My faithful Wigfall was good enough to come in early, in
order to show me some comments on my letters in the “New York Times.” It
appears the papers are angry because I said that New York was apathetic when I
landed, and they try to prove I was wrong by showing there was a “glorious
outburst of Union feeling,” after the news of the fall of Sumter. But I now
know that the very apathy of which I spoke was felt by the Government of
Washington, and was most weakening and embarrassing to them. What would not the
value of “the glorious outburst” have been, had it taken place before the
Charleston batteries had opened on Sumter — when the Federal flag, for example,
was fired on, flying from the “Star of the West,” or when Beauregard cut off
supplies, or Bragg threatened Pickens, or the first shovel of earth was thrown
up in hostile battery? But no! New York was then engaged in discussing State
rights, and in reading articles to prove the new Government would be traitors
if they endeavored to reinforce the Federal forts, or were perusing leaders in
favor of the Southern Government. Haply, they may remember one, not so many
weeks old, in which the “NewYork Herald” compared Jeff Davis and his Cabinet to
the “Great Rail Splitter,” and Seward, and Chase, and came to the conclusion
that the former “were gentlemen” — (a matter of which it is quite incompetent
to judge) — “and would, and ought to succeed.” The glorious outburst of “Union
feeling” which threatened to demolish the “Herald” office, has created a most
wonderful change in the views of the proprietor, whose diverse-eyed vision is
now directed solely to the beauties of the Union, and whose faith is expressed
in “a hearty adhesion to the Government of our country.” New York must pay the
penalty of its indifference, and bear the consequences of listening to such
counsellors.
Mr. Deasy, much dilapidated, returned about twelve o'clock
from his planter, who was drunk when he went over, and would not let him go to
the beaver-dam. To console him, the planter stayed up all night drinking, and
waking him up at intervals, that he might refresh him with a glass of whiskey.
This man was well off, owned land, and a good-stock of slaves, but he must have
been a “mean white,” who had raised himself in the world. He lived in a
three-roomed wooden cabin, and in one of the rooms he kept his wife shut up
from the stranger's gaze. One of his negroes was unwell, and he took Deasy to
see him. The result of his examination was, “Nigger! I guess you won't live
more than an hour.” His diagnosis was quite correct.
Before my departure I had a little farewell levee — Mr.
Toombs, Mr. Browne, Mr. Benjamin, Mr. Walker, Major Deas, Col. Pickett, Major
Calhoun, Captain Ripley, and others — who were exceedingly kind with letters of
introduction and offers of service. Dined as usual on a composite dinner —
Southern meat and poultry bad — at three o'clock, and at four, P. M., drove
down to the steep banks of the Alabama River, where the castle-like hulk of the
“Southern Republic” was waiting to receive us. I bade good-by to Montgomery
without regret. The native people were not very attractive, and the city has
nothing to make up for their deficiency, but of my friends there I must always
retain pleasant memories, and, indeed, I hope some day I shall be able to keep
my promise to return and see more of the Confederate ministers and their chief.
The vessel was nothing more than a vast wooden house, of
three separate stories, floating on a pontoon which upheld the engine, with a
dining-hall or saloon on the second story surrounded by sleeping-berths, and a
nest of smaller rooms upstairs; on the metal roof was a “musical” instrument
called a “calliope,” played like a piano by keys, which acted on levers and
valves, admitting steam into metal cups, where it produced the requisite notes,
— high, resonant, and not unpleasing at a moderate distance. It is 417 miles to
Mobile; but at this season the steamer can maintain a good rate of speed, as
there is very little cotton or cargo to be taken on board at the landings, and the
stream is full.
The river is about 200 yards broad, and of the color of
chocolate and milk, with high, steep, wooded banks, rising so much above the
surface of the stream that a person on the upper deck of the towering “Southern
Republic” cannot get a glimpse of the fields and country beyond. High banks and
bluffs spring up to the height of 150 or even 200 feet above the river, the
breadth of which is so uniform as give the Alabama the appearance of a canal,
only relieved by sudden bends and rapid curves. The surface is covered with
masses of drift-wood, whole trees, and small islands of branches. Now and then
a sharp, black, fang-like projection standing stiffly in the current gives
warning of a snag, but the helmsman, who commands the whole course of the
river, from an elevated house amidships on the upper deck, can see these in
time; and at night pine-boughs are lighted in iron cressets at the bows to
illuminate the water.
