingly, but she demands -something in return. Men must come to her with a strong arm and patient -brain, bring their intelligence to the fore, learn to watch her varying -moods and seasons, and prune and train and use her after her own -fashion; all this has to be learned by a new comer, for the agricultural -process and the treatment of fruits and flowers is quite different from -that which is necessary in their culture elsewhere; but given a certain -amount of prudence and knowledge, and more comfort with less labour may -be obtained here than in any other part of the world, for it is rarely -too hot, rarely too cold. Frost is never an expected visitor, though in -certain years it has been a most unwelcome guest, and amply revenged -itself for its general expulsion from the soil. The winter of 1880 was -exceptionally severe; it girded on its frosted garments and travelled -southward,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> sweeping through the northern part of Florida and laying its -icy hand upon orange and lemon groves, freezing the fruit upon the -trees, working sad havoc wherever it took its frozen way, causing great -loss to all, ruin to some; but this visitation was confined to a very -small portion of the state. In the larger and more numerous districts -frost is simply unknown, and its advent would cause as much wonderment -as a snowstorm in Calcutta. The truth is, there is trinity and unity in -the state, three Floridas in one, which may be thus classified—the -tropical, semi-tropical, and temperate or northern Florida. The latter, -northern Florida, is a land of wheat, corn, cotton, rice, apples, -grapes, etc.—indeed, all cereals, fruits, or vegetables that are -cultivated in the northern provinces may be grown here, as well as some -few of the hardier Southern products. Slight frosts and cold snaps are -not of infrequent occurrence, and the scenery is the most picturesque of -all the state, being varied by grand rolling forests, grey, rugged -rocks, and beautiful winding streams, where fish and wild fowl of all -kinds are most abundant. The temperature is delightful all the year -round, and it is in this region the finest live stock is raised.</p> - -<p>In middle or semi-tropical Florida the soil is of a sandy character, the -country flat and uninteresting, unvaried by streams or rivers; it is -only in the orange lake region that a fair extensive lake may<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> here and -there be found, hidden away in some wooded tract of uncultivated land. -Here many of the products of the temperate or tropical regions, such as -lemons, figs, guava, and citron trees, may be found growing side by -side, all the year round; and delicious vegetables, tomatoes, beets, -lettuce, cucumbers, and fine marrowfat peas, are shipped daily in large -quantities, and despatched northward during the months of January, -February, and March. Strawberries, too, are largely cultivated, and -yield an immense profit.</p> - -<p>Strangers are daily flocking into this district from all points of the -states. Many prefer this to the more southern parts of Florida, and -large settlements are growing rapidly everywhere, especially along the -line of the Transit Railway, which runs between Cedar Keys and -Fernandina. Almost fabulous quantities of the hardier fruits and -vegetables are produced here, and as the facilities of transportation -lie near at hand, they are at once placed in the hands of the consumer, -and with the slightest expense to the grower. This region is, however, -always liable to frost, which may be looked for any time during the -winter months, but may not appear for many years; but when it does come, -the crops are ruined for that season.</p> - -<p>Southern Florida is really the tropical region, the Egypt of the United -States, where frosts are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span> unknown, and every fruit or flower, or forest -product, which grows in the most tropical quarters of the world, is or -may be cultivated with complete success. Pine-apples, bananas, cocoanut, -guava, almonds, olives and figs, with a long list of other tropical -fruits, are produced in luxuriant abundance, but we no longer wander -through groves of orange or lemon trees. Of scenery in these parts there -is nothing to speak of; in the interior it is made up of sunshine, -fruits and flowers. The land is level and uninteresting till you reach -the coast line, where all along the Atlantic shore you have fine -picturesque ranks of bold rocky landscape, flanked by the glorious old -sea. For 1,150 miles the sea washes the shores of Florida, and yet -throughout this long stretch of seaboard there are but a very few good -harbours, and these are chiefly on the Atlantic coast.</p> - -<p>All along this coast line the country is very prolific, and in the -woods, in the air, in the lakes, and in the rivers, fish, flesh and -fowl—especially oysters and turtles—are most abundant. This is a -delightful region wherein to enjoy a perfect summer climate during the -winter months; but at the midsummer time, gnats, flies, and mosquitoes -are swarming, and become a perfect scourge. Here, too, at the -furthermost southern point, jutting out between the Atlantic Ocean and -the Gulf of Mexico, are the celebrated “Everglades”—an immense tract of -country consisting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> of many thousands of square miles of flat prairie -land, completely covered with fresh sweet water, clear as crystal, and -varying from six inches to six feet deep. This in turn is studded with -islands which bear an immense growth of oak, hickory, palmetto, pine, -cedar, and other valuable timbers, and here in these peculiar wilds -dwell the remnant of the Seminole Indians, once the most powerful of all -the Indian tribes which formerly inhabited those isolated regions. It -needs not be said that no white folk are dwellers herein, though -occasionally a bold party of hunters will penetrate these desolate -regions; and on their return to the civilised world they bring a -pleasant account of the simple hospitality and kindly spirit of the -inhabitants.</p> - -<p>There is some talk of draining these Everglades; if this idea be carried -out, it will open up millions of acres of valuable cotton and sugar -lands, and will, no doubt, be quickly occupied by an adventurous -multitude.</p> - -<p>The first great need here, as in other parts of Florida, is population. -Let a party of pioneers start with pickaxe and shovel, and hew out the -first pathway; one builds the first shanty, a companion follows and -builds another; men are gregarious animals, and the nucleus once formed, -soon gather together. Small storekeepers bring thither the necessities -of life (a saloon and liquor store is among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> first erections); then -follows the wholesale dealers, the bankers, and soon solid prosperity is -assured to the little colony. Villages spring up and soon expand into -cities, for wherever labour leads capital quickly follows. There is no -need for labour to languish for want of funds, industry and brains are -more valuable than money in the market; and no matter how poor, even -penniless, a man may be, if he is willing to work and to aid in the -developing another man’s land, he will surely end by cultivating his -own. It is not wealth that has made the first step towards progression -in any land, it is always the poor emigrant, with his rifle and -wheelbarrow, who first penetrates the wilds, turns the first sod, and so -lays the first stone of cities and civilisation.</p> - -<p>Nowhere can the capitalist find so large a scope for his speculations, -and nowhere can the poor man find a better market for the labour of his -hand or the fruits of his brain; with industry and prudence he may be -assured of present comfort and future prosperity—limitless prosperity, -provided also that he be energetic and wise.</p> - -<p>The development of Florida has generally been carried on by the northern -people. Everywhere throughout the entire state they are planning fresh -improvements: draining swampy lands, fertilising the soil, and -experimentalising with strange crops, building railways, cities, mills, -and churches—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> fact, endeavouring to cultivate, and turn to good -account the most neglected and wildest regions; and everywhere their -endeavours are crowned with success, for on every side you find evidence -of northern capital and northern enterprise. No one who thinks of -settling and establishing a permanent residence in this “flowery land,” -can do better than consult Barbour’s <i>Florida</i>, from which he can -extract all he desires to know.</p> - -<p>Mr. Barbour has visited all parts, and penetrated the remotest recesses -of the state, and has made himself thoroughly acquainted with the -resources of every special district, and has boiled his varied -experiences down, and reproduced them in the aforenamed volume. He gives -no advice, makes no attempt to influence settlers in their choice of a -location; he merely states facts, gives a descriptive account of each -district—its capabilities, its climate, its soil, and gives a list of -such cereals, fruits, flowers, and vegetables, etc. as have been, or may -be, most successfully cultivated in each place; thus imparting most -valuable information to those who most need it, never misleading the -inquiring mind or twisting the imagination awry.</p> - -<p>I have no time to consider the subject of Florida so particularly as I -desire to do; I can only generalise, as a rule, and visit such special -places as are easy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span> access, and are, or are likely to become, places -of popular resort, either for the invalid or pleasure-seeker; my object -is to enjoy the season, and see what there is for other people to enjoy.</p> - -<p>Some transient visitors who have eyes yet no eyes, sensibilities without -sense, give a brief but sweeping opinion of Florida, and say—</p> - -<p>“It’s a hot, dry, dusty place, nothing in it but oranges and -alligators—good enough in winter for those poor creatures who don’t -care to run the risk of freezing in the north; and that’s all there is -in it.”</p> - -<p>Such hastily uttered opinions are no doubt attributable to a bilious -temperament or bad digestion. Every season brings a fresh influx of -visitors, some in search of health, some in search of pleasure; there is -a plentiful supply of both, and each may choose his own fashion of -taking it. Some love to lounge on the wide verandahs looking over the -perfumed garden of fruits and flowers, enjoying in January the soft -balmy breath of June; or they may wander through miles of orange groves, -or row upon the quiet moonlit lakes or rivers, or indulge in fishing -expeditions up the wonderful “St. John’s,” varying that gentle pastime -by shooting wild ducks or alligators.</p> - -<p>Those who are inclined to enjoy a pure pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span> trip, a ramble through -the ancient Spanish cities and modern towns, to take a trip up the Royal -St. John’s, or the weird wild Ocklawaha—the most wonderful water-way in -the world—may let loose their imagination and go with me, for I am <i>en -route</i> for Jacksonville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Pine forests.—Arcadian scenes.—Strange companionship.—We reach -Jacksonville.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Our</span> road still lies through cities of silent pines, stirred only by the -voice of the moaning wind; whole armies of them are drawn up on either -side, stretching away as far as the eye can reach. They look as though -they have just come out of a great battle: some are crippled and stand -tottering on their roots, others hang their lank limbs as though they -have not strength to upbear their weight of leaves, and some are -standing with huge gashes in their sides, and punctured wounds all over -their bodies; their bark is stripped off, and their naked trunks are -scarified all over, they are cut and stabbed till their poor veins are -drained of their life’s blood. Here and there stands the rough, -tumble-down shanty of the turpentine distillers—a hard-working and -intelligent set of labourers, who are largely employed in these lonely -forest regions, gathering the wealth of these gigantic uncomplaining -pines. And how great is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> wealth that is gathered therefrom—tar and -rosin, phosphate of lime, of soda, of magnesia, potash, and many other -important chemicals are wrung from their generous limbs. They give, -give, give, till their strength is exhausted; then the distiller moves -on and carries the war into another part of the country, while his -victims are left to recuperate. But no sooner are they grown strong and -vigorous again with renewed healthy life—the sap rising and refilling -their empty veins—scarcely have their old wounds had time to heal, when -they are again attacked by the ruthless requirements of man. Their sides -are cut and stabbed, and once more their veins are emptied, and thus, -like dropsical human kind, they are tapped again and again till they are -dried up, and have nothing more to give. Their green crowns fall, their -arms wither, and they are left to a lonely, though picturesque old age, -and are perhaps more admired in the naked grandeur of their decline than -in their youthful prime; for are not the ruined castles of old days more -impressive and attractive than the gorgeous palaces of the new? for -there nature in the long run beats art even at her own work. As fast as -art builds up time begins to break down, and does his work by -imperceptible degrees: then nature with decorative ingenuity comes to -the fore and clothes the dilapidations with soft moss and a graceful -combination of ivy, ferns, and flowers, till<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> the ugly skeleton with its -empty sockets and crumbling limbs is all aglow with a beautiful new -life—a picturesqueness that is only born of decay.</p> - -<p>Here and there, creeping out from some watery waste within their midst, -are wide shining pools, overspread with soft green lily pads, with fair -white blossoms cushioned thereon, looking as pure and innocent as baby -fairies asleep on a bed of green leaves.</p> - -<p>As we jog solemnly along on our iron road the scene undergoes a gradual -change, and we are soon in a new world of green; the change has been so -gradual indeed that we hardly know when we took our last look of the -dark sombre pines of the north. Their brethren of the South, with whom -we are now making acquaintance, are of a lighter colour, and seem of a -more airy frivolous nature than the northern forest kings whom we have -left a few hundred miles behind us. Here they are tall, slim, and -straight, with bare smooth trunks, and a chaplet of pale feathery green -leaves waving like warriors’ plumes above their lofty heads. We have -soon outrun the romantic cypress swamps, the salt marshes, and forest -lands; the shining pools with their lovely water lilies give place to -banks of fine white sand, but still among the yellow pines the white -blossom of the dogwood streams out like a hidden banner half unfurled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span></p> - -<p>The form and character of the trees here are very different from the -eastern or northern branches of their family, just as an oriental beauty -differs from a Belgravian belle. We are no longer rushing through -luxuriant “hammocks,” and tangles of a leafy wonderland; the ground is -rough and uneven, and has but a scanty growth of green. Now and then we -come upon a solitary date-palm, majestic in its stately loneliness; the -surrounding trees seem to have fallen away from it and group themselves -in the distance, as though in honour to its royalty. Here, too, is the -tall palmetto, the parent of a large family of dwarf palmettoes which -are gathered around it, with their sheaves of lance-like leaves lifted -in the sunlight.</p> - -<p>We thoroughly enjoy the novelty of the scenery, so different from that -we have already passed through. We feel we are on the threshold of a -tropical land, and wait eagerly for its wonder to unfold itself; the -change is so subtle and silent we cannot tell where it began; we feel it -in the very air we breathe, even the sunshine seems to fall from a -different part of the heavens, and to bring with it a kind of perfumed -warmth with its glorious light. Then we cross wide tracts of barren sand -dunes—rich red sand—with here and there a stunted growth of green; -these poor tracts of country are occasionally varied by rich hammocks or -clearings, interspersed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> with a tangle of wild orange trees or stately -palmettoes, half smothered in the embrace of luxuriant vines.</p> - -<p>Presently we stop at a kind of wayside hotel (the veriest hovel that -sells a jug of lager or slab of corncake is dignified by the name of -hotel); it is quite in the wilderness, a sort of travellers’ rest, with -not a shanty nor even a pig-stye in sight, for the wild hogs (and their -name is legion) run free—poor homeless tramps of the wilderness; and -long legged, ragged-looking Cochin-Chinas are strutting about crowing -their loudest, as though the whole world belonged to <i>them</i>. This is no -house of entertainment for us; we have been merely signalled to stop to -take up passengers. For in a moment a fierce-looking portly gentleman, -warranted fresh from his tailor, comes out of the low cranky door, and -an attendant darkie hauls his portmanteau after him; an abundance of -chains and seals dangle from his waistcoat pocket, and with much puffing -and blowing, like a human grampus, he gets into the train, and glares -defiantly round him. He is loud—loud in his dress, loud in his talk, -louder still in his actions; he bangs into his seat, slams down the -window, and bawls out some last instructions, then sinks into his seat, -gives sundry wrathful snorts, and sits swelling like a frog who is like -to burst. Two poor half-Indian women come down the narrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> winding -pathway from the wilderness; they have evidently tramped many miles, and -slink into a seat at the very end of the train, as though they had no -business there; they have a timid, frightened look upon their dusky -faces, and glance anxiously round at everything and everybody. We gather -from their whispered confidences that they have come from some small -settlement in the interior of the country, and had never been in a train -before—possibly had never seen one; all their worldly goods seem to be -contained in the baskets and bundles which they deposit beside them, and -guard with jealous care. There is something pathetic in the care and -attention these lonely women show to each other. They are evidently -stricken by some great sorrow, for as they sit together side by side, -staring out upon the landscape with lustreless eyes, a large tear that -had been long gathering rolls slowly down the cheek of one of them; they -speak no word, but huddle closer together with a dumb sympathy that is -more eloquent than words.</p> - -<p>We knew not whence they had come nor whither they were going; they were -two lonely women, and by their talk alone in the world, mere waifs and -strays of humanity—drifting, drifting on the tide of life, till they -are cast upon that silent shore where the tide neither ebbs nor flows. -If the engine gave an extra shriek or whistle they cast silent, -inquiring<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> glances round like frightened animals, but never spoke a -word. At meal time they turned aside and ate surreptitiously from their -baskets, nibbling slyly like mice at a cheese.</p> - -<p>The fierce-looking gentleman who had first attracted our attention was -evidently in a hurry to get on; he pelted the guard with questions -whenever he caught sight of him: “How far were we from this place?” -“When should we get to that?” “How slowly we were going. I could race -the engine and win,” he adds contemptuously; then he fidgeted in his -seat, and fretted and fumed; he scowled at everybody, and seemed -absolutely to swell with his own importance. He pulled out a big watch -as noisy and fussy as himself; it looked so brazen and ticked so loud as -though nothing in this world was going but itself—as though indeed it -had nothing at all to do with time, but was rather in a hurry to get -ahead of it, when it should have been minding its own business, done its -duty, and ticked the solemn flight of the passing hours. We turn our -backs upon this pompous individual, and our interest becomes absorbed in -these two poor women, from whom we gather an outline of their history. -It is a simple one: a story of trials and struggles, of tangles, of -failures, and want and sorrow, of life and death; such as may be written -of so many of the human family who reap only thorns and thistles in this -world; but in the next who knows what roses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> may for them be blooming! -Luckily for all such labourers, hope, like a will-o’-the-wisp, lights -the distant shadows and dances before them, now here, now there, till -they reach their journey’s end and drop unnoticed into nameless graves.</p> - -<p>Presently we cross a narrow stream or river, and learn that we have left -the rolling lands of Georgia behind and are now in Florida. We look -round as though we expected a sudden transformation scene, but there is -no violent change. Nature is full of surprises, but here in these -latitudes she moves with a slow, subtle grace, in accordance with the -soft sunshine, and warm, soft air of these semi-tropical regions, where -nothing is in a hurry, and even the streams and rivers flow in a tender, -languid ripple. She is still changing the expression of her countenance, -but slowly; her white, gleaming sands flash more and more frequently in -our eyes. We are on the rough, ragged edge of Florida; it is flat and -sandy with a scanty growth of straggling yellow pines and stunted -palmettoes, which seem cowering down trying to hide themselves from the -sight of the sun.</p> - -<p>Within an hour we are in Jacksonville, the first city in Florida, whence -the tourist takes his first impression of the climate and the people. -The train stops at a busy, bustling wharf, and as we step out we face -the grand expanse of the noble St. John’s river, stretching away in -gracefully curving lines to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> the right and the left of us; a few fishing -boats with brown patched sails are gliding to and fro, and one or two -pretty miniature steamers are puffing lazily along its surface; the -curving banks on the opposite shore are fringed with green to the -water’s edge. We turn round and face the town: there is a wide stretch -of land cut up in plots of garden ground, then a long, unbroken line of -shops and houses, varied by the lofty and elegant façades of the Everett -and Carlton Hotels which face the river front, the view however being -slightly marred by the wharf and the railway station, which is a mere -rough, wooden structure and has been hastily run up regardless of -architectural appearance; a few rough, wooden benches under cover are -all the waiting-rooms the passengers are likely to find. Adjoining the -station, and indeed forming a part of it, are long wharves and -packing-houses, where hives of busy bees are always working, especially -during the months of January and February, packing and shipping -strawberries and other delicate fruits to New York and other eastern and -northern cities. At this point there is an immense amount of railway -traffic, the iron roads running like the arms of an octopus in every -direction; trains are constantly passing to and fro, but they are too -far away for either the sight or the sounds to cause any actual -inconvenience beyond slightly obstructing the view of the Bay Street -hotels.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> If these ugly but useful structures were swept away, or -stationed a little farther down the river away from the town, the land -and water view from the whole line of Bay Street would be lovely in the -extreme.</p> - -<p>Lying farther back, as we afterwards find, are numerous other hotels, -all erected in choice positions, some embowered in trees and gardens of -blooming flowers; all are beautifully shaded and luxuriously appointed -in every particular.</p> - -<p>There are plenty of omnibuses waiting; we drive at once to the Everett, -attracted by its handsome appearance and position, and knowing that -there we should have the advantage of every breeze that blew from the -river.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Jacksonville.—Our hotel.—Greenleaf’s museum.—Floridian -curiosities.—East winds and tropical breezes.—Strawberry packing.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">We</span> shake the dust from our garments and wash our travel-stained faces, -and by the time we descend to the dining-room we find that the regular -<i>table-d’hôte</i> dinner is over, but the tables are still laid for the -accommodation of late comers. Some of the lights are out, the rest are -turned low, and scores of dusky shadows seem to be hiding in the distant -corners of the big room. The tables are laid with snow-white cloths, and -furnished with shining silver and glass and flowers, but the long saloon -is so empty and still it looks like a dead banquet lying in state rather -than the preparations for a social meal. However, as we enter with a few -others, the lights flash up and everything is lively enough, the -ever-attentive black waiters bustle briskly about, and by the time we -are comfortably seated the first instalment of our meal is before us. -Judging<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span> from the first ladle of soup, you may generally tell what your -dinner will be, they say. So from our first dainty dish of roast oysters -we augured well for our general entertainment. They are evidently -accustomed to cater for epicures and invalids; every dish is delicately -served; even if you were not hungry you would be tempted to eat. We had -scarcely commenced when our waiter inquired, in an insinuating whisper, -“Would we like a little ‘blue cat?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>We know that in some countries rats and mice are considered rare -dainties, and even in the more civilised quarters of the globe snails -and frogs are regarded as luxurious tit-bits. We desired the blue cat to -be served, and half expected to see the feline animal served up—claws, -tail, and all smothered in sauce piquante! And why not? I believe that -French art could dress up the sole of an old shoe, or even a rusty -door-nail so as to tempt the appetite and sit easy on the digestion. -However, our blue cat turned out to be a familiar fish of most delicious -flavour; we had made acquaintance with it before, but had not been -introduced to it by its proper name; we had eaten “blue cat,” but knew -it not.</p> - -<p>It is growing late in the month of March, and Jacksonville is not -itself, they tell us. A month ago, and the hotels were all crowded, and -so great was the influx of people they could not be comfortably housed; -fair ladies and fastidious gentlemen were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> forced into strange quarters, -taking their places, like aristocratic stowaways, in garrets, in lumber -rooms, or in any hole or corner where humanity can stretch itself and -sleep. Such scores of invalids and pleasure-seekers come hither in -search of health or amusement during the winter months, that although -there are many first-class hotels, and over a hundred and -fifty—counting those of a second-class and boarding-houses -together—yet even then the accommodation is scarcely enough for the -visitors. Everybody flocks to the large hotels; they like the elegantly -upholstered drawing-rooms, with their gorgeous decorations and gilded -mirrors, the lofty corridors, and, above all, the well-appointed -<i>cuisine</i>. There are some people who would rather sleep on a shelf with -their feet out of the window, like <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>, and enjoy -these luxuries, than occupy a large airy room with commonplace comforts.