Overland Tales

by Josephine Clifford

  _TO TEXAS, AND BY THE WAY._

  I had not seen New Orleans since I was eight years of age, and to TexasI had never been; so I was well pleased with the prospect of visitingthe southern country. To one coming direct from California, overland byrail, it seems like entering a different world--a world that has beenlying asleep for half a century--when the great "pan-handle" route isleft to one side, and Louisville once passed. Though we know that thecountry was not asleep--only held in fetters by the hideous nightmare,Civil War--I doubt if the general condition of things would have been ina more advanced state of prosperity if the old order of affairs hadremained unchanged, as the march of improvement seems naturally to lagin these languid, dreamy-looking southern lands.

  The line between the North and the South seems very sharply drawn inmore respects than one. We were scarcely well out of Louisville beforedelays and stoppages commenced; and though the country was pleasantenough to look at in the bright, fall days, it was not necessary to stopfrom noon till nightfall in one place, to fully enjoy the pleasure.Another drawback to this pleasure was the reliance we had placed on thestatement of the railroad agent, who told us it was quite unnecessary tocarry a lunch-basket "on this route." Since we had found a lunch-basket,if not really cumbersome, at least not at all indispensable, fromSacramento to Omaha, we saw no reason why we should drag it with usthrough a civilized country, and consequently suffered the penalty ofbelieving what a railroad ticket-agent said. In another section of thesame sleeping-car with us was a party who had been wiser than we, andhad brought loads of provisions with them. No wonder: they wereSoutherners, and had learned not to depend on the infallibility of theirpeculiar institutions.

  The head of the party was a little lady of twenty-five or thirty years,with pale, colorless face, and perfectly bloodless lips. I should havegone into all sorts of wild speculations about her--should have fanciedhow a sudden, dread fright had chased all the rosy tints from her lipsback to her heart, during some terrible incident of the war; or how thenews, too rashly told, of some near, dear friend stricken down by thefatal bullet, had curdled the red blood in her veins, and turned it toice before it reached her cheeks--had she not been so vigorous andincessant a scold. Now it was the French waiting-maid to whom sheadministered a long, bitter string of cutting rebukes, while theunfortunate girl was lacing up my lady's boots; next it was her youngersister--whom she was evidently bringing home from school--whose lips shemade to quiver with her sharp words; and then, for a change, the mulattoservant was summoned, by the well-scolded waiting-maid, to receive hisportion of the sweets meted out. An ugly thing she was, and so differentfrom the Southern lady I had met in the hotel at Louisville--one of themost beautiful women I have ever seen--whose grace nothing could exceedas she handed me a basket of fruit across the table, when one glance hadtold her that I was a stranger and tired out with the heat and travel.

  But, in spite of what I have said, I must confess that I accepted thesandwiches the little scold sent us, for the supper-station was notreached till eleven o'clock at night. As the conductor promised usanother good, long rest here, the gentlemen left the ladies in the cars,and returned after some time, followed by a number of negroes, whocarried a variety of provisions and divers cups of coffee. I thought,of course, that it was luncheon brought from some house established atthe station for that purpose; but was told that the chicken the mulattoboy was spreading before us had been abstracted from his massa'shen-yard, and that the eggs the old negro was selling us had not by anymeans grown in his garden. Only the coffee, which was sold attwenty-five cents a cup, was a legitimate speculation on the part ofsome white man (I am sure his forefathers were from the State of Maine),who went shares with the negro peddling it, and charged him a dollar forevery cup that was broken or carried off on the cars, which accountedfor the sable Argus' reluctance to leave our party till we had allswallowed the black decoction and returned the cups.

