But to return to our voyage down the river.
On nearing Memphis we were advised by
the officers of the boat that we might expect
a hailing shot from the batteries just above
the city. And sure enough it came right across
our bows. We ran in shore, and, of course,
were startled into a new and strange feeling, as
yet inexplicable, because so un-American, and
contrary to the hitherto free experience of
American travelers on their own waters or their
own soil. Was it for amusement or a farcical burlesque
on the governments of the Old World?
Or was it ominous of that fearful struggle of blood
which afterward rent the country for four long
years? Events have since shown that "Coming
events cast their shadows before."
After a few hours' detention we passed on
down the river; but as we reached Vicksburg
again we heard the booming of cannon as a
signal to again tie up, be overhauled and show
our "manifest." After that we were graciously
permitted to pass all points without further molestation;
for the reason, we suppose, that having
passed the upper points of cannonized
salutations, and thereby cleansed of all suspicion
of being or carrying "contraband of war," it was
unnecessary to waste any more powder on us.
So we reached the Crescent City in peace and
safety; when, for the first time, we looked upon
its six miles or more of wharves, literally piled
with cotton and corn, and other products of both
North and South, and merchandise from Europe
and the Atlantic cities by the ten thousand
packages, and there were scores of steamboats,
flatboats, and other crafts discharging their
cargoes.
In the free play of imagination one was reminded
of the account of the ancient provision
of the Egyptian monarch, made under the prophetic
direction and supervising genius of the
virtuous and immaculate Joseph, against the
seven years' famine. And as one stood there,
on the hurricane-deck, or "texas," of some immense
steamer, and looked up and down, over
and around those crescent-laid wharves, one
was moved to ask in wonder, whence and for
what these immense and almost endless stores
of sugar, molasses, flour, pork, corn, potatoes,
fruits, etc., and what mean these dense masses
of earnest-looking people, hurrying to and fro
on the streets. Ah! it is the 21st day of January,
1861, and the next day was fraught with
the momentous and grave issues of an election
on the question of secession. The flags of all
civilized nations were floating in all parts of the
city, except the "Stars and Stripes;" and among
them was most conspicuously displayed the
"Rattlesnake" flag of Louisiana; and one could
but feel it was a fit emblem of the occasion, and
of the spirit of some of the people. One gentleman
told us that though he had been a
resident of the city for many years, and sympathized
with Southern grievances, yet when he
saw the flag of the Union trailed in the dust,
and put out of sight, and the Rattlesnake of
Louisiana hung up in its place on the Custom
House, he cried like a child, and somehow felt
as though the world was being buried and he
was attending the funeral.
Demoralized! and for a change,
Unseen by friend or foe, unknown
Among the throng where all were strange,
No harm to us, to others none.
Thus reas'ning fancy held the sway,
As did the de'l in Adam's day:
And so "Varieties" that night
We saw—and "Little Dot" so bright.
We saw "The Cricket on the Hearth,"
And heard it sing in joyous mirth,
And heard it till it sang no more,
Because the fire got low, and low'r,
In "John's" poor heart, and on the floor,
And dying embers ashes bore,
And cold crept in through cracks and door,
And cricket hid where 'twas before.
Then tyrant conscience smote the charm!
But sense replied: Why where's the harm?
'Tis better thus to spend our time
Than to be caught in bigger crime.
Another blow! the festive craft
Of sense careen'd, and shipp'd a draught
Of drowning waters o'er the deck,
But mercy came and sav'd the wreck.
The conscience only knows the law;
And lashes with it rough and raw,
While sense plays with it, sly bo-peep,
Nor will its orders always keep.
Mandamus on mandamus comes
From court by conscience kept and run,
The devil serves process in tones
That scare poor sense and spoil its fun.
That night in sweet "Varieties"
Were many thund'ring consciences;
But still bewitching play went on,
And righted misapprehension.
Sweet truth, but not in monkish mood,
Came out, and in free tresses stood;
She gave the bowl of blood to law,
Without a kiss, the people saw,
But turn'd to mercy all in tears,
Embrac'd and kiss'd, then fled the fears.
Thus shriv'd by truth and grace in one,
The play grew brighter till 'twas done.
With mingled hope and fear we thought
That "John" might lose his "Little Dot,"
For "Tackleton," both mean and dried,
His jeal'sy hard to stir he tried.
"The barn, dear John, she's there, she's there,
With that young 'Salt' from o'er the sea;
He's handsome tho', it is but fair
To own, but so much worse for thee.
His nut-brown hair, his hazel eyes,
His form, and feature, and his size,
Look just like hers, as near as can
The charms of woman and of man.
They stroll together everywhere,
Now 'mong the orchard trees they are,
Now in the deep and secret grove,
Beyond all eyes save One above.
He plots, dear John, against thy heart,
And seeks her life from thine to part.
Roll back the tide of coming woe!
See! do! ere it's too late to do!
Woman's a name for falsity,
A dark and deep immensity
Of mystery—who can explain?
I trust her not—she's made in vain!"
All eyes and ears were open wide,
As John and Tack stood side by side,
One's face was written o'er with self,
And one with honor's soul itself.
"Old Tack, thou puritanic wretch!"
Said John, "Thy neck deserves to stretch!
Thou lying fiend! How dar'st thou blot
The honor of my little Dot,
With lies from out thy lying throat,
Each lie a mountain from a mote?
I'll brain thee (raised fist) if thou don't repent
And send thee where thou should'st be sent!
D'ye hear!" "Yes, Sir, distinctly, Sir,
I hear, I hear," whin'd the old cur,
"Don't strike me, John, for I'm a priest,
Nor treat me as you would a beast."
Now John look'd out upon the lawn
And spied his little Dot with one
In sailor jacket short, not long,
Come tripping on with flow'rs and song.
The raven flapp'd his wings but once—that's all,
The pair were in the cottage hall;
The skylark rose, went up the sky,
And sung: "Dot's brother's home to live and die."
The play was done and love remain'd;
The union was preserved, tho' strained
By tests of slander, malice, hate,
Its strength was prov'd too much, too great.
And here a moral lesson came,
An emblem of our country's life;
And as the sequel showed, the same
As harmony 'twixt man and wife.
Now Uncle Sam, like Brigham Young, you know,
Had many wives, say thirty or so,
And Lou'si Ann would snap the Fed'ral band,
And let the Young Confed'rate take her hand.
Her children were Frenchy, fickle and warm,
And held a grand pow-wow in the wigwam;
They solemnly said their mother should wed
The young suitor, and leave the old man's bed.
But we waited not to witness the lot
Of the old and the new, but left the spot,
Our way to pursue, tho' clouds made us rue
Leaving the old for the strange and the new.