</p> - -<p>During the season Jacksonville is the gayest of gay cities; its hotels -are brilliantly lighted, and the sounds of mirth and music float from -its open windows; there are concerts, private theatricals, picnics and -water-parties, no end of them. The flagging spirits of the invalids are -stirred and stimulated by the general gaieties round them; they are -driven to forget themselves, and have no time to dwell upon their own -ailments, as they are apt to do in their own domestic circle, with -anxious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span> sympathising friends around them. Perhaps in the early stages -this is well, but in the later phases of disease the necessity of -dressing, and dining, and living in public is the heavy penalty paid for -such enjoyment. Some, however, seem to think that it is cheap at the -price.</p> - -<p>In the morning we sally forth on a tour of inspection through the -streets of Jacksonville. The roads are so heavy with deep sand, that -driving is attended with much dust and discomfort. A lumbering vehicle -passes us on the road and we are enveloped in a cloud of fine white -sand, and grope our way with closed eyes until it has had time to settle -itself. No one, unless disposed to self-martyrdom, will think of -entering a vehicle except under direst necessity; but there are -delightful little street cars, running on an iron tramway, which take -you the entire round of the city, past all the hotels, the stores and -principal thoroughfares, and bring you back to the starting-place for -five cents. Walking is here a most delightful exercise; the side-walks -everywhere are laid with light springy planks on which it is a pleasure -to tread. We stroll on in a kind of go-as-you-please, walking-made-easy -fashion, as though we never wanted to stop. The streets are all wide, -and beautifully shaded with vigorous young water-oaks, whose luxuriant -green foliage is a contrast to the pines and palmettoes we have lately -been passing through. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> rich and so dense is their wealth of leaves, -so extensive their branches, that in places they reach above our heads -across a roadway seventy-two feet wide, and we walk on under an arching -roof of green; so rapid is their growth in these latitudes that some -were pointed out to me which had attained to ten feet circumference in -forty-two years. Some grow strong and lusty in the clinging clasp of the -mistletoe, and are only saved from being smothered in its tender -embraces by the pruning-knife, which cuts down and strews the ground -with all such pleasant parasites as would otherwise sap the strength and -destroy the life of the strong young oaks. Whichever way we turn we look -through long vistas of green.</p> - -<p>The homes of the settled population of Jacksonville are very beautiful, -and are built in pretty fanciful styles—no sameness nor dull uniformity -anywhere. Some are surrounded by blooming gardens, for here the gardens -bloom all the year round; as one flower fades and falls another takes -its place, so the floral army is always “in position.” Some are covered -with creeping plants and vines, others buried in orange-groves or -embowered in shrubs, oleanders, and magnolia trees. There is no -unsightly or incongruous feature anywhere in this lovely city; it is -literally composed of handsome hotels, elegant dwellings, and smiling -gardens. The shops are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> congregated on one spot, instead of being -scattered in odd corners throughout the city, and are situated in a long -line on Bay Street, where you may enjoy a pleasant promenade and -transact your business at the same time. In these shops you will find -every possible commodity of merchandise, from the baby’s teething coral -to the grandfather’s gravestone, for such <i>articles de luxe</i> are -sometimes wanted even in Florida. A brisk trade is carried on in all -kinds of Floridian curiosities in this beautiful semi-tropical city. You -may buy bracelets and earrings of delicately-tinted sea beans, set in -silver or gold. Some say that these beans are the fruit of a leguminous -plant, which drops from the pod into the sea; others suggest that they -are washed over from the vines which grow along the shores of the West -Indies; but wherever they come from they are here in abundance and in -great variety of colours and shapes—some are opaque, some red, some a -rich brown, and some (the choicest specimens) are smoothly polished and -speckled like a leopard’s skin. Here also may be found some beautiful -specimens of Indian shell-work, and graceful plumes of dried grasses, -either natural or dyed in all the colours of the rainbow. The ladies -wear palmetto hats trimmed with leaves or feathery flowers made from -these grasses—quite a new and extremely elegant style of millinery. But -alligators’ teeth are mostly in demand; gentlemen wear them on their -watch-chains<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span>, as studs, as buttons, even as ornaments to their -umbrellas and walking-sticks; the ladies wear them set in all kinds of -fanciful ornaments. A lovely molar set in gold drops from her pretty -ear, or a row of sharp incisors coil round her wrist and grin from their -gold setting, as though they have just come from the dentist; or they -twine, half smothered in coral tongues or trellis-work of gold, about -her neck. Situated on this street, too, are the principal banks and -wholesale mercantile houses, the proprietors of which are so energetic -and enterprising they bid fair to make this the chief commercial city in -the state. The Aston Buildings, where every possible information -concerning anything or everything may be obtained—a collection of -legal, shipping, and insurance offices—are situated on the corner of -Bay and Hogan Streets. Close by, Mr. Greenleaf has quite a museum of -rare specimens of Floridian curiosities, connected with a well-stocked -bazaar, which is filled with all kinds of quaint things either for use -or ornament. This is well worth a visit, as, in addition to other -attractions, there is a kind of menagerie in the back part of the -premises, where wild cats, owls, snakes, alligators, and many other -monstrosities are on view. There is a large tank of infant alligators, -varying from six inches to a foot long. These are for sale, and are -greatly in request. I have seen them bought, packed in thick cardboard -boxes with perforated<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> tops, and sent as presents to friends in distant -parts of the country, travelling by mail post-paid. I am told that they -rarely meet with an accident by the way, but arrive safely at their -journey’s end, hungry, but in good condition—a rather unique kind of -present, and decidedly embarrassing token of friendly remembrance.</p> - -<p>For nearly a mile this busy business thoroughfare is lined on either -side with shops of every possible description—houses of entertainment -and variegated open stores, wine merchants, barbers’ shops, millinery -stores, fancy goods; the windows gaily dressed, all aglow with bright -colours and glittering ornaments. Elegantly dressed women and gentlemen, -the <i>jeunesse dorée</i> of the eastern cities, saunter to and fro. It seems -as though a bit of Regent Street had been cut out and plumped down on -the skirts of this semi-tropical city.</p> - -<p>We turn a few steps out of this animated thoroughfare, and are in a -perfect elysium; we feel as though we had turned our backs upon the -world, and are already on our way to paradise—we forget all about the -serpent. Although it is still spring-time, the thermometer reaches to -85°. They tell us that that is the maximum summer heat, and that such -weather is most unusual at this early season. The heat that would be -unendurable elsewhere is by no means oppressive<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> here; we enjoy a stroll -through the shady streets at midday. Though the sun is at its zenith, -there is no hot glare of light anywhere, but a soft delicious breeze is -blowing—an “east wind” they call it, but it bears no resemblance to the -stormy virago who plays that <i>rôle</i> in more northern latitudes, hurling -down church steeples, playing bagatelle with the chimney-pots, and, -worst of all, attacking with its biting breath poor helpless humanity. -In vain mankind buttons its greatcoat, and clasps its warm furs round -it, the east wind finds out its weakest place, and plays the devil’s own -tune upon its naked nerves, racks its bones with rheumatic twinges, -shooting neuralgic pains, making a target of the human body and hitting -the bull’s eye every time. Driven out of the open streets, people creep -in and cower down at their own fireside, but it follows them, it cannot -be kept out by bolts and bars; as subtle and invisible as thought it -steals down the throat, gives an evil touch to the bronchial tubes, -wrings the liver with a cruel hand, and even spoils the temper, like a -wicked old wretch as it is. One doesn’t so much mind facing the good -honest blustering north wind, it is an open foe, and in some way you can -defend yourself against it; but the east is a malicious insinuating -enemy, it will attack you even in your bed before you have had time to -put a woollen nightcap on. Here, however, it is soft and balmy, full of -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> spicy fragrance; it seems to come down new-born, straight from the -gate of heaven, breathing the breath of angels, and laden with the soft -airs of eternal spring. Who can tell? Perhaps as it grows older and -travels onward it may gather evil by the way, absorb the miasmic -exhalations from the earth and from the miseries and vices of mankind -till its temper is spoilt, and it becomes as hard, cruel, and bitter as -the east wind of our own land—which we must again meet presently. But -here all is fresh and delightful. We don’t find in the face of the child -the inborn sins of its manhood, so we revel in this balmy breeze, and -give no thought to the east wind that may be afar off sweeping our -native streets, holding our friends and our foes alike in its cruel -grip.</p> - -<p>Down on the wharf the air is scented with strawberry perfume, for, as I -think I have said elsewhere, the great packing-houses are situated here, -and trains and vessels fruit-laden come from all parts of the state and -disgorge their treasures. An immense trade in fruit and vegetables is -carried on—early peas, young potatoes, asparagus, pine-apples, and -strawberries being largely exported to the eastern and northern states; -business is brisk everywhere, but there is no confusion. Hundreds of -hands are busy packing the rich luscious strawberries in the -ice-boxes—ice above, ice below, ice everywhere; then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> they are -hermetically sealed and sent to New York or elsewhere, arriving there in -perfection, as though they were just fresh gathered. In front of the -wharf, lying along the river, are several small pleasure boats and some -large three-masted schooners, dipping and fretting and tossing their -mastheads, as though they were in a hurry to get their lumber freight -and be gone; the huge mill is whirring busily, its iron teeth tearing -the king of the forest to pieces as fast as it can, perhaps cutting up -and slicing some of that large family of pines we have been lately -passing through. Who knows? perhaps they may return one day shaped into -the tall strong masts of some noble ship, bearing her fluttering sails -on high, creaking and swaying in the wind as though struggling to get to -their silent brotherhood on the plains up yonder, and tell them how much -of the world they have seen, and what strange peoples they have borne -across the seas.</p> - -<p>The busy wharves, the beautiful river, picturesque streets and Arcadian -surroundings, make this first glimpse of Florida delightful. We have -nothing to do but revel in the breeze and bask in the sunshine, and we -do it.</p> - -<p>Jacksonville has so many advantages that it is rapidly becoming the -favourite resort of travelling multitudes. So rapid has been its growth -during the short period of its existence that its population<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> already -numbers about 11,000; it is everywhere lighted with gas, has an -excellent water supply (though I cannot say much for the water, it -should be used as an outward application only). The postal and -telegraphic system is as near perfection as such arrangements generally -are; they have even the latest scientific improvement, the telephone. -You may travel to and from anywhere and everywhere. There is a perfect -system of river traffic, and trains are dashing in and out of the city -all day long.</p> - -<p>It seems to us a pity that the invalid population should take their -flight so early; the weather is still perfect, and I am told it is -likely to continue so for the next two months, when it will literally be -emptied, even of its floating population. Some of its infatuated -inhabitants live there all the year round; they tell me it is delightful -even in the height of summer—“there has never been a case of sunstroke -known, there is no malaria, no fever,” no anything that humanity needs -to avoid. But these are interested folk; I shall have something to say -on that subject presently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Fernandina.—Romance or history?—Dungeness.—To Tocor.—On board -the boat.—Oddities.—A lovely water drive.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A pleasant</span>, slow, jog-trotting, line of railway connects Jacksonville -with Fernandina, about fifty miles distant. It is a delightful old city -situated on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean, first founded by the -Spaniards in 1632, and has a most romantic history, on which, in my -glimpse of these sunny lands, I have no time to dwell; but then every -city throughout these regions has an interesting history, and the -history of one is the history of all—savage warfare with the Indians, -internal struggles with the adventurous Spaniards, as one after another -their flying expeditions came, each one firing the other with wonderful -stories of the enchanted land, telling of “great stores of crystal and -gold, rubies and diamonds” which were to be found therein. Again and -again their vessels came and fought and plundered, and went or were -driven away. Again and again the waves of humanity broke upon these -shores; some were wrecked and ruined,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span> some drifted and married and -intermarried with the natives, and settled and flourished.</p> - -<p>The history of the land is full of romance, from its early discovery by -Ponce de Leon, who came hither in search of the Fountain of Youth—that -fountain which plays so sweet a tune, and sparkles and flashes a -glorious baptism once in every life, and then is seen or heard no more. -Men seek for it as a kind of holy grail, but find it not. Ponce de Leon -shared the fate of the rest of the world, and instead of finding the -Fountain of Youth drank of the bitter waters of death. He was driven -back from these sunlands with great disaster, and retired to Cuba, where -he died of his wounds, aggravated by disappointment.</p> - -<p>Deeds of crime, of cruelty, and of treachery, brightened here and there -by the noblest heroism of which humanity is capable, mark the annals of -Florida. The whole land is aglow with unwritten poetry, romance, and -passionate combinations, which, gathered together, would supply the -place of fiction for ages to come; but through her many tribulations, -quarrels, and martyrdom, she has come out the peaceful, sweet land we -see, teeming with the richest fruits and flowers of the earth. But here, -even as in the paradise of old, there lurks a whole hydra-headed brood -of serpents among the flowers. However, for the present, I must confine -my attention to Fernandina.</p> - -<p>No trace remains of the original city. The houses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> of the Spaniards and -the huts of the natives are all swept away; it is fresh, new, and -bright. It has many of the characteristics of Jacksonville, but is much -quieter, and there is an appearance of quaint old-world dignified repose -about it, which lively, bustling Jacksonville does not possess—the one, -in festive dress, is always on the alert for pleasure or amusement, the -other is sweetly suggestive of home and peace.</p> - -<p>The streets are wide and well shaded with fine oaks and magnolias; the -pretty houses are generally hidden away out of sight by the luxuriant -growth of tropical flowering shrubs, and are surrounded by smooth lawns -and gardens. There are no iron rails laid down, no cars running through -the Arcadian streets, no traffic, indeed, except the hotel omnibuses, -plying leisurely to and from the railway station. The resident -population is between two and three thousand, the number of course being -largely increased during the winter months. Every arrangement is made -for the reception and luxurious accommodation of travellers. The -“Egmont” is the finest hotel; it is beautifully situated, palatial in -its appointments, and with a fine view of the town and surrounding -country, in front of it a pretty little grove of palmettoes.</p> - -<p>Many people prefer Fernandina to Jacksonville as being quieter, cooler, -and the climate more bracing, and less of a resort for fashionable -invalidism. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> surroundings are lovely, full of romantic strolls and -pleasant wandering ways, where you may ramble without fear of getting -into a swamp or plunging into a quagmire. One favourite drive, of which -people never seem to tire, is through a lovely winding way, something -like a Devonshire lane, with stretches of flowering shrubs and tangles -of palmetto scrub lifting their shining leaves on either side. This -leads to the sea-shore, about two miles distant from the town, where -there is a wonderful beach of hard white sand as smooth and level as a -ball-room floor. Here you may enjoy an uninterrupted drive for twenty or -thirty miles, with the wild woodland country stretching away on the one -hand, and the white foam lips of the Atlantic lapping the shore on the -other, while the briny breeze comes, laden with a thousand miles of -iodine, fanning your cheek and expanding your lungs with its healing, -health-giving breath; and, under the exhilarating spell of this -invigorating air and glorious sunshine, you feel that “life is indeed -worth living,” and have no desire to debate upon the question.</p> - -<p>This drive, within such easy access of the town, brings many visitors to -Fernandina. Some enjoy the pleasant stroll through the woodland way to -the beach; those who are not sufficiently strong or energetic enough to -enjoy the luxury of walking, drive there, for, during the season, there -are plenty of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> comfortable carriages on hire, and this remarkable -sea-shore presents quite a gay and animated appearance.</p> - -<p>There are many other attractions in the immediate vicinity of -Fernandina, and among them is a pleasant ride to a romantic old -fortification, now a picturesque ruin—Fort Clinch, which lies at the -northernmost point nearest the Georgia line, and with which many quaint -histories are connected; on these I have no time to dwell. No one should -leave Fernandina without paying a visit to Dungeness, which is situated -on Cumberland Island. A tiny steamer sailing from Fernandina takes you -there in about an hour.</p> - -<p>Cumberland Island is about eighteen miles long, and averaging a mile in -width. The magnificent domain of Dungeness, situated at the southernmost -end of the island, occupies about one-third of its total area. It was -presented to General Nathaniel Green by the State of Georgia, in -acknowledgment of his services to the South.</p> - -<p>The original mansion was burnt and totally destroyed during the early -part of the civil war, but the grand old ruin still stands firm as a -rock with its battlemented walls and tumbling towers; while, instead of -crumbling away, the coquina walls seem absolutely to have been so -hardened by the action of the fire as to be almost time-defying. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> -property has passed from the hands of the Green family, and I am told -that the present owner talks of pulling down the ruin and building a -modern mansion on the site thereof. Social opinion lifts its voice -loudly against such an act of vandalism, but a man has a right to do as -he likes with his own; and reverence for the past and love of the -picturesque must be inborn, it cannot be ingrafted on a commonplace -mind, even though its owner be a millionaire.</p> - -<p>The visit of a single day to Dungeness is nothing, you will want to go -again and again, and you could occupy your time in no better way. The -sail thither across the smooth waters of the Sound, with the green land -lying around it, is delightful, and once ashore you feel as though you -would never tire of wandering through this enchanted land, which is -teeming with unwritten poetry and romance. There are quaint gardens -aglow with brilliant flowers, fruit trees and apple orchards, -labyrinthine walks through glorious avenues and groves of live oaks and -magnolias—a luxuriant growth of tropical green is everywhere. Now with -entranced eyes you gaze on some magnificent view of land and water; -passing onward through tangled vines and scenes of Arcadian loveliness -you come upon a glorious beach, with the sea waves softly rolling to and -fro as though they longed to leap up and meander over the forbidden<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span> -land. There is plenty of work here for the fishing-rod and gun, but I -fancy that the most inveterate lover of either would be disposed to lay -aside fishing-rod and gun and lounge in dreamy idleness through this -sweet, romantic land, and at the day’s end would be loth to leave it.</p> - -<p>At present there are no hotels in Dungeness; people take their luncheon -baskets and pic-nic on the ground, but no doubt when the spirit of -improvement has swept the ruin away and smoothed the picturesque -wrinkles from the face of the dear old island, “accommodation for -tourists” will be speedily prepared; the demand creates the supply. -Although there is but one strip of railway leading to Jacksonville, and -that runs through low-lying swampy land, yet one of the most important -lines in Florida, the “Atlantic Gulf and West India Transit Railway,” -starts from Fernandina and runs directly across the south-west part of -the state to Cedar Keys. The Mallory line of steamers also call at -Fernandina on their way to and from Charlestown and Savannah.</p> - -<p>Our next point of interest is St. Augustine; in order to get there we -have to return to Jacksonville, sleep one night at the hotel, and take -the boat the next day for Tocoi, which is twenty-five, perhaps thirty -miles, up the St. John’s river; thence we go by train to St. Augustine -in about an hour.</p> - -<p>It is a lovely morning; earth, air, and sky seem<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> to have joined in a -glorious combination to make one perfect day. We take our last ramble -through the sweet shady streets of Jacksonville; there is not a creature -abroad, only the song birds hold a jubilee as they flit to and fro among -the tree tops overhead, and the leaves are rustling gently as though -whispering a last “Good-bye” as we pass beneath their cool green -shadows.</p> - -<p>The steamer is waiting for us at the wharf, and, our luggage having been -sent on before, we stroll quietly on board, ascend the wide staircase, -and pass through the luxurious saloon, which is as elegantly fitted up -as a London drawing-room, with handsome mirrors, painted panels, velvet -hangings, sofas, lounges, and light cane rocking-chairs that can easily -be carried from one part of the vessel to another. There is one table -tastefully laid out for the sale of Indian work; some of it is very -beautiful, and well worthy of inspection. The art committee of ladies’ -needlework might pick up many a valuable idea therefrom. There is also a -stall for the sale of newspapers, magazines, and books. Everything is -arranged to make our temporary sojourn pleasant. Some of our -fellow-passengers-to-be have deposited themselves in the cosiest -nooks—some curled up in easy chairs, some stretched on sofas before the -windows where they can enjoy the passing prospect “at ease.” One pretty -pale girl, who has evidently been travelling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> all night, lies covered up -fast asleep; another is training a youthful alligator to recognise her -voice and follow her about. Some curious specimens of Eastern and -Western humanity, and some few of our own countrymen, who seem -manufactured expressly for foreign travel—and foreign travel only—are -also “on view.” One has already taken possession of the piano, which -appears to be suffering from internal dilapidations; he meanders over -the keys in an aimless, objectless way, and gets nothing out of them -except an occasional squeak or series of scaley groans, as though the -torture is more than they can bear. A young fellow comes along, followed -by a poodle dog walking decorously on its hind legs, and carrying a -valise in its mouth with a solemnity suited to the occasion. However, as -soon as it is released from its responsibilities its natural spirit -comes out; it runs round and round after its own tail, and finding it -can’t catch it leaves off like a sensible human being (when human beings -are sensible and leave off hunting the impossible); but as he (for <i>it</i> -is a he) “has got no work to do,” he resolves to enjoy himself to the -best of his canine fashion. He makes short runs after everybody’s skirts -or pantaloons, trots away with an old lady’s basket, drops it, springs -up and tumbles down, yelping and barking with delight. When he is tired -he leaves off, lies down, lolling out his tongue<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> as though he wanted it -to be examined by a doctor, and pants as though his heart was trying to -break through his ribs. One crusty old gentleman with weak nerves starts -a theory that the dog is mad. Some take the alarm, and the poor brute is -cuffed and hunted from under tables and chairs and sofas and at last is -inveigled out upon the deck under false pretences—deluded by the idea -of “rats”—and is tied to a rail, where he remains a prisoner till our -journey’s end. We carry out a couple of rocking-chairs and keep him -company, cheering him with a kind word and occasional pat, which he -perfectly understands, and in his mute, pathetic way shows us that he -quite appreciates our sympathy. Meanwhile the bell has rung, and we are -cast off from the shore and started on our brief water trip. The river -stretches its slow length lazily before and behind us in a state of -dreamy calm, as though it wanted to lie still and enjoy one brief, -undisturbed holiday; it has no freight ships to bear on its breast -to-day, and resents the intrusion of our pleasure steamer; it turns its -tide away and will give us no help whatever, but runs after us now and -then in light, foamy flashes as our paddle-wheel irritates it into -action.</p> - -<p>This delightful water drive from Jacksonville to Tocoi is not perhaps -the most picturesque portion<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> of the St. John’s river, yet is full of -interest and has many points of attraction for strangers. We glide -between low-lying shores fringed with branching reeds and waving -grasses, closed in the distance by serried ranks of fine old forest -trees and stretches of evergreen shrubs; it is full of primitive -simplicity, peace, and delicious quietude. We feel at peace with -ourselves and all the world as we glide along this placid river, its -tranquil surface only broken by the reflection of the floating clouds -above it, which are mirrored therein as in a looking-glass; here and -there we pass a tiny vessel with white sails set and the stars and -stripes fluttering from its masthead. Presently we come to Orange Park, -a neat little village wreathed with beautiful gardens and sentinelled by -fine old forest trees, which stand in rank and file along the water’s -edge. There is a fine hotel here standing a short distance from, but in -full view of, the river, for the accommodation of winter visitors, to -whom it furnishes most comfortable quarters.