  We were to take dinner at Holly Springs, some time next day; and it_was_ "some time" before we got there, sure enough. We had picked up anearly breakfast somewhere on the road, and when the dinner-bell rang atthe hotel as the cars stopped, we did not lose much time in making ourway to the dining-room. The door, however, was locked, and we stoodbefore it like a drove of sheep, some hundred or two people. Through thewindow we could see mine host, in shirt-sleeves and with dirty, mattedbeard, leisurely surveying the crowd outside; in the yard, and on theporch near us, stood some barefooted negroes, with dish-cloth and napkinin hand, staring with all their might at train and passengers, as thoughthey were lost in speechless wonder that they should really have come.In the party with us was a Californian, some six feet high, who, thougha Southerner by birth, had lived too long in California to submitpatiently to the delay and inconvenience caused by the "shiftlessness"of the people hereabouts.

  "Now, you lazy lopers," he called to the darkies, swinging the hugewhite-oak stick he carried for a cane, "get inside to your work. And ifthat door ain't opened in five seconds from now, I'll break it down withmy stick."

  He drew his watch; and, either because of his determined voice, or histowering figure, the darkies flew into the kitchen, and the landlordsprang to open the door, while the crowd gave a hearty cheer for the bigCalifornian.

  New Orleans seemed familiar to me; I thought I could remember wholestreets there that I had passed through, as a little child, clinging tothe hand of my father--himself an emigrant, and looking on all thestrange things around him with as much wonder as the two little girls hewas leading through the town. How it came back to me! the slave-market,and the bright-faced mulatto girl, hardly bigger than myself, who sobegged of my father to buy her and take her home with him, so that shecould play with and wait on us. There was nothing shocking to me, Iregret to say, in seeing this laughing, chattering lot of black humanityexposed for sale, though my good father doubtlessly turned away with agroan, when he reflected on what he had left behind him, in the oldfatherland, to come to a country where there were liberty and equalrights for all. I can fancy now what he must have felt when he spoke tothe little woolly-head, in his sharp, accentuated dialect, which hisadmirers called "perfect English," as he passed his hand over her cheekand looked into her face with his great, kind eyes. He said he hadbrought his children to a free country, where they could learn to workfor themselves, and carve out their own fortunes; and where they mustlearn to govern themselves, and not govern others.

  Day after day, on foot or in carriage, we rambled through the streets,and I never addressed a single question to the driver or any of theparty, satisfied with what information accidentally fell on myhalf-closed ear. I was living over again one of the dreams of my earlydays: the dream I had dreamed over again so often, among the snows ofthe biting, cold Missouri winter, and on the hot, dusty plains ofArizona, amid the curses of those famishing with thirst and the groansof the strong men dying from the fierce stroke of the unrelenting sun.Passing through the parks and by the marketplaces, I saw again the negrowomen, with yellow turbans and white aprons, offering for sale all thetempting tropical fruits which foreigners so crave, and still dread. AndI thought I saw again the white, untutored hands of my father, as helaboriously prepared seats for us in the deepest shade of the park, anddealt out to us the coveted orange and banana. The cool, deliciousfruit, and the picture of flowers and trees in the park; the black,kindly faces of the negro servants, and the laughing, white-cladchildren at play--how often I had seen them again in my dreams on thedesert!

  Canal street looked lonely and deserted, as did the stores and shopslining either side of the broad, aristocratic street. The material for agay, fashionable promenade was all there; only the people were wantingto make it such. True, there were groups occasionally to be seen at thecounters of the shops, but in most such cases a black, shining faceprotruded from under the jaunty little bonnet, perched on a mass ofwool, augmented and enlarged by additional sheep's-wool, dyed black. Oneof these groups dispersed suddenly one day, vacating the store with allthe signs of th
e highest, strongest indignation. The tactlessstorekeeper, who had not yet quite comprehended the importance andstanding of these useful members of society, had unwittingly offended anancient, black dame. She had asked to see some silks, and the shopkeeperhad very innocently remarked, "Here, aunty, is something very nice foryou."

  "I wish to deform you, sir," replied Aunt Ebony, bridling, "that my nameis Miss Johnson." With this she seized her parasol and marched out ofthe store, followed by her whole retinue, rustling their silks, inhighest dudgeon.