The captain, who was not particular whether his name was
spelt Maher, or Meaher, or Meagher (les trots se disent), was evidently
a character, — perhaps a good one. One with a gray eye full of cunning and of
some humor, strongly marked features, and a very Celtic mouth of the Kerry
type. He soon attached himself to me, and favored me with some wonderful yarns,
which I hope he was not foolish enough to think I believed. One relating to a
wholesale destruction and massacre of Indians, he narrated with evident gusto.
Pointing to one of the bluffs, he said that, some thirty years ago, the whole
of the Indians in the district being surrounded by the whites, betook
themselves to that spot, and remained there without any means of escape, till
they were quite starved out. So they sent down to know if the whites would let
them go, and it was agreed that they should be permitted to move down the river
in boats. When the day came, and they were all afloat, the whites anticipated
the boat-massacre of Nana Sahib at Cawnpore, and destroyed the helpless red
skins. Many hundreds thus perished, and the whole affair was very much approved
of.
The value of land on the sides of this river is great, as it
yields nine to eleven bales of cotton to the acre, — worth £10 a bale at
present prices. The only evidences of this wealth to be seen by us consisted of
the cotton sheds on the top of the banks, and slides of timber, with steps at
each side down to the landings, so constructed that the cotton bales could be
shot down on board the vessel. These shoots and staircases are generally protected
by a roof of planks, and lead to unknown regions inhabited by niggers and their
masters, the latter all talking politics. They never will, never can be
conquered, — nothing on earth could induce them to go back into the Union. They
will burn every bale of cotton, and fire every house, and lay waste every field
and homestead, before they will yield to the Yankees. And so they talk through
the glimmering of bad cigars for hours.
The management of the boat is dexterous,— as she approaches
a landing-place, the helm is put hard over, to the screaming of the steam-pipe
and the wild strains of “Dixie” floating out of the throats of the calliope,
and as the engines are detached, one wheel is worked forward, and the other
backs water, so she soon turns head up stream, and is then gently paddled up to
the river bank, to which she is just kept up by steam — the plank is run
ashore, and the few passengers who are coming in or out are lighted on their
way by the flames of pine in an iron basket, swinging above the bow by a long
pole. Then we see them vanishing into black darkness up the steps, or coming
down clearer and clearer till they stand in the full blaze of the beacon which
casts dark shadows on the yellow water. The air is glistening with fire-flies,
which dot the darkness with specks and points of flame, just as sparks fly
through the embers of tinder or half-burnt paper.
Some of the landings were by far more important than others.
There were some, for example, where an iron railroad was worked down the bank
by windlasses for hoisting up goods; others where the negroes half-naked leaped
ashore, and rushing at piles of firewood, tossed them on board to feed the
engine, which, all uncovered and open to the lower deck lighted up the darkness
by the glare from the stoke-holes, which cried forever, “Give, give!” as the
negroes ceaselessly thrust the pine-beams into their hungry maws. I could understand
how easily a steamer can “burn up,” and how hopeless escape would be under such
circumstances. The whole framework of the vessel is of the lightest resinous
pine, so raw that the turpentine oozes out through the paint; the hull is a
mere shell. If the vessel once caught fire, all that could be done would be to
turn her round, and run her to the bank, in the hope of holding there long
enough to enable the people to escape into the trees; but if she were not near
a landing, many must be lost; as the bank is steep down, the vessel cannot be
run aground; and in some places the trees are in eight and ten feet of water. A
few minutes would suffice to set the vessel in a blaze from stem to stern; and
if there were cotton on board, the bales would burn almost like powder. The
scene at each landing was repeated, with few variations, ten times till we
reached Selma, 110 miles distance, at 11.30 at night.
Selma, which is connected with the Tennessee and Mississippi
rivers by railroad, is built upon a steep, lofty bluff, and the lights in the
windows, and the lofty hotels above us, put me in mind of the old town of
Edinburgh, seen from Prince's Street. Beside us there was a huge storied wharf,
so that our passengers could step on shore from any deck they pleased. Here Mr.
Deasy, being attacked by illness, became alarmed at the idea of continuing his
journey without any opportunity of medical assistance, and went on shore.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 182-6