</p> - -<p>There are lovely spots to delight the eye and stir the imagination of -the passing summer tourist all along these low-lying lands, but there is -not one wherein, if he is wise, he will linger beyond the passing day, -unless he is prepared to order his funeral beforehand. During the winter -there are no more delightful residences than here by this river side;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span> -we pass by one that looks like a bit of paradise cut out and laid down -upon these smiling shores, with its tangle of trees and vines, and wild -fruits and flowers, and birds of bright plumage flitting to and fro. But -woe be to him who in summer is tempted to linger here; it is as the -beauty of the fair frail charmer, blooming and dimpling with smiles in -the sunlight, but when the night comes breathing disease and death. Most -of these attractive places are deserted as the hot weather sweeps on, -except by those whom necessity compels to face the evils from which they -cannot fly; some get acclimatised, but all suffer more or less from the -damp dews and fevers. But the time for these malarial fiends to walk -abroad has not come yet; we are still in the full swing of the healthful -weather—of bright sunshine and sweet, fresh breezes.</p> - -<p>Presently our attention is directed to Mandarin, a village made up of -orange groves and fruit orchards. Some distance off, on the elevated -land of the east shore, and plainly visible through its luxuriant leafy -surroundings, stands the beautiful home of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe; -it is built like a Swiss chalet, with wide verandahs covered with -climbing plants running round it. Some few miles farther up we pass -Magnolia, another settlement of much the same description. Next we come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> -to Green Cove Springs, a winter resort of some importance, which is -largely patronised by healthy-minded invalids.</p> - -<p>There are two fine, well-appointed hotels there, wide shady lanes -leading straight up from the river wherein some pretty cottage homes are -nestling, though these, like the rest, are left to run to seed when the -earth is at its loveliest, and the June roses begin to bloom.</p> - -<p>The springs from which this place takes its name are situated in the -centre of the town and in close proximity to the hotel. The water is -clear and sparkling, and is used for bathing as well as for drinking -purposes; it is classed among the healthiest of the sulphur springs. We -pass more orange groves, the trees partly stripped of their golden -fruit, for the gatherers are hard at work, and the oranges are lying in -heaps upon the ground like mounds of yellow cannon balls. One or two -scattered villages and we reach Tocoi, when we take the cars for St. -Augustine.</p> - -<p>Tocoi is nothing but a rough wooden shed dignified by the name of a -railway station, where tourists, when they have landed from the boat, -may find temporary shelter from the sun’s burning rays while they -wait—and they always have to wait—for the train to carry them on; as -there is only one narrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> line of rail and one train passing to and fro -this waiting process is sometimes trying to the patience. There are not -more than half-a-dozen of us landed from the steamer, and having seen us -safely off her deck she gives a little shriek of delight, as though glad -to be rid of us, and puffs on her way again. We glance round upon our -somewhat dingy, dirty surroundings, then along the line for our train. -There are no signs of it; there is nothing in sight but a miserable -shanty in the last stages of dilapidation. Outside, in the tumble-down -porch, a coloured woman with a gaudy handkerchief tied round her head is -busy at the washtub, while her dusky brood are tumbling about with a -colony of fat pigs and long-legged Cochin-Chinas. We seat ourselves on a -hamper under the eaves of the shed—it is close and fusty inside—and -wait.</p> - -<p>Presently a train that does not seem much larger than a child’s -plaything comes puffing slowly along as much as to say, “I’m coming! I’m -coming! Don’t be in a hurry.”</p> - -<p>We enter a miniature car, wherein we sit three abreast; our Liliputian -engine gives a series of asthmatic gasps, as though it had hardly -strength to carry itself along, and objected to its living freight, but -it is presently lashed by its fire fiend into obedience, and sets off -with a jerk.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<p>Our road lies through the densest of dense jungles, a wild and seemingly -impenetrable forest, whose tangle of palms, cypresses and oaks, all -entwisted with heavy Spanish moss,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Lets not one sunshaft shoot between!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">After a delightful drive of about an hour and a half our little toy -train rings a tinkling bell, and we slacken our already slack pace into -the shed dignified by the name of the St. Augustine depot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">St. Augustine.—A land of the long ago.—A chat with a Spanish -antiquity.—Quaint streets.—City gate.—Fort Marion.—The old -Slave Market.—The monuments.—The Plaza.—Cathedral and Convent.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Another</span> morning breaks, a worthy successor to the last; it seems made up -of some heavenly alchemy—a tissue of golden glory and shimmer of silver -sheen.</p> - -<p>Over the silent sea and yet more silent land a supreme stillness reigns, -unbroken by the rustle of leaves or whirr of the invisible insect world. -The great sun hangs like a ball of fire in the pale skies, and fills the -land with dazzling light. The green earth, with all her wealth of fruit -and flowers in her lap, seems wrapt in a sweet languor, as though she -had fallen asleep and was smiling in her dreams; while her giant sons of -the forest and straggling children of the plains lift their leafy -fingers to their lips, and whisper to the wandering wind, “Hush! she is -weary, let her rest,” and the red roses and white lilies nod their heads -drowsily and sleep with her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span> The very dogs doze dreamily in the sun; -they don’t seem to have a good honest bark, or vigorous wag of the tail, -left in them. Life, the busy bustling nineteenth-century life we know -of, exists not here. We feel as though we had gone to sleep in the world -of to-day and been carried away in our dreams, and woke up in an ancient -city of two hundred years ago.</p> - -<p>This dear, romantic St. Augustine! It is not grim with age, nor grey and -hoary with the rust of time. It is like an old-fashioned beauty who has -been lying in state through these long years, pranked in all her finery -of feathers, furbelows, paint, powder, and patches, and now wakes up and -walks and talks with us in the quaint stilted phraseology of old days. -Never was change of time and place so sudden, so strangely felt, as the -transition from brilliant Jacksonville and pretty pleasant Fernandina to -this quiet, quaint old-world city, wherein the dignity and simple grace -of the Spanish cavaliers who first conquered, settled and peopled it, -seems still to linger; we can almost fancy we see their shadowy forms -stoop their plumed heads as they pass in and out of their ancient homes, -with gilt spurs jangling and swords clanging at their heels. We are -steeped to the lips in the spirit of the middle ages all round us, and -everywhere we recognise the features and individualities of days dead -and gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span></p> - -<p>The hotels, built expressly for the service of the travelling world, are -the only touches of modern life we find herein—no other thing of modern -birth dares lift its head in St. Augustine. As a rule the inhabitants -seem made to match the place—indeed, they are a part of it. Many are -the descendants of the early settlers, and they and their fathers before -them have lived there all their days, and still occupy the ancient -dwellings of their race.</p> - -<p>Passing by one of these old Coquina homes I saw an old Spaniard sitting -in the porch smoking his pipe, while his granddaughter, a bright-eyed -brunette, sat rocking her baby by his side, while an immense fuschia -tree in full bloom shook out its crimson flowers above them. I stopped -to inquire the way to the “city gate.” He rose up, tall, straight, erect -to his full height, over six feet, doffed his cap, and with the stately -courtesy of his race came down, leaned over the fence, and directed us -on our way, adding:—</p> - -<p>“You’re strangers, I think? A good many come here nowadays.”</p> - -<p>We were in no hurry to go on; seeing he was conversationally inclined, -we gratified him, and ourselves likewise; we lingered for a pleasant -chat—one gains so much in these wayside gatherings. He volunteered some -bits of interesting information about the place, about his family, and -about himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> I made some touristical observation about the appearance -of the city and its salubrious situation, and inquired how long he had -lived there.</p> - -<p>“I was born with the century,” he said, “and I was born here in this -very house I live in.”</p> - -<p>“Why, you don’t look like eighty years of age,” I remark.</p> - -<p>“No, nor I don’t feel like it, lady,” he answered; “but I’m in my -eighty-second year, and I feel hale and strong yet. I’ve lived through -some troublous times, too; it hasn’t always been fair weather here in -St. Augustine.”</p> - -<p>Seeing we were interested in anything concerning St. Augustine, and -anxious to glean any scraps of information, he opened the gate and -invited us to “walk in” and rest. As we were scarcely a hundred yards -from our hotel we did not want to “rest,” but we walked in nevertheless -and sat down in the porch and prepared for a gossip; it was easy to lead -him to talk of the old days, he seemed to enjoy fighting his battle of -life over again.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ve seen a good many changes,” he said, warming to his work. “Few -men have lived a life out on one spot and seen so much—so many -revolutions, things, thoughts, governments and people changing, but the -place remaining just the same; there’s been no pulling down old -landmarks in St. Augustine, and the wear and tear of time isn’t[Pg 163 much. -You see the city is all built of coquina, and that is stronger than -stone—the older it is the harder it becomes. Yes, I’ve seen the British -flag flying from the old fort, the Spanish banner flying; now we are -under the eagle’s wing, and the stars and stripes are fluttering over -us.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you would as soon live under one rule as another?” I venture -to say.</p> - -<p>“Provided they rule well, yes; and we’ve nothing to complain of now; the -laws are easy, and we are left to live and work in peace, though up to -the last few years we’ve been liable to hostile incursions of the -Indians. Why, I’ve seen them swarm over the bastions yonder, and come -swooping and yelling through the streets, filling the air with their -hideous war-cry—such scenes, dear ladies, as I dare not tell you of; -now we are under the American flag, and, the Blessed Lord be thanked, we -are at peace.”</p> - -<p>He took us through his orchard at the back of the house, and on to a -small orange grove of about an acre, which he proudly informed us he -managed all himself. We gathered and ate some oranges—deliciously cool -and refreshing they were; he apologised for their size and scarcity, as -the trees had been stripped of their finest fruit some weeks ago.</p> - -<p>As yet we had only caught a general view of St. Augustine, and we -hurried on to make acquaintance with its special features. The streets -are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> narrow and crooked, varying from ten to twenty feet wide, the -houses having verandahs or balconies jutting out overhead so close -together that the ladies thereon can almost shake hands across from one -side of the road to the other. There are no regular pavements or -sidewalks, and the roads are laid with broken oyster or mussel shells. -The houses are mostly built of a kind of compressed shell-stone called -“coquina,” which is quarried from the island of Anastasia, that lies -about a mile across the harbour and separates St. Augustine from the -Atlantic Ocean. This is the oldest European settlement in America, and -was so settled long before the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. The most -picturesque and romantic of all the quaint old streets is George Street, -with its curious houses and hanging balconies clinging along the fronts -thereof, and are generally covered with climbing plants. The white -coquina walls rise straight and bare direct from the roadway; the -windows are small and closely curtained, as though the old Spanish dons -still jealously guarded their hidden beauties from the sight of man. -There is an air of great seclusion everywhere—we might be wandering -through an oriental city; but we know that behind these bare walls there -are blooming gardens of oleander, magnolia, orange and lemon trees; -occasionally we get a glimpse of some rich striped lily or glowing -passion-flower nodding over the wall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span></p> - -<p>Mr. Lorillard has a beautiful villa here—a touch of to-day in the land -of the yesterdays. It is of quaint though modern architecture, and is -full of gabled ends and corners. The smooth-shaven lawn and flower -gardens are simply railed in and in full view of the passer by. -Whichever way you turn you catch a breath of poetry and romance; a scent -of the days gone by clings round the ancient homes and pervades the air, -having a subtle effect upon our spirits. We fancy we hear the clang of -arms, and the long-silent voices ringing in the air, and shadowy forms -are gliding beside us, haunting the old scenes where they walked and -talked so many centuries ago.</p> - -<p>At the top of St. George Street stands the ancient city gate, which once -formed part of the old stone wall which, running from shore to shore, -protected the city from hostile incursions. The greater part of the wall -has long since disappeared, but a rude, rugged, moss-covered mass clings -around, as though it helped to support, the tall ornamental towers which -once rose up on each side of the city gate, and which still stand -massive and strong, like sentinels who will not be beaten from their -post, though a great gap yawns where the gate has fallen from its rusty -hinges. Coming through St. George Street we look straight through to the -wide stretches of country beyond. The sentry boxes scooped out of the -solid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> wall are there still, exactly as when the last guard stepped from -them in obedience to the bugle call, when the sun had set and the sentry -was relieved. This is, perhaps, the most ancient and certainly the most -picturesque ruin in this portion of the country.</p> - -<p>Passing between the still stately towers we come in full view of Fort -Marion, one of the most attractive features of St. Augustine. It was -commenced in the year 1592, but was not completed till the year 1756. It -is a remarkable, fine, and imposing structure—grand, grey, and massive, -standing on a gently rising hill outside the town, and lifting its -gloomy front towards the sea. No ruin is Fort Marion, but perfect in all -its parts, stamped only with the desolation and dreariness which must -brood over any place that is deserted and unused for a certain number of -years.</p> - -<p>The labour of construction is said to have been wholly performed by -negro slaves and prisoners of war. The moat is now dried up and -overgrown with grass and rank weeds, but there are the drawbridges, the -massive arched entrance, the barbican, the dark passages, frowning -bastions, and mysterious dungeons. A whiskered sergeant—a remnant of -military glory—has charge of the fort, and lives in a pretty, -rose-covered cottage outside. In company with several other tourists we -explored the curiosities of the old fort. One large dingy stone chamber, -with vaulted roof<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> and damp floor, like a gigantic cellar, was occupied -by the townspeople, who came flocking to the fort for shelter some few -years ago when the place was threatened by an irregular army of -piratical marauders; the ashen embers where they baked their last loaf -of bread still lie upon the iron plate, and the empty oven yawns -hungrily open. This apartment, itself but dimly lightly, leads into a -huge, dark dungeon, black as Erebus; but <i>the</i> “dark dungeon” <i>par -excellence</i> lies beyond, and to this treat-in-store we proceed. Chill, -black, and dismal as the grave, is this partly-underground dungeon, -where in 1835 two skeletons were found chained to the wall—victims, no -doubt, to some cruel Spanish inquisition. We stand shivering in its -chilly blackness while our guide gives us fragmentary sketches of the -history of the fort. The last prisoners confined here were a number of -refractory Indians, stirrers-up of trouble, horse-thieves, and general -marauders, who were sent thither by the order of United States -Government in 1874, but were released in 1878. In no cruel dungeon like -this “dark cell,” however, were these “braves” confined. A large, -casemented chamber was prepared for their reception, they were taken out -in squads for exercise, and under proper surveillance were even allowed -to bathe. They have left their sign-manual upon the walls—specimens of -Indian art in the shape of sundry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span> sprawly sketches of man and beast. -For, as it is well known, the Indians are fond of drawing, and will draw -on anything and with any kind of material that will make a mark. They -will even exchange a surplus squaw for a few pencils or paint brushes. -Crude and out of all proportions as their productions are, they -illustrate the minds and peculiar proclivities of the people. An Indian -never represents himself as standing, dancing, or walking; he is always -on horseback, and always fighting against fabulous numbers, and always a -conqueror, riding victorious over a score of prostrate foes. We pass -through an antique chapel, whence the worshippers have fled “into the -silent land” and left it deserted except for the ghostly echo which -rises up and follows us as we pass through. We peep through dusky -passages, ramble up and down crumbling stone stairs, cross the barbican, -pass many worm-eaten oaken doors which, we are told, “lead nowhere in -particular,” and presently emerge upon the grassy, battlemented slopes -of the old fortification and look out across the bay, over the island of -Anastasia, to the sea beyond. After wandering for a brief period through -these gloomy precincts, and inhaling the damp, imprisoned air of the -dungeons, it is pleasant to stand in the sunlight and breathe the fresh -air of heaven again. We promenade the battlements and look down upon the -lovely fort with barbicans and towers, esplanades,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span> drawbridges, and -grass-grown moat spread out before and around us. Lifting the eyes and -gazing further off we have a magnificent land and sea view, with the -quaint old city with its lovely gardens grouped at our feet.</p> - -<p>We meet many other promenaders who, like ourselves, appreciate the -glorious view, except in some cases when the view is bounded by a -sun-bonnet on one side and a wide sombrero, shading a bearded masculine -face, upon the other. There was Darby enjoying the evening air, with his -fat wife Joan trudging by his side; and here was a tall young lady of -Amazonian deportment solemnly parading side by side with her latest -conquest—a small, meek young man, who had evidently no strength to -resist capture and could not close his ears to the voice of the charmer. -He wore spectacles and a blue necktie, reminding one somewhat of a pet -sheep being led by a blue ribbon; one half expected to hear him reply -with a soft “Baa—aa” to the tender tones of his ladylove. Now in -turning a shady corner we come upon a pair of time-honoured flirts, who -had left their youth a long way behind them, and are now shooting their -blunt little arrows at one another, both well practised, and evidently -little damage is done on either side.</p> - -<p>Descending presently from our vantage ground, we turn our backs upon the -romantic old fort, looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> so grey and lonesome in the sunlight; its -glories have passed away, and its peaceful solitudes have become the -haunt of tourists and travellers; the green lizards swarm in its sunny -corners, and men and women linger through long summer evenings in its -shady nooks, and make love beneath its frowning battlements. We pass -along the sea wall, which is of coquina, like most of the buildings -here, and is about a mile long, forming a magnificent promenade; it is -elevated above the roadway, and being only two feet wide it gives no -encouragement to the “gay and festive throng” or social gathering on -moonlit evenings. People generally march in single file and take the air -in a solemn business-like fashion, though occasionally a pair of young, -slim creatures cling together and walk side by side, by no means -inclined to carp at the narrowness of the wall, which compels one arm to -slide round the other waist, and with a kind of forced pressure to “hold -on” to save the other from falling. On one side is the water, still as a -lake, yet indescribably seeming to breathe the “salt sweet fragrance” of -the vast Atlantic beyond.</p> - -<p>The pretty vessels of the yachting club, with white sails fluttering, -are curtseying to their own shadows on its surface. On the other side, -about three feet below the sea wall, is a wide, smooth, shell road, -where you may enjoy a delightful drive or promenade <i>au cheval</i>; here -and there are stone steps leading<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> up to the wall, so that you are not -obliged to march along its whole length, or leap down at the risk of -breaking your neck. Fronting the water on the other side of the road is -Bay Street, the principal business thoroughfare of the city, where there -are some excellent shops, and queer old houses which take boarders all -the year round, for the winter cold, or summer heat, is never excessive -in St. Augustine; it is one of the few Floridian resorts which is -pleasant at all seasons. The temperature, calculated by a study of the -thermometer for the last ten years, is for summer about 80 Fahrenheit; -autumn, 70 to 75; winter, 58 to 60—a most delightful temperature, -especially as there is generally a soft balmy east wind blowing, though -occasionally in the winter time a wild north-easter, in its fiercest -mood, sweeps over the Atlantic, and wreaks its vengeance on St. -Augustine and the surrounding coast. People are inclined to smash the -thermometer which dares to register only sixty when this cruel wind is -biting them through!</p> - -<p>At the other end of the sea wall, opposite the fort, are the United -States Barracks, jutting out at the water side; there is generally a -regiment stationed here, when the band plays every day at five o’clock -during the season. Although this quaint dreamy old city is but a small -place, there is much of interest to be seen here.</p> - -<p>There is the “Plaza de la Constitution,” where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> good Christians -burnt their brethren a century ago; it is a large square, laid out with -grass plots, and flower beds, with paths cut through, leading from one -side of the Plaza to the other. In the centre stands the curious old -market-place, roofed in at the top, but open on all sides; this was the -ancient slave mart, where “God’s image, carved in ebony,” was bought and -sold in most ungodly fashion; there is the place where they stood, -ranged in rows like cattle in a pen, so that their purchasers might walk -to and fro examining them from all points to see that they had their -money’s worth. They sit there now, these selfsame slaves of the old -days, with bright kerchiefs round their heads, surrounded by fruits and -flowers, buying and selling on their own account, laughing, chaffing, -bargaining with one another with the easy air that freedom gives. Close -by is the graceful monument erected by the ladies of St. Augustine to -the Confederate dead, whose names are carved upon the shaft. No matter -how impoverished the land may have been, how ruined the people, in every -Southern city, small or great, they have found money enough to erect a -monument,—some most costly, some poetic, and all more or less artistic, -to those who—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Fell while wearing the grey for them!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>There is another monument, somewhat weather-beaten, erected by the -Spaniards to commemorate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span> adoption of the Spanish institutions in -1812. Then there is the grey old rookery of a convent, where the -withered old sisters sit for ever making lace—wondrous fine lace it is, -and produced in such large quantities we wonder who buys it all. -Fronting on the Plaza, also, is the old cathedral, with its quaint -Moorish belfry, and still more quaint and ancient peal of bells, one of -which bears the stamp of 1682. It is not much regarded from an -architectural point of view, its antiquity is everything. Partly facing -the Plaza, and partly facing the sea breezes, stands the St. Augustine -Hotel. We preferred the “Magnolia,” though its position is perhaps not -so good; it stands in the centre of that queer crooked St. George -Street, and is as pretty and picturesque as, considering its name, it -ought to be, with odd turns and angles, verandahs clinging everywhere -covered with blooming flowers, and beautiful magnolias and banana trees -in the delicious straggly old garden. The magnolias are not yet in -bloom, but from their nest of leafy buds we catch a glimpse of the -creamy flower, and the long purplish crimson leaves of the banana still -shields the golden fruit from too quick maturity. The oleander is -already covered with its luxuriance of crimson, pearly pink, and waxen -white bloom, and the Japan plum tree laden with juicy fruit.</p> - -<p>Stepping out on the verandah in the early morning we find everybody -sucking oranges in the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span> solemn business-like fashion. The gentlemen -go at it with a will, and generally work through a whole basketful of -the golden fruit; they make a hole at one end and suck with inflated -cheeks, like a bevy of ancient cherubs blowing a trumpet, and suck in -sweet silence, seemingly oblivious of all that is passing round them as -they take their morning dose of this delicious nectar. Some of the -ladies peel them with white slim fingers, and extract the juice as -daintily as the bee extracts honey from the flower; some of the -uncompromising feminine family, “who have no nonsense about them,” pull -the orange to pieces, mangle its delicate tissues, and disembowel it -with ruthless teeth. Some work as though they were sucking for a wager, -and others go through their heap with slow solemn enjoyment. Those who -have not eaten a fresh gathered orange in Florida don’t know what an -orange is.</p> - -<p>All round in the neighbourhood of St. Augustine are lovely orange -groves, and long avenues with cedar hedges, and grand old mulberry trees -with gnarled and knotted trunks, and heavy branches, that look as -antiquated as the city itself. Being desirous of entering into, and -spending a little time in the inspection of some one of the many noted -orange groves, we were directed to one owned by a prominent citizen, who -would, we were assured, “make us right welcome;” and armed with cards of -introduction<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> we took our way to his residence. Passing along a -magnificent avenue of stately trees, which bordered his extensive -grounds, and closed above our heads shutting the sunlight out, we came -to the large iron entrance gate. There was a bell, and we rang it, but -nobody answered it except a large white cat, who emerged from a -shrubbery, and rubbed against the gate purring and arching her back -ingratiatingly as if inviting us to enter. Finding no response except -this feline welcome, we pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, -the cat purring a congratulatory purr at our heels as if she was very -glad indeed that we had come. We ascended the “stoop” (<i>Anglicè</i>, door -steps), and rang the hall-door bell. No answer. We amused ourselves -ringing at intervals; and when we were tired of tinkling the bell, which -seemed to wake sepulchral echoes, we started on a tour of inspection -around the house. It seemed as dead asleep as the Sleeping Beauty; its -eyes were all shut, the sun-blinds all rigorously closed. There were -seats on the piazza, and we rested for a while in the fragrant shadow of -a great apoppinac tree, whose showers of dainty yellow blossoms fell -like an odorous golden rain upon the grass, while the fairy flowers of -the azalea, light as drifted snow-flakes, stirred as if breathing soft -mysteries in the whispering balmy breeze. Meanwhile the cat jumped up on -my lap and went to sleep, until we started<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span> afresh on an exploration of -the grounds; then our feline friend escorted us, her comfortable and -contented purr allaying the apprehensions of ferocious mastiffs which -invariably beset us in strange quarters, though our secondary dread of -steel man-traps, set for more harmful intruders than ourselves, kept us -cautiously within the boundaries of the gravel walks.