Strange True Stories of Louisiana
Page 50
V.
MARRIED.
_Friday, Jan. 24, 1862. (On steamboat W., Mississippi River.)_--With achanged name I open you once more, my journal. It was a sad time to wed,when one knew not how long the expected conscription would spare thebridegroom. The women-folk knew how to sympathize with a girl expected toprepare for her wedding in three days, in a blockaded city, and about togo far from any base of supplies. They all rallied round me with tokens oflove and consideration, and sewed, shopped, mended, and packed, as ifsewing soldier clothes. They decked the whole house and the church withflowers. Music breathed, wine sparkled, friends came and went. It seemed adream, and comes up now and again out of the afternoon sunshine where Isit on deck. The steamboat slowly plows its way through lumps of floatingice,--a novel sight to me,--and I look forward wondering whether the newpeople I shall meet will be as fierce about the war as those in NewOrleans. That past is to be all forgiven and forgotten; I understood thusthe kindly acts that sought to brighten the threshold of a new life.
_Feb. 15, 1862. (Village of X.)_--We reached Arkansas Landing atnightfall. Mr. Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up tohis residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candlesgave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with time,sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so stiff andstraight she looked like an ebony image. This was a large plantation; theY.'s knew H. very well, and were very kind and cordial in their welcomeand congratulations. Mrs. Y. apologized for continuing her work; the warhad pushed them this year in getting the negroes clothed, and she had tosew by dim candles, as they could obtain no more oil. She asked if therewere any new fashions in New Orleans.
Next morning we drove over to our home in this village. It is thecounty-seat, and was, till now, a good place for the practice of H.'sprofession. It lies on the edge of a lovely lake. The adjacent planterscount their slaves by the hundreds. Some of them live with a good deal ofmagnificence, using service of plate, having smoking-rooms for thegentlemen built off the house, and entertaining with great hospitality.The Baptists, Episcopalians, and Methodists hold services on alternateSundays in the court-house. All the planters and many others, near thelake shore, keep a boat at their landing, and a raft for crossing vehiclesand horses. It seemed very piquant at first, this taking our boat to govisiting, and on moonlight nights it was charming. The woods around arelovelier than those in Louisiana, though one misses the moaning of thepines. There is fine fishing and hunting, but these cotton estates are notso pleasant to visit as sugar plantations.
But nothing else has been so delightful as, one morning, my first sight ofsnow and a wonderful, new, white world.
_Feb. 27, 1862_.--The people here have hardly felt the war yet. There arebut two classes. The planters and the professional men form one; the verypoor villagers the other. There is no middle class. Ducks and partridges,squirrels and fish, are to be had. H. has bought me a nice pony, andcantering along the shore of the lake in the sunset is a panacea formental worry.