I bade good-by to Mr.Green, who with several of his friends
came down to see me off, at the terminus or “depot” of the Central Railway, on
my way to Montgomery — and looked my last on Savannah, its squares and leafy
streets, its churches, and institutes, with a feeling of regret that I could
not see more of them, and that I was forced to be content with the outer aspect
of the public buildings. I had been serenaded and invited out in all
directions, asked to visit plantations and big trees, to make excursions to
famous or beautiful spots, and especially warned not to leave the State without visiting the mountain district
in the northern and western portion; but the march of events called me to
Montgomery.
From Savannah to Macon, 191 miles, the road passes through level
country only partially cleared. That is, there are patches of forest still
intruding on the green fields, where the jagged black teeth of the destroyed
trees rise from above the maize and cotton. There were but few negroes visible
at work, nor did the land appear rich, but I was told the rail was laid along
the most barren part of the country. The Indians had roamed in these woods
little more than twenty years ago — now the wooden huts of the planters'
slaves, and the larger edifice with its veranda and timber colonnade stood in
the place of their wigwam.
Among the passengers to whom I was introduced was the Bishop
of Georgia, the Rev. Mr. Elliott, a man of exceeding fine presence, of great
stature, and handsome face, with a manner easy and graceful, but we got on the
unfortunate subject of slavery, and I rather revolted at hearing a Christian
prelate advocating the institution on scriptural grounds.
This affectation of Biblical sanction and ordinance as the
basis of slavery was not new to me, though it is not much known at the other
side of the Atlantic. I had read in a work on slavery, that it was permitted by
both the Scriptures and the Constitution of the United States, and that it
must, therefore, be doubly right. A nation that could approve of such
interpretations of the Scriptures and at the same time read the “New York
Herald.” seemed ripe for destruction as a corporate existence. The malum
prohibitum was the only evil its crass senses could detect, and the malum
per se was its good, if it only came covered with cotton or gold. (“The
miserable sophists who expose themselves to the contempt of the world by their
paltry thesicles on the divine origin and uses of slavery,) are infinitely more
contemptible than the wretched bigots who published themes long ago on the
propriety of burning witches, or on the necessity for the offices of the Inquisition.
Whenever the Southern Confederacy shall achieve its
independence — no matter what its resources, its allies, or its aims — it will
have to stand face to face with civilized Europe on this question of slavery,
and the strength which it derived from the aegis of the Constitution — “the
league with the devil and covenant with Hell” — will be withered and gone.
I am well aware of the danger of drawing summary conclusions
off-hand from the windows of a railway, but there is also a right of sight
which exists under all circumstances, and so one can determine if a man's face
be dirty as well from a glance as if he inspected it for half an hour. For
instance, no one can doubt the evidence of his senses, when he sees from the
windows of the carriages that the children are bare-footed, shoeless,
stockingless — that the people who congregate at the wooden huts and grog-shops
of the stations are rude, unkempt, but great fighting material, too — that the
villages are miserable places, compared with the trim, snug settlements one saw
in New Jersey from the carriage windows. Slaves in the fields looked happy
enough — but their masters certainly were rough looking and uncivilized — and
the land was but badly cleared. But then we were traversing the least fertile
portions of the State — a recent acquirement — gained only one generation
since.
The train halted at a snug little wood-embowered restaurant,
surrounded by trellis and lattice-work, and in the midst of a pretty garden,
which presented a marked contrast to the “surroundings” we had seen. The
dinner, served by slaves, was good of its kind, and the charge not high. On
tendering the landlord a piece of gold for payment, he looked at it with
disgust, and asked, “Have you no Charleston money? No Confederate notes?” “Well,
no! Why do you object to gold?” “Well, do you see, I'd rather have our own
paper! I don't care to take any of the United States gold. I don't want their
stars and their eagles; I hate the sight of them.” The man was quite sincere —
my companion gave him notes of some South Carolina bank.
It was dark when the train reached Macon, one of the
principal cities of the State. We drove to the best hotel, but the regular time
for dinner hour was over, and that for supper not yet come. The landlord
directed us to a subterranean restaurant, in which were a series of crypts
closed in by dirty curtains, where we made a very extraordinary repast, served
by a half-clad little negress, who watched us at the meal with great interest
through the curtains — the service was of the coarsest description; thick
French earthenware, the spoons of pewter, the knives and forks steel or iron,
with scarce a pretext of being cleaned. On the doors were the usual warnings
against pickpockets, and the customary internal police regulations and ukases.
Pickpockets and gamblers abound in American cities, and thrive greatly at the
large hotels and the lines of railways.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 158-61
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