</p> - -<p>We found tool-sheds, arbours, bowers, stables, chicken-houses, -dog-kennels and cottages, but not a sign of life except a portly hen and -a brood of chickens, who fled to their coop at sight of our soft -snowflake of an escort, whose emerald eyes dilated, and affectionate -purring ceased at sight of them. Having explored the more domestic -portion of the grounds, and still finding nobody to show us through the -orange plantation, we proceeded to show ourselves through it. Is there a -tree, I wonder, more beautiful than the orange, with its shining foliage -of dark and glossy green, its scented snow of blossoms, its red-gold -globes of fruit! Here in St. Augustine, although too late in the season -for the fullest beauty of the groves—the gathering being almost -over—we still found here and there the flower and the fruit growing -amicably together on sister boughs. We came upon one glorious tree, its -graceful branches bending under the rich burthen of its fruit of fiery -gold, glowing in that southern sunshine. We reached down a laden bough, -and trespassed on the taken-for-granted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span> hospitality of our unknown and -unknowing host to the extent of an orange apiece.</p> - -<p>Long had we yearned to taste an orange plucked fresh from the tree! -Often had we anticipated the unrivalled freshness of the gushing juice -of the fruit yet warm to the heart with sunshine, and exhaling still the -fragrance of the dews of morning! Now we had got our oranges, “fresh -from the tree—dew, sunshine, &c., &c.,” at last. We tasted the -long-anticipated delicacy. Ugh! our dainty morsel turned out to be the -bitter rind, the biting acrid juice, of that species known as the “sour -orange”! What an excellent moral might have been deduced from this Dead -Sea fruit of our desires! It was a sermon in a bite! But, unfortunately, -there was nobody to whom to preach it, except the cat. We threw our -oranges far, far away, sadder and wiser women. But the daughters of Eve -are incorrigible, and, anon, we built our dreams again around a “fresh -mango,” and were again disillusioned. Yet unconvinced by many -disenchantments, we still go on through life seeking our mango or our -orange, “fresh from the tree.”</p> - -<p>But that afternoon’s peregrination is still one of our pleasantest -memories of St. Augustine.</p> - -<p>There are plenty of amusements and resorts in and around this quaint, -mediæval-looking old place to entertain the tourist, when he has -sufficiently taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span> into himself the aspect of this bit of the middle -ages dropped down in the modern day of the bright New World.</p> - -<p>When you have seen all that St. Augustine itself has to show you, you -may, with much profit and interest, extend your wandering, and cross -over to inspect the coquina quarries and the fine lighthouse on St. -Anastasia’s Island, when the solitary keepers will, perhaps, tell you -some stirring incidents of their lonely lives; or you may sail down to -the wonderful sulphur spring, which boils up from the ocean—its pale -blue sulphurous water forcing its way through a hundred and forty feet -of the salt sea waves. The current is at times so strong (for the spring -is intermittent), that a short time ago one of the coast survey steamers -was floated over the “boil” of it!</p> - -<p>There is another delightful excursion passing through the city gate, -over a smooth, pleasant road, till you turn off to San Sebastian Beach, -which forms a pleasant drive for many miles, when you may see the ruins -of some old palisades, which at one time connected Fort Monsa with a -stockade at San Sebastian. The excursion need only occupy a few hours; -unless you choose to linger by the way, you may return to St. Augustine -in time for dinner.</p> - -<p>There are plenty of occupations wherewith gentlemen may beguile the -pleasant hours. They can indulge in shooting and fishing expeditions on -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span> banks of the Matanzas river, and shoot their own game, catch their -own fish, and cook their own dinners. It is not an uncommon thing for -ladies to join in these excursions. They enjoy playing at “being -gipsies” for a season; they soon tire of it.</p> - -<p>On one balmy morning early we turn our backs upon the sweet-scented -old-world city, and take the little fussy, jog-trot train back to Tocoi, -carrying with us a host of pleasant memories of this delicious, dreamy, -romantic St. Augustine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">A chat by the way.—A steam bicycle.—Rough times.—At Ocala.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> boat is waiting, bobbing up and down at the little rustic pier at -Tocoi. The sun is laughing down upon us, with a face of shining gold, -and the sweet east wind is fanning our cheeks with its breath of balm; a -sweep of sunny water lies before us, sea-gulls and strange birds are -wheeling over our heads as we step on board, and are soon on our way to -Palatka.</p> - -<p>We pass by pretty little hamlets and endless groves of orange and lemon -trees, stretching inland from the low-lying shore; most of them are -already stripped of their golden fruit, but some have their branches -still heavily laden.</p> - -<p>In about two hours we land at Palatka, a pretty bright little town, one -of the scores of places which we are obliged to pass through with only a -passing glance. Those who are tired of wandering and wish to rest, -cannot do better than spend a few pleasant tranquil days here on the -banks of the quiet river. There is an excellent hotel, “The Palatka -House,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> where they will find comfortable accommodation and an excellent -cuisine. We desire to reach Silver Springs and thence take the boat down -the Ocklawaha river, of whose wonders we have heard so much that we -prepare ourselves for disappointment. We don’t quite know how to get -there or whether we are to sleep on the land or on the river, but we are -content to drift, being strong in the faith that things will come right -somehow.</p> - -<p>We have not been long seated when our conductor comes along; he punches -our ticket, and smilingly adds a conjecture “Ladies from England, I -think?”</p> - -<p>We modestly admit the fact. He claims nationality with us, and forthwith -friendly relations are established between us. He sits down and enters -into conversation.</p> - -<p>“You live in London, perhaps,” he hazards as a preliminary observation. -That fact ascertained, he adds excitedly, “Ah! then you must know my -father, Mr. Augustus Brown; he lives at Rose Villa, Lower Norwood, near -by the Crystal Palace.” I pleaded ignorance of Mr. Augustus Brown, -representing that these delightful suburbs were about ten miles from -London’s self, and that a pilgrimage to the Crystal Palace was not a -thing of everyday occurrence.</p> - -<p>“Ten miles!” he repeated incredulously, “why here we know everybody -within a radius of a hundred miles! Think again, you must know him, you -<i>must</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> have met him somewhere! He is a fine old gentleman, tall, thin, -with grey hair, and a long beard—you’ll surely remember him?”</p> - -<p>He looked so earnest that I was quite sorry to disappoint him by -repeating my former statement, at the same time softening the blow by -explaining the immense population of London and its suburbs, and how -often people lived for years without even knowing their next door -neighbours. That was all very well, but not to know my father, “Mr. -Augustus Brown,” was quite another thing! I’m afraid by my ignorance of -the inhabitants of Lower Norwood I lost caste considerably in his eyes. -He went about his business with rather a perplexed face and presently -came back to us with the information:</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to change cars soon at Perry’s Junction for Ocala; it isn’t -much of a place, but you’ll have to sleep there, and in the morning take -the cars for Silver Springs, about half an hour’s ride.” He then emerged -from his official character and added, “Perhaps you’ll be going back to -England soon? Yes? Well, I should like to give you my father’s address.” -He fumbled through a tattered pocket-book, and extracted therefrom a -crumpled piece of paper. “There, if you should ever be in that -neighbourhood I hope you’ll just give a call on my folks; they’ll make -you right welcome, and please tell ’em I’m all right, and I hope to be -home next fall.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span></p> - -<p>I took the paper, but knowing that my chance of making the acquaintance -of his esteemed parents was small I ventured to suggest that he would -most likely forward that information himself.</p> - -<p>“No,” he answered, “I’m not much of a hand with a pen; somehow we get -out of the way of it in these parts. I haven’t written to the old folk -for years, though I think of them often enough—God bless ’em! I often -picture to myself how they’ll look when I first walk in upon ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Take you for a tramp, most likely, and shut the door in your face,” I -suggest, somewhat flippantly, perhaps; but he answered gravely:</p> - -<p>“Father might, but mother ’ll know me, sure enough, though I left home -at fourteen years old and I’m now thirty. But <i>she’d</i> know me, ay, even -if I was in my coffin. And I should know her dear old face, even if we -don’t meet till we meet in heaven.”</p> - -<p>We were constantly beset by similar inquiries from perfect strangers; -the fact of our nationality once ascertained, somebody would accost -us—on the cars, the platform, the hotel corridors, no matter where.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, but do you know my cousin, the Rev. Jonah Smith, a -clergyman, curate of St. Jeremiah’s, somewhere down in Cumberland, the -place where my grandfather came from?”</p> - -<p>Everybody seemed to think we <i>must</i> know their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span> relations—sometimes we -found it very difficult to convince them to the contrary. Once I -received a long letter, filling several sheets of foolscap, as long as a -lawyer’s long brief, setting forth a whole family history up to a -certain period, marriages and intermarriages, beseeching me to set -inquiries on foot and transmit to them any information I could gather -concerning their English relations, with whom they, the American branch, -had held no communication for the last generation.</p> - -<p>To me there is something touching in this desire to claim kinship with -the old family tree, whose branches are flourishing in all quarters of -the habitable globe. It is so everywhere in the conservative South. In -the more cosmopolitan north it is different; as a rule nobody cares to -claim kinship with anybody or anything, except perhaps Wall Street and -the money market.</p> - -<p>At Perry’s Point we changed cars, and took a “narrow gauge” line to -Ocala. It was the first time we had been on the genuine “narrow” gauge, -and I fervently hope our last. Nothing could well be narrower, the rails -being less than three feet apart; the cars running thereon are almost -the usual width, seating four passengers in a row, divided in the centre -by a passage two or three feet wide. It was like travelling on a see-saw -or a bicycle; the cars oscillated fearfully from side to side, we had to -hold on to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span> straps for dear life; even when it came to a stand it -was not still, but slowly rocked from side to side.</p> - -<p>During this short journey we twice broke down, and were detained some -hours while the injury was repaired. We complained of the danger and -discomfort of this mode of travelling, at the risk of life and limb. I -believe I was regarded by the whole car as a British malcontent; nobody -grumbled nor even lifted a disapproving voice. One lady seemed much -surprised at our discomposure, and said, raising her placid brows and -smiling sweetly:</p> - -<p>“I dare say we shall get to Ocala all right; there is no use in -fretting. It is true the cars <i>did</i> topple over an embankment a few -weeks ago—such things will happen sometimes; a few limbs were broken, -but nobody was killed! Besides, we must all die some time, and <i>I</i> don’t -think it matters how or when. I really wouldn’t be uneasy,” she added -consolingly, with a slightly contemptuous look upon her face. “I dare -say it will be all right; and if not,” she shrugged her shoulders, -“well, you know, as we say in our prayers, God’s will be done.”</p> - -<p>Alas! I could not view the situation in this spirit of philosophical -resignation; but I resolved to sink myself no lower in the eyes of my -self-possessed fellow-travellers, and sat through the rest of the -journey with outward calm, but inward tribulation of spirit. It was long -past midnight when we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> reached our destination. It was a dark, moonless -night, the rain was pouring in torrents, the thunder rolled and -reverberated through the stormy air; now and again the heavens opened -and let a flood of lightning through, then closed and left us in utter -darkness. The train stopped; peering from the car windows we saw a light -twinkling here and there, but no other sign of life. There were no -omnibuses, no carriages plying for hire. We gathered our light -hand-baggage together and followed the dreary procession to the end of -the cars; they all seemed to know where they were going, and one by one -our fellow-passengers were swallowed up in the darkness. We stood on the -car platform for a moment and peered out into the black night; the -deluge of rain was still falling.</p> - -<p>“There are no conveyances! How are we to get to the hotel?” we -exclaimed, looking round in helpless bewilderment and addressing nobody -in particular.</p> - -<p>“Take care, madam, take care—you’ll be in two feet of water that way,” -cried a friendly voice arresting my progress; then taking possession of -my parcels and of me, added, “It is awkward there being no conveyances -on such a night as this; in fine weather it does not signify. The hotel -is close by; pray take my arm. I live here, and know every step of the -way.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span></p> - -<p>The train conductor volunteered his assistance to my companion, and -swinging his lamp low to guide our faltering feet walked on before us.</p> - -<p>“I am the clergyman here,” said my escort in a kind gentle voice, as he -pioneered me through a morass and across a pool of mud. My thanks be to -him, although I never beheld his face, for, having deposited us at our -hotel, he vanished into the night and was seen no more.</p> - -<p>We passed first through a kind of rough sitting-room, where some few of -our fellow-passengers were already seated in placid contentment, waiting -the hotel clerk’s leisure. We were wet through, and not disposed to wait -his leisure, so claimed his attention at once, and got it too, as a -“lone female” in the South does generally manage to get her will and -way.</p> - -<p>We were put in charge of a small boy with a big voice, who led us across -a sort of courtyard towards a large building—the hotel proper. It -seemed to be only a rough temporary erection, doomed to be speedily -swept away to make room for some more commodious and imposing structure. -A flight of rough wooden steps from the outside led to the interior, -whither we slowly ascended, the wind and the rain beating on us as we -went. We were shown to our room by a slovenly young woman with a strong -Hibernian accent, evidently a late importation from the Emerald isle. It -was much more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> comfortably furnished than we had expected from general -appearances. Having relieved ourselves of our wet clothes, we went in -search of supper, and, after groping our way through the empty -ill-lighted passages, found a long low room illuminated by rows of tiny -oil-lamps—the dingiest of dingy apartments, with tables spread, and -surrounded by hungry troops of travellers.</p> - -<p>There was not much to eat, indeed nothing but leathery slabs of ham, -fried eggs, and flabby omelettes; the thunder had turned the milk sour, -so the coffee and tea was served plain, while soda and seltzer water -popped and sputtered on all sides of us.</p> - -<p>The beds were fairly comfortable, and we arose the next morning to find -a smiling sky promising a fair day for the trip down the Ocklawaha -river.</p> - -<p>A little train (not a “narrow-gauge,” we were thankful to find) bore us -from Ocala to Silver Springs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">The “Okeehumkee.”—The Silver Springs.—The weird wonders of the -Ocklawaha.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A queer-looking</span> stumpy boat yclept the “Okeehumkee” was waiting for us -at the head of the “Silver Springs.” The vessel was short and broad, -like a monstrous beetle with its legs cut off; it was made to fit and -float on the “Ocklawaha” river and nowhere else. We stepped first on to -a lower deck—crowded with coils of ropes and poles, and the -miscellaneous belongings of the queer little craft—which was occupied -by the engineers, stokers, and other stray hands, who helped to work the -vessel; there was a big boiler, and a little engine, and a tiny cupboard -of a kitchen, where operations for our mid-day meal were being -vigorously carried on.</p> - -<p>Ascending a narrow flight of steps we are on the bow of the vessel—a -wide balcony which occupies the entire front; behind this, and entered -by two glass doors from the balcony is the saloon, bayfronted with -windows all round, comfortably furnished<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span> with sofas and easy chairs, -and two round tables. Opening from this again is a narrow passage -running through to the end of the boat, on each side of which is a row -of tiny cabins—about twelve in all, narrowing towards the stern. There -is what is called “accommodation” for a score or so of tourists. Foolish -people think they are fortunate if they can secure a “berth;” they don’t -know how much may be left of them in the morning. Mosquitoes are a -hungry race, and make a meal of the sleeper. He goes to bed fair and -well to look at; when he gets up in the morning he can scarcely -recognise his own face! Wise people sit up all night, and when they are -tired of the wonderful scenery (which is illuminated at night by huge -flaming pine logs which blaze from a great iron cauldron just above the -balcony) they doze in easy chairs, or roll themselves up like mummies -and sleep on the sofas. Some sit up on the balcony all night smoking, -and at intervals singing snatches of old songs, which fall pleasantly on -the drowsy ears of the sleepers.</p> - -<p>I wonder if I can convey to any one an idea of the Ocklawaha river! It -can be compared with no other river that I have ever seen, heard, or -read of, and its fairest wonders are at our starting point, Silver -Springs. Looking forward I see nothing but a wide expanse of pale green -water. Our steamer gives a series of short asthmatic puffs, and we are -moving slowly over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> surface of the Silver Springs—so slowly we are -scarcely conscious of any movement at all. We lean over the side of the -vessel, and look down upon a world of wonders; we can hardly believe -that it is really water we are passing through. It seems as though all -the jewels from all quarters of the globe had been gathered together and -melted down, and poured into the great earth hollow we are gliding over. -The spring is eighty feet deep, the water so clear that the sweet fairy -flowers at the bottom of it seem to lie close at hand; you feel as -though you could lean over and pluck one from the bed, which seems to be -formed of holes, arches, and deep crevasses of many-coloured rocks; -variegated blues and greens and greys, all amalgamating together, -beneath the soft rippling water, give it the many brilliant, -ever-changing hues, till we feel as though we were sailing through a -stream of liquid gems—opals and emeralds, amethysts and -sapphires—enough to make gorgeous the purple robes of all the kings of -all the earth. Submerged trees are standing tall and strong in this -watery world; long ribbon grasses are gracefully waving as though -stirred by the breath of some fair floating Undine, and starry white -flowers open their blue eyes dreamily as we glide slowly over their -silent home. Silver scaled fish dart in and out from among the tall -reeds and rocky islets, and infant turtles with their ugly awkward -little bodies propel themselves along; while<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> thin, long-bladed fish -flash hither and thither like sharp swords wielded by invisible hands, -crossing and recrossing, parrying, and thrusting—coming within a -hairsbreadth, but never smiting.</p> - -<p>Our wee craft is only too brief a time crossing this “pool of wonders;” -then we seem to be running straight into a wilderness—a veritable bit -of the forest primeval—where a tangle of dense “hammock” seems to stop -our watery way, but by a sudden turn our little vessel strikes an -opening and takes us out of the Silver Springs, and on to the river.</p> - -<p>Thenceforth all the day long we are gliding through the sweetest, -loveliest water lane in all the world; winding in and out through -mysterious wooded wilds—crooked and full of sudden turns and odd -angles. We wonder how our queer little “Okeehumkee” finds her way along; -we fancy she must be jointed like an eel, or she could never wriggle her -way through this leafy labyrinth. Sometimes, indeed often, she runs her -snout against the shore, and the services of a huge black Titan, “Joe,” -are called into action; he jumps off the boat, and prods and pushes with -a long pole till we are off again. Sometimes the river ties itself into -a knot, but the little craft somehow threads her way through the loops -and bows, and comes out at the other end of it.</p> - -<p>There are no banks on either side of this marvellous Ocklawaha river; -the water runs on a level with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span> shore. Dense masses of jungle and -wild forest lands sweep down and close it on either side with their -leafy embrace; so closely they clasp it, that often we cannot see a foot -of water on either side of us, and the branches of the fine old trees -reach their long arms across and interlock one with the other forming a -grand overarching avenue above our heads. It is so narrow here and there -that it seems as though by some strange magical process the green earth -had been liquefied purely for our accommodation in passing through, and -anon the stream spreads out like a shining silver mirror in the heart of -a jungle of overhanging trees.</p> - -<p>Never was there such variety of scenery on a single river; it seems as -though Nature had gathered all her forces here just to show how much she -could do with her few favourite allies—the forest, rock, and stream. -The trees are marching with us side by side, executing strange -manœuvres as we pass along, nodding their proud heads, and waving -their blessing arms above us; now it is a regiment of tall pines, the -bright lances of sunlight glinting and flashing between their boughs; -then there is an awkward squad of scrub oaks, magnolias, and gums, lofty -palms and dwarf palmettoes, with long grasses and all kinds of brilliant -vegetation crowding about their roots, and luxuriant vines and shining -mistletoe clinging and climbing round their naked trunks, clothing them -with rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> verdure, and lost at last in their leafy coronals. All the -glowing growth of the forest seems locked and interlocked together, as -though the sons of the wilderness were engaged in a wrestling match, -trying which could first uproot the other from the ancient soil. Now we -face a phalanx of veteran oaks, clothed utterly, and their green boughs -hidden, beneath mantles of beautiful Spanish moss; generally it is of -deep mourning grey, and hangs like a nun’s veil gently swayed by the -passing wind, then it is of a more silvery hue, but always down -drooping, as though the iron grey beards of millions of men had been -shorn off and flung thither in sport by some wandering wind. -Occasionally we come upon masses of strange and wonderful moss; it is -long, fibrous, and shining, and hangs in wavy tresses like the golden -hair of a woman, as though some sweet Ophelia had been floating down the -river, and the envious branches, determined that <i>all</i> should not be -lost, stooped downwards, caught and tangled her glistening tresses, -while the tide bore the fair form slowly on and the soft breeze still -murmurs mournfully “drowned, drowned, drowned.”</p> - -<p>Here and there the scene widens, and half-a-dozen little fussy tributary -streams hurry out from their mysterious depths to join the quiet -Ocklawaha in its dreamy flow, and we push our way for a while through an -extensive watery plain, where reeds and grasses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> and fair white lilies, -twine their delicate fibres together and try to stop our progress; but -we break through the pretty network as though it were a spider’s web, -and puff our ruthless way out of it. Now there are a flight of small, -bright-plumaged birds, with the heron in pursuit, or a volley of -long-necked cranes shoot with their discordant cry across our path, and -an elderly stork, judging from the length of his legs, stands at a safe -distance and watches us from the shore.</p> - -<p>We glance up half-a-dozen narrow water lanes, take a sudden turn, and -plunge again into the wilderness. A great ugly alligator, who has been -sunning himself on a fallen tree trunk, lifts his horny eyelids -stupidly, and lazily slips under the water as we come puffing along. We -are constantly coming upon these revolting creatures in the most -unexpected places. Sometimes their leaden eyes simply stare, or they -open their spiky mouths, as though they would like to swallow us, and -don’t stir. Familiarity breeds contempt. I suppose they have got so used -to having their privacy invaded by our odd little steamer that they -conclude it is only a friendly monster like themselves, and won’t do -them any harm. Time was when the “bang, bang” of the sportsman’s gun -went echoing through these solitudes; but now tourists are forbidden to -shoot alligators or any other thing from the decks of the Ocklawaha -boats.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span></p> - -<p>Sometimes we catch sight of a huge black snake wriggling its way up from -the water and through the long grass till it vanishes from our sight; -for it is here in these luxuriant and mysterious wilds that Nature hides -the most hideous of her progeny. Creeping things and poisonous reptiles, -that we shudder to think of, have their homes in these brilliant and -luxuriant solitudes—the secret haunts of all-bountiful Nature, where -man will not dare to penetrate. Or if he does he is seized by the foul -fever-fiend, malaria, and faints and falls in the slimy swamps, with a -creation of loathsome nameless things for his death companions.