  On my way to the ferry, when leaving New Orleans for Texas, I sawsomething that roused all the "Southern" feeling in me. Two coloredpolicemen were bullying a white drayman, near the Custom-house. I mustconfess I wanted to jump out, shake them well, take their clubs fromthem, and throw them into the Mississippi (the clubs, I mean, not theprecious "niggers"). What my father would have said, could he have seenit, I don't know; the grass had long grown over his grave, and coveredwith pitying mantle the scars that disappointments and a hopelessstruggle to accomplish purposes, aimed all too high, leave on everyheart.

  As the cars carried us away from the city, and gave us glimpses of thecalm water, and the villas, and orange-groves beyond, there came to me,once more,

  "The tender grace of a day that is dead."

  It was just a soft, balmy day as this, years ago, when we lay all daylong in a bayou, where the water was smooth and clear as a mirror, andthe rich grass came down to the water's edge; and through the grove oforange and magnolia, the golden sunlight sifted down on the white wallsand slender pillars of the planter's cottage. Stalwart negroes sangtheir plaintive melodies as they leisurely pursued their occupation, andbirds, brighter in plumage than our cold, German fatherland could evershow us, were hovering around the field and fluttering among the growingcotton.

  The graceful villa was still there, and the glassy waters still asdeath; but the villa was deserted, and the rose running wild overmagnolia-tree and garden-path; the cotton-field lay waste, and thenegro's cabin was empty, while the shrill cry of the gay-feathered birdsalone broke the silence that had hopelessly settled on the plantation.Farther on, I saw the cypress-forests and the swamps, and I fancied thatthe trees had donned their gray-green shrouds of moss because of thedeep mourning that had come over the land. The numberless little bayouswe crossed were black as night, as though the towering trees and thetangled greenwood, under which they crawled along, had filled them withtheir bitter tears. But the sun shone so brightly overhead, that I shookoff my dark fancies, particularly when my eyes fell on the plump, whiteneck and rounded cheeks of the lady in the seat before me. I had noticedher at the hotel in New Orleans, where I recognized her at once as abride, though she had abstained, with singularly good taste, fromwearing any of the articles of dress outwardly marking the character. Ihoped, secretly, that I might become acquainted with her before thejourney ended, for there was something irresistibly charming to me inher pleasant face and unaffected manner. My wish was soon gratified; forthe very first alligator that came lazily swimming along in the nextbayou so filled her with wonder, that she quickly turned in her seat andcalled my attention to it. Soon came another alligator, and another; andsome distance below was a string of huge turtles, ranged, according tosize, on an old log. As something gave way about the engine at thistime, we could make comments on the turtle family at our leisure; andwhen the cars moved on again, we felt as though we had known each otherfor the last ten years.

  I cannot think of a day's travel I have ever enjoyed better than theride from New Orleans to Brashear. The dry, dusty roads and witheredvegetation I had left behind me in California, made the trees and greenundergrowth look so much more pleasant to me. The ugly swamp was hiddenby the bright, often poisonous, flowers it produces; and though thedilapidated houses and ragged people we saw were not a cheerful reliefto the landscape, it was not so gloomy as it would have been under alowering sky or on a barren plain.

  A steamer of the Morgan line, comfortable and pleasant as ever a steamercan be, carried us to Galveston--a place I had pictured to myself asmuch larger and grander. But the hotel--though my room did happen tolook out on the county jail--was well kept; and some of the streetslooked like gardens, from the oleander-trees lining them on either side.The trees were in full blossom, and they gave a very pleasant appearanceto the houses, in front of which they stood. Some few of these houseslooked like a piece of fairyland: nothing could have been built inbetter taste, nothing could be kept in more perfect order. Too many ofthem, however, showed the signs of decay and ruin, that speak to us withthe mute pathos of nerveless despair from almost every object in theSouth. We planned a ride on the beach for the next day, which we allenjoyed, in spite of the somewhat fresh breeze that sprung up. The bridewas anxious to gather up and carry home a lot of "relics"--a wish thebridegroom endeavored to gratify by hunting up on the strand a deadcrab, a piece of ship-timber, and the wreck of a fisherman's net.Discovering that the driver was a German, I held converse with him inhis native tongue, which had the pleasing effect of his bringing tolight, from under the sand, a lot of pretty shells, which the delightedlittle bride carried home with her.

