According to promise, the inmates of Mr. Burnside's house
proceeded to pay a visit to-day to the plantation of Mr. M’Call, who lives at
the other side of the river some ten or twelve miles away. Still the same
noiseless plantations, the same oppressive stillness, broken only by the
tolling of the bell which summons the slaves to labor, or marks the brief
periods of its respite! Whilst waiting for the ferryboat, we visited Dr.
Cotmann, who lives in a snug house near the levee, for, hurried as we were, ’twould
nevertheless have been a gross breach of etiquette to have passed his doors;
and I was not sorry for the opportunity of making the acquaintance of a lady so
amiable as his wife, and of seeing a face with tender, pensive eyes, serene
brow, and lovely contour, such as Guido or Greuse would have immortalized, and
which Miss Cotmann, in the seclusion of that little villa on the banks of the
Mississippi, scarcely seemed to know, would have made her a beauty in any
capital in Europe.
The Doctor is allowed to rave on about his Union
propensities and political power, as Mr. Petigru is permitted to indulge in
similar vagaries in Charleston, simply because he is supposed to be helpless.
There is, however, at the bottom of the Doctor's opposition to the prevailing
political opinion of the neighborhood, a jealousy of acres and slaves, and a
sentiment of animosity to the great seigneurs and slave-owners, which actuate
him without his being aware of their influence. After a halt of an hour in his
house, we crossed in the ferry to Donaldsonville, where, whilst we were waiting
for the carriages, we heard a dialogue between some drunken Irishmen and some
still more inebriated Spaniards in front of the public-house at hand. The
Irishmen were going off to the wars, and were endeavoring in vain to arouse the
foreign gentlemen to similar enthusiasm; but, as the latter were resolutely
sitting in the gutter, it became necessary to exert eloquence and force to get
them on their legs to march to the head-quarters of the Donaldsonville
Chasseurs. “For the love of the Virgin and your own soul’s sake, Fernandey, get
up and cum along wid us to fight the Yankees.” “Josey, are you going to let us
be murdered by a set of damned Protestins and rascally niggers?” “Gomey, my
darling, get up; it’s eleven dollars a month, and food and everything found.
The boys will mind the fishing for you, and we'll come back as rich as Jews.”
What success attended their appeals I cannot tell, for the
carriages came round, and, having crossed a great bayou which runs down into an
arm of the Mississippi near the sea, we proceeded on our way to Mr. M’Call’s
plantation, which we reached just as the sun was sinking into the clouds of
another thunder-storm.
The more one sees of a planter's life the greater is the
conviction that its charms come from a particular turn of mind, which is
separated by a wide interval from modern ideas in Europe. The planter is a
denomadized Arab; — he has fixed himself with horses and slaves in a fertile
spot, where he guards his women with Oriental care, exercises patriarchal sway,
and is at once fierce, tender, and hospitable. The inner life of his household
is exceedingly charming, because one is astonished to find the graces and
accomplishments of womanhood displayed in a scene which has a certain sort of
savage rudeness about it after all, and where all kinds of incongruous
accidents are visible in the service of the table, in the furniture of the
house, in its decorations, menials, and surrounding scenery.
It was late in the evening when the party returned to
Donaldsonville; and when we arrived at the other side of the bayou there were
no carriages, so that we had to walk on foot to the wharf where Mr. Burnside's
boats were supposed to be waiting — the negro ferry-man having long since
retired to rest. Under any circumstances a march on foot through an unknown
track covered with blocks of timber and other impedimenta which represented the
road to the ferry, could not be agreeable; but the recent rains had converted
the ground into a sea of mud filled with holes, with islands of planks and
beams of timber, lighted only by the stars — and then this in dress trousers
and light boots!
We plunged, struggled, and splashed till we reached the
levee, where boats there were none; and so Mr. Burnside shouted up and down the
river, so did Mr. Lee, and so did Mr. Ward and all the others, whilst I sat on
a log affecting philosophy and indifference, in spite of tortures from
mosquitoes innumerable, and severe bites from insects unknown.
The city and river were buried in darkness; the rush of the
stream which is sixty feet deep near the banks, was all that struck upon the
ear in the intervals of the cries, “Boat ahoy!” “Ho! Batelier!” and sundry
ejaculations of a less regular and decent form. At length a boat did glide out
of the darkness, and the man who rowed it stated he had been waiting all the
time up the bayou, till by mere accident he came down to the jetty, having
given us up for the night. In about half an hour we were across the river, and
had per force another interview with Dr. Cotmann, who regaled us with his best
in story and in wine till the carriages were ready, and we drove back to Mr.
Burnside's, only meeting on the way two mounted horsemen with jingling arms,
who were, we were told, the night patrol; — of their duties I could, however,
obtain no very definite account.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 284-6
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