</p> - -<p>We make our way through a coil of green and are again in the narrow -mazes of the mazy stream. Here and there at long intervals we pass a -solitary landing-place, which leads by mule-tracks to some sort of -civilisation far in the interior. Nobody gets off the vessel, nobody -comes aboard. I don’t believe anybody ever does. Why should they, unless -they wanted to establish relations with the friendly alligators, study -their lives and write their biographies, or be lost in the wilderness? -Now we come to a tall pine with a tiny red box impaled upon its trunk, -bearing the inscription <i>U. S. A. Mail</i>; this is the post office for the -convenience of people passing up and down the river. We are the mail, -but there are no letters for us to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span></p> - -<p>Presently we pass a dilapidated log-hut; its owner, a long-limbed -stalwart-looking negro, lounges in the doorway smoking his pipe. He -comes down to the boat and receives a hamper of provisions and a bundle -of tobacco. He gives us in exchange a bundle of the “vanilla plant”—a -weedy growth on the low-lying grounds of the Ocklawaha, and it is -largely used to adulterate the cheap chewing tobacco. It is gathered in -great quantities by the natives, who derive a very good revenue from the -business. Soon there is a general stir, a buzz goes round, everybody -crowds to the bow of the boat on the look out for the wonderful “Cypress -Gate,” through which we shall soon be passing. Two tall straight cypress -trees loom upon our sight; they stand one on each side of the river like -lofty Grecian columns supporting a leafy dome above our heads, and -framing the earth and sky beyond. So narrow is this natural gateway, -that as our little boat glides through it is within an inch of the land -on either side.</p> - -<p>At one o’clock precisely the dinner is served. The cosy little saloon is -transformed into a commodious dining-room; the small round tables are -drawn out and covered with a snowy cloth and shining glass and silver, -while a goodly array of appetising things are set thereon. There are -fowls and cutlets, pure and simple, crisp salads, a variety of -vegetables, and such a dessert! Such delicious puddings and pies, tarts -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> <i>compotes</i>, quite an <i>embarras de richesses</i> indeed! One wonders -how so many gastronomic delights can be conjured out of our very limited -surroundings. There are no wines to be obtained on board; those who wish -to indulge in those luxuries must supply themselves. Our comforts are -well looked after; at six o’clock the tables are again spread with cold -meats, ham and eggs, and tea and coffee.</p> - -<p>As soon as possible we are out on the balcony again; and for all the -long day we glide through this tropical wonderland, some new fantastic -beauty flashing upon us at every turn. Now the foliage is so dense that -the gleams of sunlight lose themselves in the luxuriant mass, and try in -vain to reach us; looking upwards we see a narrow strip of sky, like a -band of ribbon, intensely blue, lacing the tall tree tops together -overhead. Then the shores widen out, and the marshy land is covered with -broad-bladed grass; the wild savannahs and forests are driven back, and -a lofty pine stands solitary in a lonely place like an advance-guard -thrown out from an army of green. Again we are plunged in a tangled -wilderness where cypress, pine, and palm, swarm down upon us and again -line the banks of the river, and multitudes of strange forms dazzle our -eyes and bewilder our imagination. It is growing dusky, and wild weird -shapes float out of the depths and fill our minds with strange fancies. -The whole forest seems marching to some wild tune<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> which the wind is -playing; the long, vine-wreathed branches twine and sway and circle and -swing in the twilight, like a troop of dancing girls, new born from -their silent depths, their white arms flashing and curving, while the -soft silver moss falls like a veil, hiding their laughing faces. They -come out from the gloom like a phantasmagoria of living beauty down to -the water’s edge; then they fade, mingle with earth, air, and sky, and -we are in the wilderness again.</p> - -<p>The night is closing in; there is no moon, but the small bright stars -are trembling like heavenly fruit scattered over the dusky skies, and -earth and river and forest blend together in one black mystery. There is -nothing left of our most perfect day but its memory; it has quite faded -away—lost, swallowed up in the dark wilderness behind us.</p> - -<p>Some of our fellow passengers retire to the saloon as soon as the -daylight fades, and stand with their noses flattened against the saloon -window to see what follows. A scanty few of us, wrapped in shawls and -cloaks (for it has grown chilly, even cold), gather upon the balcony, -and watch for the illumination that is to come; and now a general -exchange of civilities begins. One brings out a supply of quinine and -administers small doses all round; another luxuriates in a constant -shower of toilet vinegar; one walks up and down like a polar bear, -diving now and then into the depths of his coat pockets, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> produces -lozenges, or sticky somethings that are a “sure antidote for -malaria”—for we are in the very heart of its dominions, there is no -doubt about that. The sunlight keeps the foul fiend down, hidden away -beneath the rich, rank luxuriance that delights the eye with its tangled -brilliance; but so soon as the sun goes down it rises, an invisible -ghost, and mingles subtly with the air we breathe, and attacks us from -our weakest points. Therefore we arm ourselves against it, and drench -ourselves with antidotes, inside and out. One gentleman, whose sole -object in life seems to be the nursing of his own infirmities, appears -like a wild Indian clothed in his cabin blankets, with his nose buried -in a huge bottle of camphorated spirits. I believe it is tied on like a -horse-bag.</p> - -<p>Soon the huge pine knots are lighted on the top of the pilot house above -our heads, and a brilliant flame flares out upon the night and, for a -moment, every tree, every leaf, is clearly defined, like a bas-relief -flung out from a world of darkness. The blaze flickers and flashes and -fades, and, for a moment, we glide through leafy obscurity, which seems -to have grown darker from the light that has departed. In silent majesty -the grand old forest is gliding past us with muffled steps and hidden -features—a shrouded army, marching through the silent night. Then, -again, our pine fire lights up the skies, and illuminates<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> the -surrounding scenery with flashes of red and green and blue and yellow; -then all commingling fade into one white glare; frightened birds are -scared from their secret nests, and flutter, with melancholy cries, for -a second above our heads, and then are swallowed up in the darkness. Now -the blue flame flashes up to the great tree tops, then darts downward -like a fiery serpent, and up some narrow winding water lane, and, for a -second, a thousand weird forms float before our eyes, and change and -fade and melt into nothingness. The negroes passing to and fro upon the -lower deck, their black faces and shining eyes illumined by the red -glare, look like gnomes or demons labouring in their enchanted fires.</p> - -<p>Through these mysterious lights and shadows, ever changing, ever -varying, now suggesting veiled apparitions from another world, now -bathed in the glory of this, we pass till long after midnight, when we -are out of the labyrinth of the Ocklawaha, and back in the broad stream -of the St. John’s river. Several of us are sitting up on deck with our -baggage, ready to be transferred to the St. John’s river boat, which we -expect every moment to meet. Presently, out of the dense black, a silver -glare of light looms slowly on our sight. It is the electric lamp of the -expected steamer. Nearer and nearer looms the dim giant hulk of the big -vessel. We signal three shrill shrieks, “Will you stop and take -passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> aboard?” They signal back three demoniacal yells, “Yes.”</p> - -<p>She comes alongside and stops. We speedily transfer ourselves from the -“Okeehumkee” to one of the splendid “De Bary” line of steamers which ply -up and down the St. John’s river. Many people make their arrangements so -as to sleep at Palatka, and take the St. John’s river boat from that, -its starting place early in the morning; but to us it was a great saving -of time to meet it on its way. There are two ways of enjoying the -Ocklawaha river excursion: one is to take the boat at Palatka, which -starts at eight o’clock in the morning, and reaches Silver Springs about -seven o’clock on the next. It remains there about two hours, in order -that its passengers may, if they please, take a row boat—there are -plenty there for hire—and row about the spring, making a closer -inspection of its wonders than they could possibly do from the deck of -the steamer. It starts again on its return journey about nine o’clock, -and reaches Palatka in the small hours of the following morning; but the -sleeping passengers are not disturbed, except by their own desire, till -the usual hour of rising. The return down the river, as the tide is with -them, takes some hours less time than the upward journey. Some people -prefer spending the two days and nights on the boat, as, by this means, -they have a daylight view of every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span> feature of the river. The other way -is to follow our example: sleep at Ocala, and take the return journey -only. Ocala has every possibility of developing into an important place; -as yet it is new, but it is improving day by day. A large hotel is -building close to the railway station, which promises well for future -tourists.</p> - -<p>As we exchange parting civilities with our travelling companions on -leaving the Ocklawaha boat, they lean over the rails, waving their -handkerchiefs, and wishing us “Good night,” and “<i>Bon voyage</i>.” They -puff on their way, illuminating the widening waters as they go. We watch -the dear little “Okeehumkee” puff itself out of sight; then enter the -large luxurious saloon, which is empty now and dimly lighted. Everybody -has retired to rest, not a sound is stirring any where, and the thick -carpet smothers our footsteps as we follow our dusky guide to our -cabins, which are really charming little rooms with large, comfortable -beds. Worn out with the excitements of our long, delightful day, we are -soon wrapped in a dreamless sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Picturesque scenery on St. John’s river.—“Sickening for the fever, -ma’am?”—The inland lakes.—A pair of elderly turtle doves.—Sport -on the Indian river.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the morning we wake early, and find ourselves on the vast expanse of -the St. John’s river, which curves and circles round and about the level -land, stretching away before and behind us till it sheathes itself like -a silver lance in the horizon. It is a glorious day, with the bluest of -blue skies, and the sun pouring down a flood of silver light. No other -craft is in sight, we have the river all to ourselves; but a score or -two of beautiful, long-billed, white herons rise up from the marshy -land, and majestically wheel in slow graceful curves in the air above -our heads, and then take their flight southward.</p> - -<p>We have not long enjoyed our stroll upon the empty deck when the bell -rings and we are summoned to breakfast; there are scarcely a dozen -passengers aboard this boat, where there is comfortable accommodation -for several hundreds, but our numbers increase as the day goes on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span></p> - -<p>A capital breakfast is prepared for us—broiled chickens, mushrooms, and -fresh fish just taken from the river; these boats pride themselves on -the good living they afford their passengers. Our captain, a big, burly -man, sits at the head of the table and motions for us to take our seats -beside him. He glances at us from under his brows, and bestows on us a -beaming smile and brief “Good morning;” then applies himself vigorously -to the knife and fork business, and eats and smiles persistently -throughout the meal. But he does not talk; conversation evidently is not -his strong point, but navigation is. He once opens his mouth -professionally. A much bewhiskered young fellow, who speaks without -thinking, ventures to suggest that on this smooth river the vessel might -be commanded by a “sleeping partner.” The captain wheels round and -answers sternly,</p> - -<p>“Sir, I have passed my life on the St. John’s river, and I assure you -the navigation of the high seas is child’s play compared to the -navigation of the St. John’s river.” Silence follows this stern rebuke.</p> - -<p>It is evident that sociability will form no part of our day’s diversion. -Although humankind is so sparsely represented, we carry a few score of -pigs below, and they keep up a grunting chorus among themselves. Among -the passengers grouped round the breakfast table is one fierce-looking -individual with ginger-coloured hair, and fat, clean-shaven face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> who -evidently likes to hear himself talk; he invades the general silence, -and speaks like an oracle, flings down his opinion as though it were a -challenging gauntlet, and defies any one to take it up. We have most of -us some friend with similar characteristics, with whom conversation is -simply impossible, though they are always armed and ready for a game of -contradiction. Advance an argument, or venture on a ripple of pleasant -small talk, as modestly as you may, your arguments are knocked down one -after the other, like ninepins, as fast as you set them up, and your -rippling talk is swamped in a wave of fine phrases. I ventured on three -observations, mere commonplaces, which were politely waived aside. I was -a woman and a stranger, and so escaped flat contradiction. As one after -the other we drifted from the table somebody said, in a grumbling -undertone,</p> - -<p>“That fellow ought to be flung overboard; he’s no fit company for -travelling Christians.”</p> - -<p>“Before the day’s over he’ll get a lick the rough side of my tongue, you -bet,” said somebody else.</p> - -<p>I am happy to say that performance was not carried out, as the obnoxious -person, in company with a score of fat hogs, got off at the first -landing-stage, and a woman with a large family of small children came -on. These kept things lively the whole day long. She lived in the -constant fear that one or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span> other of her progeny would fall overboard; -they did not have a moment’s peace of their lives; she was always at -their heels, diving after them, fishing them out of odd nooks and -corners whither childish curiosity led them. We settled ourselves down -in the bow of the boat to take general observations of the scenery we -were passing through.</p> - -<p>The St. John’s is a magnificent river, winding, widening, and wandering, -now through low-lying marshy lands, now through fine forests of live -oaks, festooned with Spanish moss, or decorated with graceful vines, -twisting and curling fantastically round them, alternated with tangles -of cypress, sweet gums, and stately palm; through wild savannahs, and -groves of shining orange-trees, and here and there past pretty villages -and beautiful homes with blooming gardens reaching down and drooping -their rich blossoms over the water. From each of these there generally -runs out a tiny pier—for everybody likes to have a landing stage in his -own possession—with a fleet of small boats, with gay flags and striped -awning, anchored thereto. But these are rare features in the passing -landscape; it is only now and then, at rare intervals, we are refreshed -with these sweet home views.</p> - -<p>The scenery on either side of the river is picturesque, and rarely -romantic throughout; and yet in no single feature does it bear any -resemblance to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> the weird wildness of the Ocklawaha. In many places it -is six miles wide, and is seldom less than one; the current is slow, and -it moves with feeble pulsations on its course; it is never flustered or -stirred to headlong rashness, it creeps quietly, with a grand placidity, -round anything that lies in its way, never dashes or tumbles over it; no -wind can lash it into fury, no storms disturb its sweet tranquillity; it -is more like a long chain of lakes and lagoons, fed from a thousand -springs, than a restless river. Perhaps it owes some of its placidity to -the fact that it flows the wrong way, and by no human agency can it ever -be set right. Unlike the rest of the American rivers, it flows due -north; the why and the wherefore is one of Nature’s mysteries. It is -always spacious and majestic: here a tiny island with a crown of green -foliage studs its surface; there tall reeds and rushes and wide-leaved -grasses sway in the slow-flowing current, as though they have wandered -from the land, and are trying to save themselves from drowning. Not -unfrequently the river rises out of its natural bed and overflows the -low-lying banks on either side till the land seems covered with tiny -lakelets. All sorts of queer birds, long necked, long legged, long -billed, some with snowy plumage, some grey, some with red bills and -golden green wings, flamingoes and curlews fly overhead, and -solemn-looking storks stand meditating on the watery shore. If we -approach too<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span> near some of the conglomeration of odd-looking birds throw -out their long necks, elongate their unwieldy-looking bodies, rise -gracefully and wheel in slow gyrations over our head till they are lost -in the distance.</p> - -<p>So far as the eye can reach there are rolling lands covered everywhere -with a dense growth of vegetation, large tracks covered with marshy -grasses, and maiden cane, which is a spurious kind of sugar cane, grows -to the height of twelve or fifteen feet, and resembles a waving field of -ripening corn. Here and there are clumps of dwarf palmettoes, tall -pines, dog-wood, and sweet gums, stretching away till they are lost in -the distant horizon. Looking back we see the zig-zag of the stream -curling and curving in watery hieroglyphics behind us. The whole journey -through this long river of many hundred miles is most picturesque and -interesting—a constant panorama of tropical scenery and strange animal -life. The alligators we see on the shores of this river are much larger -than those on the Ocklawaha; they are more shy, too, and don’t let us -get near them. We have no chance of studying their physiognomies here, -for, as we approach, we see a black mass like an animated tree trunk -skurrying and splashing head-foremost into the water. In watching the -animate and inanimate life along these shores it is impossible to find a -moment’s monotony anywhere.</p> - -<p>The skies are intensely blue, the sunshine glorious;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> a golden haze, -born of the sun’s intensity and the green earth’s responsive gladness, -falls like a shining veil everywhere. Surrounded by such scenes at such -a season, one is apt to fall into a contemplative mood. I was roused -from a state of this drowsy kind of day dreaming by having a bottle of -some medicated salts thrust under my nose, and a voice at my elbow -inquiring with tender solicitude:</p> - -<p>“You’re looking pale; sickening for the fever, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>I devoutly hoped not.</p> - -<p>“Just recovering from it, then?” added my interlocutor.</p> - -<p>This I could emphatically deny. I inquired, with a touch of irritation, -did a visit to Florida necessitate an attack of malarial fever; and was -answered—</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am, most people du hev it ef they stay long enough.”</p> - -<p>We were growing accustomed to this inquiry, “Have you had the fever?” -Everybody asked it; at the same time everybody informed us there was no -malaria there in their own immediate surroundings, it existed in the -place we had left, and in the place we were going to; it was never -present with us; it had been yesterday, or would be to-morrow, but it -was never to-day. It reminded us of the jam in <i>Through the -Looking-glass</i>: “Jam yesterday, and jam to-morrow, but never, never any -jam to-day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span></p> - -<p>People who ought to know have stated that malaria is unknown at any -season in any part of Florida, and have written volumes in support of -this assertion. Perhaps it may be called by another name; certainly no -one can travel through the low-lying districts of the St. John’s River, -or, indeed, through any portion of semi-tropical Florida, without -realising the fact that, amid all the rich luxuriance, the brilliant -sunshine, and soft sweet airs, the fever fiend lies concealed, like the -serpent hidden beneath the joys of paradise, biding its time, waiting -till the hot summer days are swooning among the flowers.</p> - -<p>Of course there are some places which at all seasons are more free from -malarial disturbances than others. Fernandina may especially be -mentioned, and St. Augustine. Jacksonville, and the regions of the -Tallahassee country, though certainly liable to invasion, yet usually -present a clean bill of health all the year round. But we will indulge -in a retrospective view of Florida hereafter; at present we are on the -St. John’s River, enjoying the most perfect <i>dolce far niente</i>, with no -thought beyond the hour, and don’t care to be interrupted even for the -very necessary operation of eating. The sound of the dinner bell is a -disturbing element, but we must perforce obey its summons; though the -mind can be fed on fair sunshine and fine scenery, the body requires -more substantial support. On board this boat, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> believe on all that -line of river steamers, there is uncommonly good feeding; the meals are -excellently well and abundantly served. We “get through” as quickly as -possible, and station ourselves again on deck.</p> - -<p>We stop at all the landing stages to take in freight; sometimes it is -man, sometimes it is mutton, the fruits of the earth, or the fruits of -human kind. From some unexplained reason we make quite a long stop at -“Saratoga,” a pretty little settlement lying along the east shore of the -river. It is a striking contrast to that fashionable Saratoga, far away -in the eastern province, with its gigantic hotels, its luxuries, its -trim promenades, its music, its whirl of gaiety, and rush and roar of -animated life—a seething cauldron of perfumed humanity, highly -decorated and ready for daily sacrifice on the altar of fashion. There -it is art, or nature clipped and twisted and trained, so far from its -original simplicity, that you cannot recognise a single feature—in -fact, Nature in masquerade; in brilliant, gorgeous masquerade, it is -true, but hiding the naked loveliness of Nature’s self. Who could -recognise the chaste beauty of a “Venus di Medici” beneath Worth’s -latest costume, with decorations of Tiffany’s brightest jewels? Here is -Nature’s purest self in her own Arcadian simplicity, clothed with golden -orange groves and blooming gardens, aglow with brilliant-hued flowers -running all along<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> the river side, nodding at their own shadows in the -stream. No belles nor beaux stroll through these lovely solitudes; not a -petticoat is in sight; only a few coloured folk are working in the -gardens, as our father Adam worked in our lost inheritance, “the Garden -of Eden.” The bees are gathering honey, and the invisible insect world -seems all astir, filling the air with a dreamy drowsy hum, just stirring -the waves of silence to a soft, low-uttered harmony. Some few of our -fellow passengers go ashore and ramble among the groves for half an -hour, when they return loaded with the luscious fruit, which they seem -to enjoy all the more having been allowed to gather all they desired for -themselves.</p> - -<p>We steam on for a few miles, when we come to Welaka, one of the -healthiest localities of the state. It stands on a high bluff, fringed -with a magnificent growth of live oaks, clothed in their own beautiful -robes of green, undecorated by the grey Spanish moss, which, while -adding to the graceful appearance of the trees, tells plainly that the -malarial fiend is lurking somewhere near. In this locality is grown some -of the finest oranges in the state, as the soil is rich and dry, and all -the conditions are favourable to their successful cultivation. Directly -opposite the landing stage is the mouth of the wonderful Ocklawaha, -whose weird depths we have so lately penetrated. Three miles farther on -we reach Norwalk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span> a primitive landing place, where there seems nothing -to land for, and nowhere to go to when you have landed. But the -settlement, it seems, is laid more than a mile back from the river, and -is rather an important little town, the neighbourhood producing a large -amount of garden vegetables and fruits. Very few orange growers settle -in that location; very few tourists visit it; it is a simple city of -homes; it has the regulation number of schools (indeed the simplest -hamlet is well off on that score, the means for education are freely -scattered throughout the length and breadth of the land; the poorest -tillers of the land or toilers of the sea have no excuse for ignorance), -churches, banks, etc., and a thriving population of busy workers. It is -at this point the lower St. John’s river ends, and we pass into a narrow -crooked channel, varying from forty to several hundred feet wide. Here -the water loses its clear opaline blue, and reflects the clouds in dark -murky shadows. This dingy colour of the water, they say, is owing to the -rich, rank vegetation of this tropical region of the St. John’s river. -Everywhere the shores are covered with dense forests of oak, cypress, -willow, etc., interlaced with gigantic vines, some barren, some bearing -a rich fruitage of sweet wild grapes. The grey Spanish moss hangs from -the green branches, and reeds, rushes, and all kinds of long tropical -grasses form an impenetrable jungle down to the water’s edge—nay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span> -encroach upon the water’s self and sway gently on its surface; and -flowers of immense size and brilliant colours are abundant everywhere; -they spread over the surface of the water, and flourish on the vines, on -the trees, on everything or on nothing, for we catch an occasional -glimpse of the mysterious golden-hued air plant among the luxuriant -green foliage. Here, too, the alligators and other hideous river -reptiles abound, but you must have sharp eyes to get a glimpse of them, -for as the steamer approaches they hurry back, and dive under the water, -or hide upon the land. This dense jungle scenery is apt to give one an -idea that we are going through some of Nature’s primeval solitudes, her -secret haunts, impenetrable and uninhabitable for the human race. But -that is a wrong idea; this is the low-lying valley region; the ground -slopes upwards from the water’s edge, and within a mile or two—nay, -sometimes much nearer, only a few hundred yards away from the -waterside—are wide clearings where some adventurous pioneer has -squatted and made his home, and cultivates the land, his own not by -right of purchase, but possession. Only a few hundred yards from the -malarial region you may breathe pure, healthful air.