  The following day we started for Houston. Eight o'clock had beenmentioned as the starting hour of the train for that locality, but thelandlord seemed to think we were hurrying unnecessarily when we enteredthe carriage at half-past seven. There was no waiting-room at thestarting-point that I could see, and we entered the cars, which stood ina very quiet part of the town (not that there was the least noise orbustle in any part of it), and seemed to serve as sitting anddining-rooms for passengers, who seemed to act generally as if theyexpected to stay there for the day. But we left Galveston somewheretoward noon, and since we were all good-natured people, and had becomepretty well accustomed to the speed of the Southern railroads, wereally, in a measure, enjoyed the trip. The people in the cars--many ofthe women with calico sun-bonnets on their heads, and the men in coarsebutternut cloth--reminded me of the Texan emigrants one meets with inNew Mexico and Arizona, where they drag their "weary length" alongthrough the sandy plains with the same stolid patience the passengersexhibited here, listlessly counting the heads of cattle that our trainpicked up at the different stations on the road. The wide, green plainslooked pleasant enough, but I wanted to stop at the little badly-builthouses, and earnestly advise the inhabitants to plant trees on theirhomesteads, as the best means of imparting to them the air of "home,"which they were all so sadly lacking. The cattle roaming through thecountry looked gaunt and comfortless--like the people and theirhabitations.

  Night crept on apace; and though I have forgotten (if I ever knew) whatthe cause of delay happened to be, I know that we did not reach Houstontill some five or six hours later than the train was due. I wasagreeably surprised to find vehicles at the depot, waiting to carrypassengers to the different hotels. Our hotel-carriage was an oldomnibus, with every pane of glass broken out; and the opposition hotelwas represented by a calash, with the top torn off and the dashboardleft out. Still more agreeable was the surprise I met with in the hotelitself--a large, handsome, well-furnished house, giving evidence inevery department of what it had been in former days. Before the war, thestep of the legislator had resounded in the lofty corridor, and theplanter and statesman had met in the wide halls, bringing with themlife, and wealth, and social enjoyment to the proud little city. Now,alas! the corridors were cheerless in their desolation, and the grandparlors looked down coldly on the few people gathered there. Theproprietor had years ago lived in California; and of this he seemedunreasonably proud, as something that everybody could not accomplish.His wife was a Southern woman, and had not yet learned to look withequanimity upon the undeniable fact that her husband was keeping ahotel. I am sure that she had no reason to deplore the loss of herhusband's wealth and slaves on that account; for both she and herhusband were people who would have been respected in any part of theworld, even if they had _not_ kept hotel.

  In the midst of a hot, sultry day, a fierce
norther sprang up, chillingus to the bone, and causing us to change our original intention ofremaining here for some time. The bride, too, and her husband, werewilling to return to a more civilized country at an early day. Togetherwe went back, and were greeted at the hotel we had stopped in, and bypeople on the steamer, as pleasantly as though we were in the habit ofpassing that way at least once a month. At New Orleans we parted, thenew husband and wife returning to St. Louis, while I retraced my stepsto Louisville, _en route_ to New York.

  In the cars I was soon attracted by the appearance of a lady andgentleman--evidently brother and sister--accompanied by an elderly negrowoman. The gentleman seemed in great distress of mind, and the lady wastrying to speak comfort to his troubled spirits. The negro woman wouldgaze longingly out of the window, shading her eyes with her hand, andthen stealthily draw her apron over her cheeks, as though the heatannoyed her. But I knew she was crying, and the sobs she tried torepress would sometimes almost choke the honest old negro. The trainwent so slow--so slow; and the gentleman paced nervously up and down,whenever the cars stopped on the way.