</p> - -<p>We soon emerge from these luxuriant picturesque regions, and are on the -wide river again. Rarely has one river so many phases as this -world-famous St. John’s; the scenery is always changing—a series<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span> of -panoramic views, land and water, combining to make one whole of -picturesque loveliness. We stop at two or three more unimportant -landing-places, pass some neat, solitary homes and thriving orange -groves, and then reach Georgetown, the entrance to Lake St. George. Here -a party of gentlemen with dogs and guns come on board. They are going on -a sporting expedition up the Indian river into wilder regions than we -dare to penetrate; for although the Indian river region is well known -and thoroughly appreciated, it is visited by very few tourists or -strangers, it being difficult of access, necessitating several days’ -water travelling, and the accommodation for travellers being of the -roughest description, and even then only to be obtained at rare -intervals. To make amends, however, for the scarcity of places of public -entertainment, the inhabitants are most hospitable, and a guest chamber -is generally reserved in even the humblest farmhouse, where the stranger -is always made welcome to the best the house affords. This kind of -primitive casual entertainment is often far preferable to the gilded -glories of the stereotyped hotel. These Indian river regions are more -sparsely populated than those of St. John’s; this too is owing to its -general inaccessibility, for nowhere in all the state is there a richer -or more fertile soil calculated for the growth of cereals of all kinds, -fruits, vegetables, and sugar-cane attaining<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span> sometimes to sixteen feet -high—a single stalk yielding more than a gallon of juice; and cacao, -date, cocoanut, ginger, cassava, and yams may be cultivated with equal -profit. The river affords rare sport for the fishermen, for it abounds -with a great variety of fish, and is remarkable for its superb mullet, -weighing from three to nine pounds, and measuring from fifteen to twenty -inches in length. Turtling is also largely carried on, and is a most -lucrative business. The splendid hammock lands all along the Indian -river have a magnificent growth of hickory, mulberry, red elm, iron -wood, and crab wood; both the latter are finely grained, and capable of -receiving a fine polish. The surrounding woods abound with small game -and deer, and occasionally a small black bear shows himself, while wild -cats and such-like creatures may be found without much difficulty by -those who seek them, and sometimes they make themselves more free than -welcome to those who do not. Not infrequently a panther appears upon the -scene, and is seldom allowed to retire unmolested to his den. It is -hardly necessary to state that the whole of this fertile Indian river -region is far below the frost line—the general temperature all the year -round being about 75°, though it has been known on rare occasions to -rise to 90° or fall to 55°. But we must draw our thoughts from the -Indian river and continue on our way; we are now upon Lake St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span> George. -Slowly we steam across this magnificent sheet of water, one of the -loveliest and most interesting of all the lakes in Florida; it is six -miles wide by fourteen miles long. These lovely lakes, of all shapes and -sizes, are scattered throughout the central region of Florida; they vary -from smooth, pleasant-looking pools of about an acre, hidden away in the -heart of the pine woods, to the spacious lakes of fifty miles. They all -lie far away from the large rivers and the sea-shore, and have always -pleasant if not especially attractive surroundings; their shores are -generally slightly rolling, and covered with palmetto or pine, or -sometimes the grassy slopes are outlined by a thick tangle of jungle in -the distance. Orange Lake County is one of the famous inland lake -districts. In the neighbourhood of Interlaken and Oceola the lakes are -most numerous; looking in any direction a dozen or more pretty lakelets -may be seen, and from one special spot in Maitland no less than nine -large lakes are visible. Farther South, still in the centre of the -peninsula, and surrounded by fine hammock lands (which always indicate -the richest soil), are several other beautiful lakes—Conway, Cypress, -Kissimmee, and Tohopekalaga and many more, large and small. The country -is prairie-like, and the vegetation throughout this extensive region -purely tropical, though as yet it is very sparsely populated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span> -Civilisation has not had time to develop the means of transport, and the -lands are lying waste, only waiting till the spirit of cultivation -sweeps that way.</p> - -<p>In this brief allusion to the lake regions, which constitute so special -a feature in the peninsula of Florida, I have made no mention of the -numerous springs of sparkling waters which dot the whole surface of the -land; in some cases they are like little lakelets, in some cases they -are springs of pure water, in others the water is medicated.</p> - -<p>Most of the lake shores in Orange County are dotted with pretty homes -embowered in green trees, their smooth lawns and flower gardens running -down to the water’s edge. Lake Okechobee covers an area of nearly seven -hundred square miles, and is the largest in the state; it is at the very -farthest point South, and penetrates into the region of the Everglades.</p> - -<p>Here, on Lake St. George, wild ducks and all kinds of water fowl seem as -numerous as butterflies on a warm summer’s day. Some of our fellow -travellers amuse themselves by shooting the wild ducks, and a hybrid -young darkie, who seems as much at home in the water as out of it, dives -down head foremost, and fishes them out, and seems to enjoy the fun of -it.</p> - -<p>There was one couple on board who attracted general attention by their -frank and unreserved<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span> appreciation of each others’ charms. They were not -young, they were not beautiful; they were a kind of attenuated edition -of the renowned Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Wardle. <i>He</i> wore glasses, and the -tender passion filtered through a pair of green spectacles loses -somewhat of its romance. They were evidently veterans in the art of -amorous warfare; he sat with his arm round her waist, and carried on his -wooing through the medium of a bottle of champagne; they drank out of -one glass, and worked slowly to the bottom of it, and then called for -more. Some kinds of clay will bear a great deal of soaking.</p> - -<p>While we are still steaming along this beautiful river, past widening -valleys, through thickets of dense shrubberies interlaced with gigantic -vines, night closes in and shuts the wild picturesque scenery from our -view. All wise people retire to the saloon, where somebody makes a -feeble attempt to get up a concert; but as there are no singers and no -audience to speak of the idea is abandoned and everybody goes to bed.</p> - -<p>To make an entire exploration of the St. John’s river involves about -eight hundred miles of travel, which, however, is never wearisome, as -the scenery shifts and changes at every turn, and the boat is a most -comfortable floating home; any one who is not well satisfied with the -arrangement and accommodation must be very hard to please. As we are -nearing our journey’s end we meet another party of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span> sportsmen returning -from an excursion up the Indian river. On board their boat they have -about one hundred gigantic turtles, the weight of each one being legibly -marked on its back; they were conveying them to Jacksonville, to be -shipped thence to the northern markets.</p> - -<p>We had intended to leave the boat at Enterprise and spend a few days -there rambling about the country and familiarising ourselves with the -scenery of the surrounding neighbourhood. However, we were doomed to -disappointment, for on arriving there we find the place deserted, the -hotel closed, and no prospect of entertainment until October, when it -will reopen for the season.</p> - -<p>Our captain suggests that there are some fruit-growers or small farmers -in the neighbourhood who would make us welcome and put us up comfortably -for a few days; but although we know that hospitality is boundless in -these regions, we do not feel disposed to take advantage of it. Some of -our fellow-passengers go ashore, intending to camp out and make their -way across to the Indian river settlement. We spend a delightful three -days and nights upon the river, and return to Jacksonville. It is late -in the evening when we arrive; we sleep once more at our delightful -hotel, and take the early morning train for New Orleans, where we hope -to arrive in about two days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Retrospective.—A critical conductor.—Montgomery.—Train wreckers -at work.—Weird scenes in the moonlight.—Silent watchers.—“Wild -Cat” train to New Orleans.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the light of the early morning we bid adieu to Florida, its fruits, -its flowers, its sunshine and its people. We have found our own -country-people largely represented in all parts of the state, and -everywhere they are doing well, and look healthy, happy, bright and -contented; and on all sides we see evidence of their thrift, industry, -and general prosperity. We inquire to whom belongs some lovely extensive -orange groves, or some picturesque luxurious dwelling, and we are told -to “some English settlers,” who perhaps began with a shanty in the -wilderness, and have transformed it into an earthly paradise of peace -and plenty. Then a thriving farm, with its abundant cattle, its corn or -cotton-fields, and peach or pine orchards stretching away till they are -lost in the distance; the farmer is a man from the “old country”—in -fact, wherever the Anglo-Saxon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> spirit stirs, prosperity follows: “When -he sets his hand to the plough he doeth it with all his might.” There -are very few Irish in Florida, in fact so few that when the familiar -accent greets our ears it sounds strange to us in these latitudes, and -we turn round to look at the speaker. Their scanty numbers is somewhat -surprising, as nowhere could the tide of immigration set in with such -promise of success; indeed here is a veritable “Tom Tiddler’s ground,” -it needs but the shovel and pickaxe to turn over the soil, when all who -will may “pick up the gold and silver.” The foreign element is -altogether rather conspicuous from its absence, for there is but a poor -sprinkling of German settlers, and the Latin races are scarcely -represented at all; even the Spaniards who once were rulers in the land -have left but here and there a solitary specimen of their races, and -they are not often to be found in the great army of workers. A little -fruit, a little corn—such as can be obtained by little labour—contents -them; they have no ambition, either for the advancement of themselves, -or of their children who follow in their footsteps, and live as their -parents lived; if they can sit and smoke and dream under their own -fig-tree their cup of happiness is full. English and Americans -contribute the greater portion of the population; the stream of -immigration has set in from every state in the Union, but New England<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span> -appears to be the state most largely represented; nearly all the -railroads, steamboats, factories, &c., are the outcome of New England -and New York enterprise, brains, and capital.</p> - -<p>Coloured labour is generally used, both in the house and in the fields, -gardens, and groves, but it is uncertain and unsatisfactory in its -results; and the immigration of a few thousand of the quiet, -industrious, reliable Chinese would be cordially welcomed throughout the -State of Florida. They may have their drawbacks and be undesirable as -citizens, but as mechanical or field labourers or house servants they -are unsurpassed, being quiet, civil, obedient and obliging; set against -these good qualities their propensity for petty pilfering and lying; but -these vices once acknowledged, you can prepare for or guard against -them; their industry and faithful labour may always be relied on. Many -other nations have their vices without their redeeming qualities. There -is very little crime, comparatively, in Florida; assaults or robberies -are of infrequent occurrence. This is perhaps to be wondered at, as the -houses are so few and far between, and every facility exists for the -operations of tramps or burglars, but tramps and burglars are almost -unknown; if any of that genus ventures to interfere with the honest -working population a rough-and-ready kind of popular justice speedily -overtakes the evil-doer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span></p> - -<p>The difference between the people here in the extreme South and those in -the extreme West is very remarkable. Here the stream of life flows on in -peaceful untroubled calm, it moves with a decorous quiet, is never in a -hurry; they till the soil, and sow, and reap, prune, and plant in a -leisurely fashion. They have made their homes and settled down there and -mean to stay. There is no vexatious hurrying to and fro, no sudden -influx of strangers from all lands, pouring in and overspreading the -country, bringing with them a whirl of evil passions, with murder in -their train, each elbowing the other, trampling down all rule and order -in their eager thirst for gold! Here there is no excitement, no mines to -develop, no visions of sudden fortunes to be grasped in a lucky hour, no -rush of eager anxious men in flannel shirts, top-boots, sombreros, armed -with knives and revolvers, such as we often see even in the cities of -the west; there is no gambling with fate, no endeavour to cheat -fortune’s blind old eyes. Here the dignity of labour, as “when Adam -delved and Eve span,” asserts itself supreme. Men know that to -conscientious labour will come success, with prosperity and ease in the -near distance. Well, we say farewell to this land of promise with -regret, and once more we establish ourselves on our pleasant Pullman -car, and are <i>en route</i> for New Orleans.</p> - -<p>One of our casual acquaintances accompanies us to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span> the station, loads us -with heaps of good wishes and a basket of beautiful flowers; we exchange -a pleasant farewell, and the train moves slowly off. We take our last -look at the majestic river, whereon we have passed so many delightful -hours; it is clothed with a silver sheen, and ripples and sparkles and -flashes in the royal light of the sun. The little Palatka steamer, with -a single white sail fluttering from its masthead, puffs fussily on its -way, bearing a fresh freight of happy tourists on their way to the -wonderful Ocklawaha—as it bore us only a few days ago; for a moment it -seems to be racing with us, then we pass out of sight. We take a last -look at the pretty embowered city of Jacksonville, and then proceed to -decorate our section with flowers, have a table set up, get out our -books and a little idle needlework, and settle ourselves comfortably in -our travelling home.</p> - -<p>The car is almost empty, and the few companions we have are of the -masculine order; the touristical element is absent. Our companions, -judging from, their conversation, are all Texan farmers who have been on -a trip through Florida, combining business with pleasure, investigating -the land generally, seeing how they could improve their own possessions; -and gathering up hints and facts and scraps for future use. One talked -of giving up his cattle ranch in Texas, and migrating to Florida -altogether.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span></p> - -<p>“Steers and heifers, and such-like are well enough raisin’,” he said, -“but them cattle lifters are always about, and keep us a little too -lively all the time. When we go to bed at night we are never sure we -sha’n’t find our cattle driven off in the morning, and then—well, -there’s generally a little shootin’ before we can get ’em back. I’ve -seen so much of that sort of thing that now I’m getting an old man I’m -tired of it. It seems all so quiet and peaceful down Florida, no lifters -nor raiders thereabouts. I think,” he added, after a pause, “I shall -turn my cattle into orange groves.”</p> - -<p>The conversation generally turned upon agricultural matters, in which, -of course, they were all deeply interested—in fact, so interested, that -they interested us. We could not help observing how much better educated -they seem to be than the same class at home. Two lively young fellows -entered into a brisk discussion as to the relative superiority of their -different States. One, a tall, lanky, loose-jointed specimen, was a -landowner in “Alabama”—or “Alabawmer,” as he called it, with a by no -means unpleasant drawl; the other was a restless, eager-eyed young -Texan, as full of quips and cranks as a young monkey. He seemed to -regard life generally as a good joke, and turned everything into a -laugh; sometimes the laugh was against himself, but he was shrewd and -sensible enough, though he had a queer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> quaint way of handling his -subject. It was a pleasant journey on the whole; their rough-and-ready -talk was amusing, and gave us a new view of life in the wilds. Their -account of the various methods of cultivating lands in the different -States was most interesting, and we wish we could drop these grains of -useful knowledge among those who could benefit by it. The seeds we sow -and the harvests we gather have little to do with the agricultural -interests.</p> - -<p>Our conductor, as usual, when he has leisure from his official duties, -lounges across to our section and enters into a pleasant conversation -with us. He discusses the social, political, and literary questions of -the day with sound good sense and much discrimination. He opens his -stores of knowledge freely, and shows us through every department of his -mind; as one door shuts he opens another, takes a header, and plunges -from one subject to another without any preliminary leading up thereto; -he seems determined to make the best use of his time, and show us how -much worldly and intellectual gossip can be gathered in the wilds of -Alabama. He reminds us of the clever tradesman who conducts you through -the warehouse where all his best goods are on exhibition. He embellished -his conversation with poetical quotations from Tennyson and Shakespeare, -and occasionally fished up from the depths of his memory a mysterious -passage of Browning and tried to make sense of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span> He endeavoured, but -failed, to extract the poet’s meaning from the conglomerated mass of -fine phrases and high-sounding words with which he had scrupulously -clothed and concealed it, as though he never intended anybody ever -should find it out; and, indeed, if he entered on the quest, might have -some difficulty in finding it out himself. Our conductor appears to be a -devotee of the drama, too, and is not disposed to hide his light under a -bushel. He waxed critical on the subject of Modjeska’s Juliet and -Bernhardt’s Camille; he had seen both once when he had been travelling -East. The time passed so pleasantly that we were sorry when his duties -called him away, but they did not very often. Our agricultural -companions evidently thought our conversation frivolous and foolish, and -occasionally snorted a disapproving snarl about play-acting.</p> - -<p>As there are no dining cars attached to this train, meals are served at -stated places. At Waycross we get an excellent supper—a thoroughly -enjoyable and satisfactory meal. Some of our fellow-travellers, having -been deluded into the belief that nothing eatable was to be had on the -road, abstracted from the bowels of their baskets stale sandwiches, -crumpled buns, and mashed fruits, a delightful provision against -starvation, which had got considerably mixed during the journey.</p> - -<p>We reach Montgomery about eight o’clock in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> evening, and there we -have to wait two hours for the New Orleans train. It is not often we -have these long dreary waits by the wayside; as a rule the -correspondence between the trains is arranged so as to avoid this -inconvenience. However, we have to wait now, and had best bear the -annoyance patiently. We take a walk through the dimly-lighted town, -indulge in a little characteristic gossip with the natives, and the time -soon passes; it is useless to fret and fume over the -unavoidable—travelling has taught us that much. On our return to the -“waiting-room” (so called by courtesy, for it is a mere shed with a few -wooden benches), our attention is attracted by a young woman who is -seated in a dusky corner; she has a fractious child about a year old in -her arms, and in a tired voice is telling somebody of the long weary -journey she has had, and—</p> - -<p>“Now,” she continues, with a low sob in her voice, “I have to go on a -common car all the way to New Orleans. I cannot get a sleeping berth; I -have just been to the office, and they say they are all taken.”</p> - -<p>I doubt this, as I have just had a choice of two; I volunteer to go and -see what I can do in the matter, and succeed in securing for her the -last berth. As soon as we enter the car I see that the woman is -<i>coloured</i>; perhaps this is the reason of her failure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> One or two of -our fellow passengers look on her askant, as coloured people are not -generally taken on the Pullman cars, but no one was inhuman enough to -take exception to her presence.</p> - -<p>There is a stir, a momentary confusion in finding and settling ourselves -in our different sections; if we would only be guided by the calm -official mind, we should be guided thereto in less time and with less -trouble. We are both tired and sleepy, and in an incredibly short time -are in our closely-curtained berths fast asleep, wandering through the -land of nod.</p> - -<p>Suddenly we are violently shaken out of our sleep. Jerk! crash! and we -stand still. Doors open and shut, men pass hastily to and fro, the -gentlemen tumble out of their berths; soon everybody is astir, and -mysterious whispers and wonderings pass from one to another. “We’re off -the line,” says one; “The train’s wrecked;” “Any body hurt?” “It’s -brigands,” etc. We are in the last car, fortunately for us, and we step -out on to the platform to ascertain for ourselves what is really the -matter. A polite unknown voice issues from the darkness—</p> - -<p>“Would you like to see the wreck?” it inquires. Yes, we would like it -very much; and two chivalrous but invisible escorts receive us as we -alight in a mud bank (where we nearly leave our shoes), and half lead -and half support us as we stumble along the track.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span> There lies the -engine—a wreck among its expiring fires—the tender smashed beside it; -the two foremost cars are off the line, toppling sideways but not -absolutely turned over. Our car, the last, was the only one that kept -the rails—this accounts for the mere shaking the accident caused us. -The occupants of the forward cars were very much shaken; the baggage -master had his shoulder dislocated, but no one was seriously hurt. We -were all indebted for our providential escape to the presence of mind of -our engine driver, who, on feeling his engine jerk off the line, -reversed it, whistled “down brakes,” and having done all that could be -done for saving us, jumped from the engine and saved himself. On farther -inquiry we learn that our accident is believed to be no accident at all, -but the work of “train wreckers,” who have removed the rails, and are no -doubt lurking in the surrounding wilds, biding their time to swoop down -and rob the train—a little game they are rather fond of playing in this -part of the country. We are prepared for them, however. The gentlemen, -who are all well armed, turn out of the train, every one of them, join -the officials, and watch with them through the night. Meanwhile we are -locked into the cars, assured of safety, and solemnly adjured to retire -to rest, as we shall have to be astir at four o’clock in the morning.</p> - -<p>A great fire of pine logs is kindled on the track,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span> and the dusky -figures of our volunteer guard pass to and fro, now illuminated by the -red glare of light, then vanishing like shadowy spectres into the -darkness, and the white watery moon peering out from a ragged mass of -leaden clouds, or hiding behind them, gives the whole scene a weird -look, like a living illustration torn out from some dead romance. There -is no talking, no sound, only the solitary figures of the watchers -stalking to and fro in the mysterious gloom. In the soft grey dawn of -the morning we are roused (though indeed few of us need rousing, we too -have been silent watchers through the night). We make a hasty toilet, -gather our belongings together, descend from the cars, and walk along -the line to meet the New Orleans train which has been signalled to stop, -and is already disgorging its living freight. The alighting passengers -meet us face to face with scared inquiring looks, as wondering why they -have been roused from their sleep so early. The sight of our dilapidated -train explains the mystery, and our sleepy melancholy processions pass -each other by; they go east by the train which has been sent from -Montgomery to meet them, and we enter the cars they have vacated. On -viewing our wrecked train by the morning light we realise more -completely the danger we have passed through.</p> - -<p>The transfer of baggage and passengers is soon made, and by the time the -beautiful sun has opened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span> like a rich red rose in the east, we are once -more on our way towards New Orleans.</p> - -<p>All the usual transit arrangements have been thrown out of gear by our -accident, and we have to run on what is called “a wild cat train,” that -is to say, we have no time of our own, and have to get along as well as -we can, without any legitimate chum to the “right of the road.” We -shriek and whistle, and wriggle along for a few minutes, and then are -ignominiously shunted; our engine gasps, and swallows its own smoke, and -droops its iron wings in a most forlorn condition; even the fireman -hides his face, as the triumphant express dashes joyously by, as though -rejoicing in our humiliating condition. Even the usually despised -freight train passes <i>us</i>. We are something lower than an “immigrant -train”—we are a “wild cat.” We struggle on a little farther and then -are signalled out of the way again; we are always backing, pulling up -short, and being shunted into unexpected sidings—never knowing what we -are going to do from one moment to another, or where we shall get -anything to eat, or whether we shall have to starve till we get to New -Orleans. Sometimes during this weary waiting we get out and promenade -the track; it is rather rough walking, and we don’t do too much of it. -Or if we are brought to a standstill in the wilderness, we ramble for -half-an-hour through the sweet wet woods, for the gentle<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> rain has -bathed the tall trees and brought out the perfume of the wild flowers, -and clothed all the wooded wonders with a dainty freshness. Who cares to -wander through the hot dry woods in the scorching summer time, when the -thirsty trees droop their long branches as though trying to reach the -running water, whose gentle gurgling they hear from afar off; and the -pale flowers, sick and sorely laden with their own perfumes, open their -parched lips prayerfully and wait for the freshening rain? Well, it has -fallen to-day, and the wild woods are chirping with vigorous -life—birds, and shrubs, and flowers, and all the insect world, fresh -from their showery bath, are waking and whirring joyously in the soft -sunshine; then we come upon a clump of magnolia trees, whose long buds -are slowly opening into flower, and somebody presents me with a magnolia -as large as a young cabbage.</p> - -<p>About twelve o’clock we pull up at a desolate-looking village; people -come out of their cottages, pigs and children tumbling one over the -other, to stare at this sudden irruption of humanity, at this hour when -no respectable train is expected to be on the road. We alight, and are -marshalled through numerous tumble-down cottages to a dilapidated -hotel—a cross between an Irish shanty and a low class refreshment bar. -Here we get a meal, or at least a substitute for one; we are all too -hungry to pay much attention to the quality<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> of the food, provided we -get enough of it. The landlady, in large hoop earrings and a draggled -print gown, received us at the stair-head, and with apologies for the -poor entertainment she is able to afford us, on the ground of the -exceptional nature of the occasion; it is the very first time a train -has come to a standstill in this primitive part of the country.</p> - -<p>There is a general clatter and chatter; two or three small negroes -flutter round like a flock of frightened geese; everybody seems to get -in everybody else’s way—they tumble over each other, tumble over us. -There is a general scrimmage and rush for such eatables as are here -attainable; one gets a cup of steaming coffee while the milk vanishes in -the distance; another is refreshed with a bowl of sugar; one gets proud -possession of a yard of corn bread, another grasps a dish of rancid -butter—but the difficulty is getting the two together; fresh eggs are -plentiful, and are piled like mountains of white cannon balls upon the -table. A trio of adventurous gentlemen make a raid upon the kitchen, and -reappear proudly bearing their spoils aloft; by degrees things shake -down and we manage to fill the vacuum within us. Our damaged baggage -master, with his dislocated shoulder bound up by amateur hands, is -cheerful, albeit in pain, and receives the attentions of the ladies with -great placidity; he has to be fed like a big baby, for he can’t use his -right hand, and his left is sprained<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span> and swollen. Everybody is -laughing, chatting, and grumbling all in a breath; as for us we never -enjoyed a thoroughly British growl at so small a price—twenty cents a -head!</p> - -<p>On our way to the station we meet a wicked-looking little Topsy, with a -huge brown jug of new milk, just fresh from the cow; we speedily relieve -her of this responsibility, and in the twinkling of an eye change the -stone jug and its contents into a shower of “nickels.”</p> - -<p>Re-entering the car we are again on our way, and enjoy a series of -dissolving views of some of the most charming scenery of the -South—through plantations of cotton trees, and red and white blossomed -dogwood. Slowly the world of green disappears beneath the grey twilight -shadows; the sun, which has been blazing like a ball of burnished gold -all day, seems suddenly to grow tired of shining, and draws his crimson -curtains round him and sinks suddenly to rest. Soon the lights of New -Orleans loom upon our sight.</p> - -<p>Omnibuses and cars of all description are in waiting at the station, and -in a very short time we are driving through the up and down streets of -this quaint old city to the Hotel St. Charles, where we take our rest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">New Orleans, “The Paris of the South.”—French quarters.—Tropical -street scene.—To Carrolton.—The Levées.—Classical -architecture.—A coloured funeral.—The dismal swamp.—Lake -Ponchartrain.—A gambling population.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Hotel St. Charles is a very fine impressive building in the centre -of the city of New Orleans. It is of white stone, and the simple -colonnaded front, with its tall straight fluted columns, gives it quite -a classical appearance. It is the best hotel in the town, but it might -be better; it has spacious corridors, and handsomely furnished rooms, -but the cuisine is not so good as it should be in an hotel of such -pretensions, the table is poorly served, and it is wanting in that -liberality which is characteristic of the South. The service is very -scanty; one servant seems to have to do the work of six. Our waiter was -a simple biped—a mere man, when he ought to have had as many arms and -legs as a devil fish; he had need of them, he was always wanted here, -there, and everywhere, and seemed to flash about on invisible telegraph -wires.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span></p> - -<p>We start in the early morning on a pedestrian excursion through this -“Paris of the South.” We almost fancy that we have gone to sleep in the -new world, and woke up in the old fair and familiar city across the sea. -It is the same, yet not the same; there is a similarity in the general -features, especially in the vicinity of Canal Street, to which I shall -allude more fully by and by, and an insouciant gaiety in the aspect of -the people, which pervades the very air they breathe; an electric -current seems always playing upon their spirits, moving their emotional -nature, sometimes to laughter, sometimes to tears. It seems as though -the two cities had been built on the same model, only differently draped -and garnished, decorated with different orders, and stamped with a -different die. Coming down a narrow lane, we met a typical old -Frenchwoman, her mahogany coloured face scored like the bark of an old -tree scarcely visible beneath her flapping sun-bonnet. She wore short -petticoats, and came clattering along over the rough stones in her -wooden sabots, while her tall blue-bloused grandson carrying her -well-filled basket strode beside her; and a meek eyed sister of charity -bent on her errand of mercy passed in at a creaking doorway. These were -the only signs of life we saw as we first turned on our way to the -French quarter of the town, which still bears the impress of the old -colonial days. This is the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> ancient portion of the city, and full -of romantic traditions of the days that are dead and gone. The long, -narrow, crooked streets, running on all sides in a spidery fashion, with -rows of shabby-looking houses, remain exactly as they were a hundred -years ago. Strict conservatism obtains here; nothing has been done in -the way of improvement; the old wooden houses are bruised and battered -as though they had been engaged in a battle with time and been worsted; -they are covered with discolorations and patches, naked and languishing -for a coat of new paint. There are no dainty green sun blinds here, but -heavy worm-eaten wooden shutters, and queer timber doors hung on clumsy -iron hinges; here and there we get a glimpse of the dingy interiors -while a few bearded men are lounging smoking in the doorways, and a few -children, chattering like French magpies, are playing on the threshold. -Everything is quiet and dull—a sort of Rip Van Winkle-ish sleep seems -drooping its drowsy wings and brooding everywhere, till a lumbering dray -comes clattering over the cobble stones, and sends a thousand echoes -flying through the lonely streets.</p> - -<p>From these stony regions, past the little old-fashioned church where the -good Catholics worshipped a century ago and we emerge upon Canal Street, -the principal business thoroughfare of the city; it is thronged with -people at this time of day, busy crowds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> are passing to and fro, the -shop windows are dressed in their most attractive wares, temptingly -exposed to view. Confectioners, fruit, and fancy stores overflow into -open stalls in front and spread along the sidewalk; huge bunches of -green bananas, strawberries, peas, pines, cocoa-nuts and mangoes, -mingled with dainty vegetables, are lying in heaps. We are tempted to -try a mango, the favourite southern fruit, of whose luscious quality we -have so often heard, but the first taste of its sickening sweetness -satisfies our desires. The street is very wide, and the jingle-jangle of -the car-bells, the rattling of wheels, and the spasmodic shriek and -whistle of the steam engine—all mingle together in a not unsweet -confusion. Lumbering vehicles, elegant carriages, street-cars, and a -fussy little railway, all run in parallel lines along the wide roadway. -This is the great backbone of the city, whence all lines of vehicular -traffic branch off on their diverse tracks into all the highways and -by-ways of the land. Here we get on to a car which carries us through -the handsomest quarter of the city. Quaint, old-fashioned houses, -surrounded by gardens of glowing flowers, and magnificent magnolias, now -in full bloom, stand here and there in solitary grandeur, or sometimes -in groups like a conclave of green-limbed giants, clothed in white -raiment, and perfumed with the breath of paradise. Past lines of elegant -residences, where the <i>élite</i> of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> the city have their abode, and we soon -reach a rough wooden shed yclept a “depot.” Here the horses are -unhitched, and a steam dummy attached to carry us on our way. The little -dummy looks like a big-bellied coffee-pot as it puffs fussily along, on -its way, but it does its work well, and in a little time lands us at -“Carrolton.”</p> - -<p>We alight at the railway terminus, at the foot of the levées, the Mecca -of our morning pilgrimage. We ascend a dozen cranky steps, and stand on -the top of the levée, with the coffee-coloured flood of the great -Mississippi rolling at our feet, and look back upon the low-lying city -behind us.</p> - -<p>This king of rivers is here wide and winding, but drowsy and sluggish; -its vast waters rolling down from the north seem to languish here in the -indolence of the South; it stretches its slow length along, like a -sleeping giant with all its wondrous strength and power hushed beneath -the summer sun.</p> - -<p>The levées form a delightfully cool promenade, and are thronged with -people on summer evenings. Cosy benches shaded by wide spreading green -trees are placed at certain distances, and glancing across the broad -brown lazy river to the opposite side the view is picturesque in the -extreme.</p> - -<p>The architectural beauty of New Orleans is unique, and wholly unlike any -other Southern city; the avenues are wide and beautifully planted, a -generous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> leafy shade spreads every way you turn. The dwelling houses -which line St. Charles’s Avenue are graceful, classical structures; -there are no Brummagem gingerbread buildings, no blending together of -ancient and modern ideas, and running wild into fancy chimney-pots, -arches, points, and angles like a twelfth-cake ornament. Some are -fashioned like Greek temples, most impressive in their chaste outline -and simplicity of form; others straight and square, with tall Corinthian -columns or fluted pillars, sometimes of marble, sometimes of stone. The -severe architectural simplicity, the pure white buildings shaded by -beautiful magnolias and surrounded by brilliant shrubs and flowers, form -a vista charming to the eye and soothing to the senses, and all stands -silhouetted against the brightest of blue skies—a blue before which the -bluest of Italian skies would seem pale.</p> - -<p>The aspect of the city changes on every side; we leave the fashionable -residential regions, and enter broad avenues lined with grand old forest -trees, sometimes in double rows, the thick leaved branches meeting and -forming a canopy overhead. The ground is carpeted with soft green turf, -and bare-legged urchins, black and white, are playing merry games; a -broken down horse is quietly grazing, and a cow is being milked under -the trees, while a company of pretty white goats, with a fierce looking -Billie at their head, are careering about close by. Pretty pastoral<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> -bits of landscape on every side cling to the skirts, and fringe the -sides of this quaint city. As we get farther away from St. Charles’s -Avenue the better class of residences grow fewer and fewer, till they -cease altogether, and we come upon pretty green-shuttered cottages, with -their porches covered with blossoms, and rows of the old-fashioned straw -beehives in front. Here and there are tall tenement houses built of -cherry-red bricks, which are let out in flats to the labouring classes.</p> - -<p>We happen to be the only occupants of the car, and our driver, glancing -back at us through the sliding door, and realising that we are strangers -in the land, divides his attention between his horses and his -passengers. He has a pale, fair, melancholy face and dreamy eyes—a kind -of blond Henry Irving—and we cannot get rid of an idea that Hamlet the -Dane has followed his lamented father’s custom of “revisiting the -glimpses of the moon,” and is doing us the honour of driving our car.</p> - -<p>Presently we come upon a procession that attracts our interest. A party -of people, chiefly of the gentler sex—I cannot in this case say the -fairer, as they are all black as coals—are slowly parading the -sidewalk, the girls, even down to little children three or four years -old, all clad in white. It has been raining and the streets are still -wet; they are tramping over muddy crossings in white satin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> slippers, -their white dresses draggling in the damp, while their brown or black -faces and black shining eyes beam with a kind of grotesque incongruity -through their white veils.</p> - -<p>“A bridal party?” we remark interrogatively to our Hamlet. The Prince of -Denmark shakes his head, and vouchsafes a grave and dreamy smile as he -corrects our mistake: “No, ma’am. It’s a coloured funeral.”</p> - -<p>Turning into Claiborne Street we fancy it must be the entrance-gate to -the forest primeval; as far as the eye can reach we gaze through long -vistas of ancient trees, whose huge trunks are gnarled and knotted and -scarred by the passing ages. This delightful avenue has four rows of -these glorious trees, with double car-tracks running under their cool -and welcome shade; down the centre, and crossed by rude rustic bridges, -runs what we supposed to be a narrow canal or natural running stream, -but we learn that it is an open sewer, the peculiar soil and sanitary -arrangements of the city necessitating a system of open drainage—which -is, however, by no means unsightly or offensive; and through the -arteries of the city there run these narrow sewers, carrying all the -impurities and refuse as a kind of tributary offering to the glorious -Mississippi.</p> - -<p>The burial grounds or cemeteries we pass on our way have a strange -appearance, as in consequence of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span> the peculiarities of the soil and -climate, the dead are not buried under the earth, but are laid upon its -surface with the stone monument raised above them.</p> - -<p>Another day we have a light springy carriage, and avoiding the -car-tracks bowl over the soft green turf, beneath the arching trees, -with the sunlight glinting through. We drive out of the city, and wind -about among its picturesque suburbs—a charming drive, though the air is -moist and warm, and our strength seems oozing from our finger-tips. We -can imagine what New Orleans must be in summer time, when even in these -April days our vital forces grow faint and feeble.</p> - -<p>The public buildings, state offices, and churches, are remarkably fine -architectural features of the city. There is no need to describe them -here, for the written description of one church, unless indeed there is -some special history connected therewith, sounds much the same as -another; and any visitor to the city can get an excellent guide thereto -and familiarise himself with their appearance so far as he desires, and -some are interesting enough to repay him for his trouble.</p> - -<p>There is one very favourite excursion, largely patronised by the -inhabitants of the city on warm summer evenings, and one which the most -casual tourist should not fail to take. We enter the little railway -train in Canal Street, the very heart of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span> city, and steaming -leisurely along we soon reach the outskirts, and run through pretty -woodland scenery, with dainty dwellings scattered here and there among -the full-foliaged trees. Presently we come upon a long stretch of open -country; on one side is the canal, with a wide roadway and spacious -tracts of cultivated lands beyond it. On the other side of the railway -track, on our right, there runs a similar carriage road and footway -running along the edge of a luxuriant thicket of green low-lying bushes, -which seem like the ragged fringe of the virgin forest; then there rises -clusters of slight willowy slips; a part of the pristine family of oaks -and alders which have grown and developed into gigantic trees, -thickening and twining their long arms together till they form an -impenetrable mass of green, but instead of a bit of forest primeval, we -are told that this is a most dismal swamp of many miles extent, utterly -impassable for either man or beast, and varying from two to eight or ten -feet deep, the abode of repulsive reptiles and other obnoxious -creatures. They say that it is no uncommon thing at certain seasons of -the year for a huge black or green snake to wriggle out of its home of -slush and slime and coil itself up on the pathway, or an alligator will -sometimes be found stretched along the railway track, its lidless eyes -staring stupidly at the sun.</p> - -<p>The whole of this part of New Orleans has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span> reclaimed from these -extensive swamps, and no doubt, if the necessity should arise, the whole -ground may be reclaimed and cultivated or built over; but such a -proceeding could only be carried out at an almost fabulous expense, and -as the great lungs of the city have plenty of breathing room in other -directions, it will no doubt be left, for this century at least, in the -occupation of noisome reptiles, the refuse of God’s creatures.</p> - -<p>Lake Ponchartrain, where we are presently safely deposited, is one of -the most picturesque spots in all this region; a silver shining sheet of -water, on whose surface the passing clouds seem softly sailing, for the -skies are reflected therein as in a mirror. We look across the water -upon wide stretches of undulating cultivated lands, “with verdure clad,” -a soft mossy carpet with purple flags and long lance-like grasses -reaching down to the water’s edge. A lovely garden, artistically -arranged with tropical flowers, fully half a mile long, runs along this -side of the lake, and among the beds of gorgeous blossoms there are -pretty winding walks, and rustic benches are arranged beneath -wide-spreading shady trees. A glorious promenade runs like a golden band -along the borders, and a pretty fancifully-built hotel and restaurant -stands at the head of the lake. It is a perfect nest of a place, hung -round with balconies and covered with climbing plants, the luxurious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span> -Virginian creeper with its wealth of purple bloom with white star-like -flowers mingling between. Surrounding the hotel is a wide space studded -with little marble-topped tables, dedicated to the convenience of the -hungry and thirsty multitudes who flock thither up from the hot, dusty -town on summer evenings, to breathe the fresh cool air which blows -across the surface of the lake.</p> - -<p>Tables and chairs are set in all kinds of shady nooks and corners, and -merry parties are sipping sherbet, lemonade, and ice-cream; even the -democratic “lager beer” is served in foaming goblets, and while the band -is playing people stroll to and fro or group under the trees eating -ices, and not always confining themselves to the above harmless -beverages. They enjoy themselves each after his own fashion, and it is -generally midnight before the last train returns with its living freight -towards the town.</p> - -<p>We take our last evening stroll through the streets of New Orleans, -which have a fascination unknown to them by day. They are everywhere -brilliantly illuminated; we fancy it must be some special occasion, but -it is always the same; electric lights and gas-jets in quaint devices -are flaring everywhere, strains of music are floating on the air, the -shops and stalls are ablaze with brilliant colouring, and appear in -fancy dress—as a lady throws off her morning robes and appears <i>en -grande toilette</i> for the evening festivities;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span> open air performances, -shows, and theatres are in full swing. Strange to say, places that have -seemed quiet and harmless, even dingy, during the daytime, bloom out -into gambling dens, where the rattling of dice and the rolling of -billiard balls make deadly music through the night. How often some -haggard form, hunted by ruin and despair, slips like a shadow from these -lighted halls; a pistol-shot, a groan, and he vanishes into a darker -night, “where never more the sun shall rise or set.” There are no laws -against gambling; they are a free people here, and are allowed to choose -each his own road to ruin, consequently gambling is carried on to a -frightful extent, and by all kinds and conditions of men. It seems -indigenous to the soil, for while men stake houses and lands, nay, the -very last coin from their pockets, the very children gamble over their -tops and marbles or dirt pies in the gutter.</p> - -<p>The inhabitants of New Orleans are never tired of expatiating on the -beauties of their city, and dilating on the golden history of its -romantic past, or the prosperous record of its present day. Their -devotion further insists on the general healthiness of its climate; they -admit there are occasional epidemics, but then at certain seasons -epidemics rage everywhere, they are not specially improvised for New -Orleans, and the black population suffers always more than the white.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span></p> - -<p>Lovely though it be—a most quaint, picturesque old city, with its -bright skies and gorgeous growth of tropical flowers—no sane person -could have faith in its sanitary perfections. A beautiful human nest it -is; low-lying, as in a hole scooped out of the solid earth, many feet -below the waters of the Mississippi, partially surrounded by swamps of -the rankest kind, and girdled by silver streams and deep flowing rivers, -it must necessarily be the favourite resort of the malarial fiend. Here -that scourge of the South, the yellow fever, too, rising from sweltering -earth, sends forth his scorching, blighting breath, and clothes the land -in mourning. But every man clings to his own soil; no matter whether it -brings forth thorns or roses, he is satisfied with the gathering -thereof.</p> - -<p>“Well,” exclaimed a devoted citizen as he cheerfully discussed the -subject with us, “in every country there is an occasional force which -carries off the surplus population; sometimes it is fire, or flood, -earthquakes or mining explosions. Nature sends us the yellow fever; of -course it is not a pleasant visitor, but it does its work well enough, -and I don’t know but it is as well to get out of the world that way as -any other.”</p> - -<p>It is impossible to enumerate half the pleasant excursions which may be -taken from New Orleans. Its wonderful watery highways are among the -finest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> in the world, and wind through the land in all directions. By -them you may travel anywhere and everywhere through the loveliest -scenery of the South, as pleasantly as though the panorama were passing -the windows of your own drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Splendid steamers—floating palaces indeed of gigantic proportions, -luxuriously upholstered, and fitted with all the carving and gilding so -dear to some travellers’ hearts—are eternally passing to and fro. We -were strongly disposed to take a trip on the “Natchez,” the sovereign -vessel, but time pressed, and we were compelled to move on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Atlanta.—A wilderness of bricks and mortar.—Lovely -surroundings.—Scarlet woods.—Memorial day.—Scenes in the -cemetery.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">About</span> five o’clock on a sultry afternoon we start on the cars for -Atlanta. The train is crowded, the day is bright, the spiritual -thermometer stands high, and everybody seems resolved to be social with -everybody else; they commence with a running fire of casual gossip, and -proceed to give gratuitous information of a confidential character -concerning themselves and their families. One gentleman is returning -from Texas, and fondly cherishes a banana tree, which he is carrying -home to his wife in Atlanta, intending to try and coax it into growing -in the garden there. He has tried the experiment before, he tells us, -but the banana will not take kindly to the soil; in spite of all care -hitherto it has invariably drooped and died. Still, he does not despair; -like the lonely scion of a sickly family he will cherish this last, and -endeavour to raise a new family on his native soil.</p> - -<p>We fare well on this journey; though there are no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> regular eating -stations erected on the way yet we are well provided for. People come on -the cars at certain places, bringing plates of broiled chicken and -meats, with delicious little brown crisp rolls of bread, hard boiled -eggs, and tarts, covered with snow-white napkins, and daintily arranged -so as to tempt the appetite; and baskets of delicious grapes and peaches -with the tender bloom upon them, and every kind of fruit that is in -season. Glasses of iced milk, a delicious beverage, may also be -obtained.</p> - -<p>We reach Atlanta the next day about two o’clock, and take up our abode -at Markham House, which is conveniently situated opposite the railway -station. This is an extremely comfortable and homelike hotel, without -any pretence to luxurious entertainment or upholstered grandeur; but we -find there a capital table liberally served.</p> - -<p>We are, however, somewhat dismayed on going to perform our customary -ablutions when we find our ewer filled with something strongly -resembling pea-soup. We demand water, and learn that this obnoxious -liquid is all the water we are likely to get for ablutionary purposes. -The table is supplied with something drinkable of a less soupy -description, though far removed from the “bright waters of the sparkling -fountain;” but for a few days we must perforce be content, and take our -mud bath with what appetite we may.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span></p> - -<p>There is nothing picturesque or attractive in either of the Atlanta -hotels; ours, we are told, is considered second rate, but there is -really little difference between them. Both are situated in crowded -thoroughfares, and both are within a stone’s throw of the railway -station, and are simple structures with no architecture to speak of. The -city is built in a rambling labyrinthine fashion, as though it had grown -up in a wild way of its own, straggling along here and there, without -any set plan or design beyond the convenience of the day. It has pushed -itself out in all directions, here pranking itself out in glowing -gardens and garlands of green, there rising up in huge brick buildings -seven stories high, massed together in blocks, or stretched in long -rows, lifting their stony heads high in the air, looking down -threateningly and frowningly as though they meant some day to topple -over into the narrow street below. It has grown large and strong, and no -longer runs in leading-strings, but asserts itself as one of the most -important cities of the South.</p> - -<p>The resources of the surrounding country are developing day by day, -being especially rich in the production of cotton of the finest kind, -quite equal to that grown on the famous Sea-islands of Carolina. All the -varied wealth of the country for hundreds of miles round pours into -Atlanta, which in turn distributes it to all parts of the world. This -conglomeration of bricks and mortar is not attractive<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> in itself, but is -most interesting in its early history, its gradual growth and marvellous -development; all within the city limits is full of the stir and bustle -of commonplace life, its surroundings are simply lovely and most -romantic.</p> - -<p>A short car drive through the up-and-down stony streets, a ramble -through a winding lane, and we are in the midst of a beautiful wild wood -flaming with scarlet honeysuckle, creeping up, twining round, and -seeming to strangle the great strong trees in its close embrace, -drooping its bright blooms like a canopy above our heads; they are -lovely to the eye, but, like so many beautiful things, are poisonous and -scentless. We wander for hours, but do not get to the end of the crimson -woods. Every man, woman, or child we meet—black, white, or brown—have -their hands full of the gorgeous rose-red flowers of this Southern -honeysuckle, so far richer than its northern sister. Some are carrying -them home in baskets for domestic decoration, others make them into -wreaths, or wear them on their hats or on their breasts.