  Great sorrow, like great joy, always seeks for sympathy; and in a shorttime I knew the agony of the father, who was counting every second thatmust pass before he could reach the bedside of his dying child. Ayoung, strong maiden, she had been sent by the widowed father to aconvent, in the neighborhood of Louisville, there to receive theexcellent training of the sisters of the school. Stricken down suddenlywith some disease, they had immediately informed the father bytelegraph; and he, with his sister, and Phrony, the old nurse of thegirl, had taken the next train that left New Orleans. Both he and hisfather had been prominent secessionists, had been wellnigh ruined by thewar, and had hoarded what little they could save from the common wreck,only for this daughter--and now she was dying. So slowly moved thetrain! Hour after hour the brother paced up and down the narrow space inthe cars, while the sister poured into my ears the tale of his hopes andfears, their wretchedness and their perseverance during the war, andhow, in all they had done and left undone, the best interests of Eugeniahad been consulted and considered. The negro woman had crouched down atour feet, and was swaying back and forth with the slow motion of thecars, giving vent to her long pent up grief, and sobbing in bitternessof heart: "Oh, Miss Anne! Miss Anne! why didn't you let me go with mychile?"

  To make full the cup of misery, we were informed next morning that ourtrain would stop just where it was till six o'clock in the evening, whensome other train would come along and carry us on. I don't think thatthe colonel (the father) did any swearing, but I fear that some of theCalifornians who were of our party did more than their share. Going tothe nearest station, he telegraphed the cause of his delay to thesisters of the convent, and then waited through the intolerably longday. At nightfall the train moved on, slowly, slowly, creeping intoLouisville at last, in the dull, cold, dismal day. Snow-flakes werefalling in the gray atmosphere, settling for a moment on the ragged,shivering trees, ere they fluttered, half dissolved, to the muddyground. The wind rose in angry gusts now and again, whirling about theflakes, and trying to rend the murky clouds asunder, as though jealousof the drizzling fog that attempted to take possession of the earth.

  Breathlessly the colonel inquired for dispatches at the hotel. Yes; hischild still lived! A buggy was ready, awaiting them at the door, and thebrother and sister drove off, leaving Phrony to take possession of theirrooms. I can never forget the heart-broken look of Phrony when the buggyvanished from sight.

  "You see," said I, "there was no room in the buggy for you. If they hadwaited to engage a carriage, they might have been too late."

  "Yes, Miss," said Phrony, absently, and turned away.

  Toward the close of the day, when already hooded and cloaked for theonward journey, I was informed that Eugenia was dead: her father hadreceived but her parting breath. The dispatch was sent for theinformation of those who had shown such sympathy for the grief-strickenfather. I stepped over to the colonel's rooms, where I knew Phrony was.She was sitting on a little trunk by the fire, with her apron over herhead, and her body bent forward.

  "Then you know it, Phrony?" I asked.

  "Yes, yes; knowed it all along, Miss. Hadn't never no one to take careof her but her old mammy! Oh, my chile! my chile! my little chile! Andshe's done gone died, without her mammy! Oh, my chile! my chile!"

  I tried to speak kindly to her, but my sobs choked me. I looked out ofthe window, but there was no light there. The snow was falling to theground in dogged, sullen silence, and the wind, as though tired out withlong, useless resistance, only moaned fitfully at times, when clamoringvainly for admission at the closed windows.

  Was it not well with the soul just gone to rest? Was it not better withher than with us--with me--who must still wander forth again, out intothe snow, and the cold, and the night?

  "Oh, my chile! my chile!" sobbed the woman, so black of face, but trueof heart; "if I could only have died, and gone to heaven, and left youwith Massa Harry! Oh, Miss Anne! Miss Anne! what made you take my chileaway from me?"

  "It is only for a little while that you will be parted from her,Phrony," I said.

  "Bress de Lord! Yes, I'll soon be with my little chile again. But she'sdead now, and I can't never see her no more. Oh, my chile! my chile!"

  I closed the door softly, for I heard the warning cry of the coachmanwho was to take us to the outgoing train.