</p> - -<p>No matter in what direction you turn on leaving the labyrinths of bricks -and mortar, you are at once plunged into a wealth of lovely scenery, -fringed on one side with the blazing woods; on one side it is skirted by -richly-timbered, well-cultivated lands, jewelled with wild flowers of -every hue and colour. Then we come upon a tangle of forest scenery or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span> -thickets varying from a few to thousands of acres. These consist of a -dense growth of live and water oaks, dog wood, hickory, and pine, hung -with garlands of moss, or close clinging draperies of purple blooms, -birds are peeping and twittering in and out, butterflies and insects -humming, and a whole colony of frogs croaking joyously throughout this -luxuriant wilderness. We should not be much surprised to find a fairy -city hidden away in this labyrinthine mass of leaves and timbers; who -knows but when the evening shadows fall, and a thousand tiny twinkling -lights flash hither and thither, we think the fireflies are abroad, when -in reality it is the elfin army of lamplighters illuminating their fairy -city with wandering stars.</p> - -<p>In these sweet solitudes the morning passes quickly, and in the -afternoon we go to the cemetery, which is about three miles from the -town, to witness the decoration of the soldiers’ graves—for it is -Memorial Day—the one day set apart in every year now and for all time -for people to come to do honour to the dead who fell in the lost cause; -nay, for the dead who fell on either side. Streams of people crowd the -highways and byways, all flowing in one direction, and all mass together -at the wide-open gates of the cemetery. The ground is kept by sundry -mutilated remnants of the war; some with one arm, some with one leg, but -none have the right complement of limbs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> while some are mere mutilated -crippled specimens of humanity, with bent bodies and limbs twisted out -of their natural form. We wonder how they have had courage to crawl so -far towards the end of their days, and to bear themselves cheerfully -too. But the great God who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb” has not -forgotten them. He sends them an invisible support and comforter we know -not of; He lays His blessed hand upon their heart-strings and makes a -music in their lives, grander and sweeter than is the blare of -victorious trumpets to the conqueror’s ear. They live their lives out in -this city of the dead, and through the sunny days or evening shadows, -sleeping or waking, are always there surrounded by their silent -brotherhood, who wait for them in the great beyond. They lie here under -the green sod with upturned faces and hands crossed upon their breasts. -“After life’s fitful fever they sleep well.”</p> - -<p>We arrive an hour before the ceremonial commences, and walk about the -pretty grave-garden and read the names upon the monuments, and listen to -anecdotes of those who rest below. The old soldiers seem to love to talk -of their dead comrades, to fight their battles over again. They tell us -how this one, “such a fine, handsome young fellow,” rode always into -battle whistling a merry tune as he dashed into the thick of it; and how -this one with the spirit of the ancient Puritans uplifted his voice to -the glory of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span> God as he brandished his sword and rushed to the front.</p> - -<p>Presently a slow solemn strain of music with the roll of the muffled -drum reaches our ears. It comes nearer and nearer. There is a trampling -of feet, “the tramp of thousands sounding like the tread of one,” and -the committee, escorted by a detachment of soldiers with their arms -reversed and followed by a multitude of people, make their way across -the hilly ground, and through the winding pathways till they reach a -wide grassy slope, where, railed in and reached by a flight of marble -steps, there stands a huge plain shaft of granite, with the inscription -in large gold letters, “To our Confederate Dead,” engraved thereon. A -platform is raised in front of this, which is now occupied by some score -or two of ladies, all dressed in deep mourning, each carrying a basket -of flowers, which may be replenished from the miniature mountain of -violets and pale wild roses which are heaped upon the ground. Lying -around, spreading in all directions, are myriad nameless graves. Some -have a white headstone a foot high, some have wooden crosses, some have -but the green turf to cover them. Here Federals and Confederates lie -side by side, no enmity between them now. The treaty of eternal peace -has been signed by the sovereign lord, Death; all are now gathered -together and are marching through the silent land, under the banner of -their great Captain, Christ.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span></p> - -<p>There was a slight stir and a few elderly gray-headed men, accompanied -by a minister of the church, ascended the platform. A hush fell upon the -multitude, and all listen reverently and bareheaded while an earnest -simple prayer is offered up.</p> - -<p>Then a tall, soldier-like man, a well-known general, who had faced a -hundred fires, stepped forward and made a most touching and eloquent -address—to which friend or foe, victor and vanquished, might listen -with equal feeling of interest and respect,—glorifying the heroic -qualities of those who fought and fell in the lost cause, but, while -giving honour to the dead, detracting nothing from the living. The -keynote running through the whole discourse was like a prayer that the -seed sown amid fire and sword, and watered by the blood of patriots -(patriots <i>all</i>; no matter on which side they fought, each believed they -were fighting for their rights), might take root, grow, flourish, and -yield a glorious harvest for the gathering of this great country, her -unity never again to be disturbed and torn by the children of her love -and pride.</p> - -<p>At the conclusion of the address a hymn, “Nearer, my God, to Thee,” was -sung by the uplifted voices of the whole multitude, even to the -outermost edge they caught up the sweet refrain, and it rose and fell, -swelled and softened, till it rolled back upon our ears in waves of -melodious music, which stirred our hearts and sent a mist floating -before our eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span></p> - -<p>Now the ladies descend from the platform and scatter themselves over the -ground, their mourning figures passing to and fro among the graves: on -every mound they lay a bunch of flowers, regardless on which side they -fought,—the “boys in blue” and the “boys in gray” are all arrayed in -one common raiment now. Who knows but a spirit army may be bending down -from the skies above, watching the pious work, and no longer seeing -through a glass darkly, longing to whisper, “All is well,” to the hearts -which are still sorrowing below.</p> - -<p>The solemn ceremonial over, drums beat, the soldiers resume their arms, -form in line, the band plays a stirring military air, and they march -quickly off the ground. We watch the crowd melt away, but do not feel -disposed to join the busy, chattering stream on its homeward road, -especially as by this time quite a miniature fair has risen up outside -the cemetery gates; and roast; peanuts, fruit, cake, and iced drinking -stalls are surrounded by thirsty multitudes, who keep up a lively rattle -among themselves; while the tag-rag of the gathering run after the -military procession, and follow it on its way back to the dusty town. We -wander for a while through the deserted cemetery, reading the strange -medley of mottoes, and the sometimes ludicrous and always commonplace -chronicles of the virtues of the sleeper. We are presently invited to -sit down and rest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span> porch of a rustic dwelling, the home of one of -the crippled guardians of the place—a grand old man he was, with gray -hair and a face bronzed by exposure to many weathers, and scored and -wrinkled by the hand of time. He brought us a jug of deliciously cool -milk, and sat down and talked, as old men love to talk, of “the days -that are bygone”; and told us many pleasant anecdotes of “how we lived -down south forty years ago.”</p> - -<p>The evening shadows were lengthening, and lying like long spectral -fingers on the dead men’s graves, as we rose up and made our way -hurriedly to the horse-car which was to carry us back to Atlanta.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">Columbia.—Wright’s Hotel.—Variegated scenes.—Past and -present.—A Sabbath city.—The penitentiary.—Sunday service.—A -few last words.</p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">We</span> start for Columbia at half-past eight in the morning; it is dull and -misty during the earlier part, but as the day deepens the weather -clears, and by the time we are running through the great cotton belt of -Georgia, a bright sun is shining, and we enjoy the pretty, peaceful -scenery; which, however, has no especial feature till we reach the Great -Stone Mountain, a vast mass of gray granite, standing bald and bare, -rising far above the tops of the tallest trees, which are grouped round -its base, like a company of dwarfs at the feet of a giant. It is visible -for miles round—a huge, gray dome cut out of the blue skies. The stone -quarry from the base of this mountain is used, and has been used for -years past, in the building of public edifices and churches in the -near-lying cities, without any visible diminution or disfiguration. Here -and there is a deep dentation—as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span> though you had scooped a spoonful -from a mountain of ice cream, nothing more. When it first looms upon the -sight, it looks like a huge globe rising out of the earth, smooth as a -billiard ball, silhouetted against the bright blue skies.</p> - -<p>It is nearly eleven o’clock at night when we reach Columbia; here hotel -omnibuses, as usual, are in waiting. Into one of these we get; and the -lumbering, creaky old vehicle leaps, and bumps, playing the game of -pitch and toss with us, as it rattles over the rough, stony way, through -a darkness black as Erebus. We peer out through the windows; there is -nothing but darkness visible—no signs of a city. Presently, rows of -trees, dark, spectral trees, seem to be marching past us—rustling their -leaves, waving their thick branches, stretching their leafy arms on each -side of us, as though they were trying to stop our way! Are we driving -through a forest? we wonder.</p> - -<p>There is only one other occupant of the omnibus—a tall, limp young man, -who has flung himself in a heap at the farthest corner. We venture to -inquire of him.</p> - -<p>“We seem to be going a long way. Are we far from the city?” and he -answers in a sort of dislocated voice,</p> - -<p>“Well—we’re getting along;” which patent fact brings no information to -our inquiring minds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span></p> - -<p>Presently we catch a glimmer of light shining from among the trees, and -find we are nearing human habitations at last; for tiny lamps are -gleaming from pretty nests of houses, which are hidden away in the -woodland background. The lights gradually grow more and more numerous, -and wide streets develop out of the darkness, and the sounds of tramping -feet and voices reach our ears. Through these we rattle quickly, and in -a very few moments are deposited at our destination, “Wright’s Hotel,” -which, on closer acquaintance, we decide to be one of the cosiest and -pleasantest in all the south. It stands on the principal thoroughfare, -and has a wide and imposing elevation. The rooms are beautifully clean -and comfortably furnished; and the <i>cuisine</i> is excellent. The everyday -cooking is elevated to a fine art: an omelette is as light and airy as a -dream; a broil has a flavour of poetry about it; and a fricandeau -arrives at a state of idyllic perfection. All the arrangements are -essentially English, and we settle down for a few days with a home-like -feeling in our hearts.</p> - -<p>The city stands on a lofty plateau—a hill, indeed, of great elevation, -and the surrounding country, sloping away in all directions, lies around -us a perfect panorama of natural beauty. Whichever way we turn our eyes, -they travel downwards and outwards, far away, over wide stretches of -wooded country. There a rapid river runs in and out, amid a paradise<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span> of -green; then a sheet of silver water, or placid lake, calm as an infant’s -sleep, dimples in the light of the sun; and wild wildernesses lie -nestling among what look like English fields of buttercups and daisies -and acres of waving grain; while a rich growth of variegated green -fringes the feet or climbs up the sides of the softly swelling distant -hills. Tender lights and shadows are lying restfully everywhere. It all -looks so calm and peaceful—as though nature, hushed to sleep, was -smiling in her dreams.</p> - -<p>The streets of the city are wide, and of course arranged as usual to run -at right angles; there has been no hurry or confusion in the building of -it, the spirit of the designer is visible everywhere, and the design has -been carefully carried out with harmonious effect; every vista is -pleasant and refreshing to the eye. Like most other southern cities the -thoroughfares are shaded with magnificent old trees, thickly planted, -and of prodigious size, on both sides of the road; and yet Columbia has -a character peculiarly its own. It is like an oasis lifted up and out of -the great world round it; a serene and silent city it sits apart, with a -life and story all its own; there is no noise or bustle, no hurrying -throngs of people streaming through the vacant streets, no jingling -bells of cars, no rattling of carriages passing over the stony -roads—only at certain hours the hotel omnibuses crawl to and from the -station—a drowsy hum is in the air, the shops<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span> have opened their glassy -eyes and are blinking in the morning light; they might as well go to -sleep again—nobody seems to want to buy anything—only a few stragglers -are wandering aimlessly about, everything moves leisurely, nobody seems -in a hurry about anything. Life itself seems to move onward with slow -and solemn footstep, scarce making a single echo on the shores of time.</p> - -<p>So stands this lovely city steeped in the southern sunshine, robed in -fair green garlands, with blooming gardens clinging about her skirts; -there is a refreshing sweetness in the air, a purity and harmony mingled -with a Sabbath stillness everywhere.</p> - -<p>A patriarchal simplicity pervades the atmosphere, the people seem to -know we are strangers, and as strangers greet us with a recognising -smile or pleasant word; the coloured folks relapse into a broad grin; -there is a gentle courtesy, an air of good breeding, even among the -loafers gathered at the street corners as they lift their ragged caps -and make way for us to pass. We turn down a pretty, shady thoroughfare -and as we are rambling along in a state of sweet contentment, imbued -with the brooding spirit of the place, a cheery voice bids us “Good -morning.” We look up and two black faces with laughing eyes and gleaming -teeth look down upon us from a perfect nest of roses, the two women are -sitting in their balcony with their dusky children rolling at their -feet; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span> game at questions, answers, and observations follows, and we -enjoy quite a pleasant characteristic conversation; one comes down and -brings us a handful of sweet-smelling flowers as we pass on our way.</p> - -<p>We wander through this idyllic city as through a land of dreams, and -have some difficulty in finding our way back to our hotel, as the -streets are all verbally christened but none have their names written -up, the houses too are unnumbered. I remarked that this is an awkward -arrangement or want of arrangement.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” is the answer, “everybody knows everybody here.”</p> - -<p>“But it is certainly puzzling for strangers.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, strangers have only got to ask, they find their ways wherever they -wish to go, and get along well enough.”</p> - -<p>We “got along,” and one bright morning found our way to the university, -a fine old, red-brick building, standing back far away from the shady -street, in a quadrangle surrounded by tall red-brick houses, with rows -of trees planted before and blooming gardens behind them; a few -marauding geese are gobbling on the green, but there are no other signs -of life, not even a stray dog in the inclosure, the wide quadrangle is -empty of humanity; a soft breeze stirs the tall tree tops, rustling the -leaves with a whispering sound, as though they had brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span> a message -from some far-off lands. A cloistered stillness is about the place which -is almost oppressive as we wander to and fro, looking up at the tall -closed houses and pondering on the special history we know of some of -them. We cannot gain admission to the college, as the doors are barred -and we see no one to whom we could address an inquiry, so we turn away, -and with echoless footsteps pass over the green sward out into the -public high-road.</p> - -<p>The next morning we drive out, in a rather rickety, shandrydan vehicle, -over the broad sandy roads, past a pretty little valley or wild wooded -basin, so called a “park,” to the penitentiary or State prison. We are -received by a dignified-looking gentleman, the governor, and by him -handed over to the military guard, who conducts us through the different -wards.</p> - -<p>No idling here—shoemakers, carpenters, blacksmiths, all hard at work, -amidst profound silence so far as the human voice is concerned, for -prisoners are not permitted to speak, even in answer to the visitors’ -remarks addressed to them. The majority of both sexes are coloured, -there is but a mere sprinkling of white convicts. Some Boston tourists, -who have joined our party, sigh as they observe this. “Evidently the -white man’s offences are condoned, while the poor negro is invariably -convicted,” they say, shaking their heads deploringly. A good-natured, -cheery-looking matron takes us through<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>{270}</span> the women’s quarters, where all -are busily engaged at sewing, stitching, or machine work; here, too, -strict silence is preserved, they make their requirements known by dumb -show; most of them keep their heads bent downwards as we enter, but one -or two look up, and a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, breaks over their -clouded faces, their eyes speak though their lips are mute, as they -recognise their matron’s kindly face,—no need of words to tell of her -popularity, for grateful glances follow her wherever she goes, even the -brush of her skirts as she passes seems to do them good; she gives an -encouraging pat here, a smile or kindly word there, and who knows but -the seed one kind heart scatters among their barren lives may take root -and help them to bear something better than prison fruit in the future. -She passes on, doing a true Christian’s duty in smoothing the way of the -unfortunate, who have fallen beyond the pale of human law, but not -beyond the reach of God’s mercy.</p> - -<p>The workrooms where they pass their days are light and airy, but the -small, bare, white, vaulted cells, where they spend their time from six -in the evening till six in the morning, look barren, cold, and silent as -so many narrow graves. There are no windows, they are honeycombed into -the wall, and air and light are only admitted through the iron-grated -entrance door, which gives on to a wide whitewashed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a>{271}</span> corridor, where the -warder in charge keeps watch during the night.</p> - -<p>The penitentiary is surrounded by very extensive grounds, laid out to -supply the prison with vegetables, here a score or two of prisoners in -striped, zebra-like clothing are at work digging potatoes or cultivating -cabbages. A high wall surrounds this open space, a turret or watch-box -stands in the centre on the top of each section, commanding every inch -of the ground. These are occupied night and day by an armed guard, who -have orders to shoot down any prisoner who attempts to escape.</p> - -<p>“They don’t often miss their aim either,” observes our guide -complacently.</p> - -<p>On Sunday we attend service here. The barn-like building dedicated to -divine worship is not nearly large enough to hold half the prisoners; -they overflow outside the doors, swarm on the steps, and cling in groups -outside the windows. Nearly all are coloured, some pure black. The -leader of the choir, a tall, good-looking young fellow, we are told is a -“lifer,” in for arson, a very common crime among the negroes. The -southern laws seem to be far more rigorous than those of the north, -capital punishment being enforced for some offences which are met only -by imprisonment in the northern States. Amongst the crowd of coloured -folk, we notice there are three or four white women, who, according to -general custom, take<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a>{272}</span> precedence of the dark race; they enter first in -the procession, and sit in the front row. One keeps her head -determinedly bent down; we just see under the shadow of her calico -poke-bonnet a young rounded chin, a fair smooth cheek with a peach-like -bloom upon it; but her eyes and brow we never catch a glimpse of; she -sits through the whole service with eyes and head bowed resolutely down -out of our range of sight. What is her story? Somehow we feel it must be -a pitiful one, and our sympathies go out to her. Does the sight of us -“remind her of the state from which she fell?”—the descent so easy, the -return so hard and almost impossible! Next her sits another woman, a -striking contrast, an older woman with a powerful characteristic face, -dark defiant eyes, close thin lips, she seems to look her fate in the -face boldly, as though she had “dreed her weird,” and took her -punishment without shrinking; a hard Ishmaelitish face it is; she looks -as though <i>she</i> was against all the world, and the world was against -<i>her</i>; no softening line, no gleam of sorrow or regret rested thereon. -Whatever crime she had committed, she looks ready to go out and commit -it again. Her hard cold eyes glare at us angrily, as though resenting -our presence.</p> - -<p>“What right have you to come out of your free sunny world to see us in -our home of shame and misery?” they seem to say. We feel quite restless<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>{273}</span> -and uncomfortable beneath her stony gaze; we cannot avoid it, we cannot -get away from it; it has a sort of magnetic attraction, a fascination -for us; we turn our eyes away, and try to fix our attention on the -preacher, but it is no use; there is some disturbing element in the air, -and against our will our eyes are drawn back to that powerful face, with -its lowering brow and rebellious lips.</p> - -<p>We are glad when the service is over, and we get out into heaven’s -sunshine and breathe the pure fresh air again. Still that face haunts us -and casts a shadow on the sunlight, and at night those pale steely eyes -flash out between the darkness and our dreams. Somehow, on that glorious -Sabbath morning, we wish we had left our devotions undone. We feel that -somewhere and at some future time we shall see that face again—we -should know it, years hence, among a thousand.</p> - -<p>It is perhaps here in Columbia more than in any other city that we -realise to the fullest extent the ruin and desolation that has been; for -though, as a rule, throughout the main streets the houses in a -scrambling sort of way are built up again, yet there are wide gaps and -ruins of crumbling stone and charred wood, partly covered now with soft -moss or a rank growth of tall weeds. Here, round an extensive corner a -hoarding is raised to hide the utter desolation that lies where once -were lovely homes, now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a>{274}</span> levelled to the dust, and blooming gardens, now -a wilderness of thorns and thistles, scattered over with the mute signs -of broken lives. These ugly features come upon us in the midst of -perfect peace—a calm repose lies over the land; but still they point -with spectral finger to the scar left by cruel wounds. And over the -sweet golden sunshine of that still Sabbath morning a shadow seems to -fall. In fancy we see the darkness of one awful night close over -Columbia, the signal rockets shoot up from that State House on the hill, -the fiery tongues of flame leap from crumbling homes and devastated -hearths. But these things are not to be thought of now. The “dark hour” -of Columbia is past, and we see her lying peacefully to-day in the light -of the rosy dawn.</p> - -<p>Our southern trip is over, and we turn our faces eastward, leaving many -regrets behind, and carrying many pleasant memories away with us. We -have seen the south, not in its full flush of prosperity, its hour of -pride, but in its struggles to rise up to a higher and nobler height -than it has ever yet reached. Industry and thrift have taken the place -of luxury and ease. Scarce twenty years ago and the whole land was -drowsily dreaming away its life, with only a sybaritish enjoyment of the -present; no ambition for coming years, no sowing the good seed for the -future harvest of mankind. The whole world’s centre was in themselves -and their own immediate surroundings;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a>{275}</span> they gave no thought or care to -anything beyond; like the gorgeous butterflies, they rather looked down -on the working bees, who have the building up and are the mainsprings of -this world’s well-being.</p> - -<p>Cradled in sunshine, girdled by all that is lovely in creation, wrapped -in fine raiment, but with the earthworm Slavery curled about its roots, -sapping its nobler instincts, eating its heart away, and binding its -invisible soul with chains stronger than those which bind its own -miserable body, the South slept the sleep of a most baneful peace, till -the sleep was broken, and the thunder of war echoed through the silent -land. Then how grandly she awoke, shook off her rosy chains, and rose up -like a god, with her latent fires blazing, her energies new strung, -and—but everybody knows what followed. Never was desolation so great as -that which fell upon this beautiful land; never was ruin more proudly -met, more grandly borne. It is nobler, far nobler now than in its hour -of pride; there are no puerile regrets, no rebellious utterings, no -useless looking back; their motto is “Excelsior!” and with undaunted -spirit, men and women too (for the Southern women are “the souls of -men”) are striving to build up a glorious future upon the ruins of the -past. Every man puts his hand to the plough and devotes his life, and -uses his best energies as a kind of lever to lift up his country to the -“old heroic height.” Passionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a>{276}</span> devotion and fervent patriotism is -aglow through all the south, but every man is devoted to his own special -State rather than to the united whole; and everywhere they are at work, -immense factories are in full operation, mines are being opened, -railways built, and through the whole length and breadth of the South a -general stir and bustle of business prevails. Everywhere prosperity is -present, and the prospect widens of a growing prosperity in the future. -Meanwhile, new industries and new inventions crowd the market. One new -industry is the making of “olive butter,” which is a very fine oil, -extracted from the cotton seeds, which in the old days were regarded as -useless and thrown away. Many thousands of persons are employed in -carrying on this business, which brings (and is probably on the -increasing scale) to the Southern States annually the sum of fifteen -millions of dollars.</p> - -<p>Northern capital has generously outstretched a friendly hand, and poured -its wealth into the empty coffers, and given the means of general -rehabilitation; and the awakened South has brains to plan, and pluck and -energy to carry on its noble campaign, while the world looks on with -silent respect and expectation for the days that are to come.</p> - -<p class="c">LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Down South, by Lady Duffus Hardy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN SOUTH *** - -***** This file should be named 53758-h.htm or 53758-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/5/53758/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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