April 2, 1863, Daily Mississippian (Jackson, Mississippi)
We are indebted to the courtesy of Judge Tucker for the use of the following clever letter which was intended for his paper:
En Route to Arkansas,
March 23d, 1863.
Dear Judge: We are now on board the good steamer “Twilight,” shoving our way through the water, wind and rain up the Ouachita river. It seems several weeks ago since the officer, soldiers, wagons, horses, mules and deadheads belonging to General Price’s headquarters left Jackson, on their way to the trans-Mississippi department. Many of us (the soldiers I mean, not the mules or deadheads,) left with feelings of much regret, for during our stay in Jackson our lines had fallen to us in pleasant places; kind friends had shown unto us those hospitalities which are appreciated by none so highly as the soldier, and associations of the most pleasant nature had been formed–and these had to be severed. But the command was given, we were compelled to leave, and there was no help for it. Just before leaving some five or six of us went down the street to procure something stronger than water in which to toast the health and happiness of our fair acquaintances in and around Jackson, but the “shebang” being closed we failed in our endeavors. We knew not what to do, when just then a contraband came along with pies for sale. The relief so opportunely offered was accepted, and instead of drinking a toast we each ate a whole pie to the happiness of the fair ones aforesaid. This was the best would could do, and it showed at least a will if not a way.
And O, what roads we had on that road from Jackson to Natchez! Some correspondents would attempt to tell you what sort of a country we came through; I remember nothing about it except that it was mud all the way until within twenty-five or thirty miles of Natchez, and the reason the mud failed then was that there was not enough dirt in those sand hills, for ten miles along, to make a respectable mud hole, no matter how well mixed.
Our first day out from your city was principally spent in trying to find the road, which for several days back had been lost in the mud. We found several roads, but each of them ran either up a tree, or into a swamp impenetrable to anything but bullfrogs and water moccasins, or over the bank of a creek ten feet high (the bank, I mean.) At last we sent out scouts on horses and deployed the infantry (pars magna fui) on stilts to find a road, and at last the road was found. After much fussing and cussing the teams were all put into it, and just as we had got fairly started and were congratulating ourselves at finding any road at all in such a country, we were brought to a full stop by finding that a bridge across some big creek had most unmercifully smashed all to pieces by a big tree falling across it. Well, we didn’t exactly contract for such work, but we did the only thing plausible in the dilemma, which was to set to work and make a new one. So Hinds county can put herself down as debtor to us for one new bridge, which I am very certain did not last long enough to get old. While we were at work on this concern, a friend of mine was the perpetrator, of a most horrible conundrum. “L,” said he, “what’s the difference between this road and the McAdamized roads of St. Louis county?” L. immediately commenced enumerating a good many very perceptible contrasts between the two roads. “The peculiar difference,” said he, “is, that in the one case you rode over a bridge, while here you bridge over a road!!!” The uncertainty of justice these war times was all that saved him from instant arrest.
But at last, in spite of mud, and sand, and broken-down wagons, and lame mules, and sore back horses, and dead heads (worst and most intolerable evil of all) we arrived before sun up one Saturday morning, at the beautiful and hospitable city of Natchez. Hospitable I say, for so it most truly appeared to us. We remained there, many of us, until the next Sunday afternoon, and during that time all that the kindness and attention of the soldier’s best earthly friend, the ladies, could do to make the time pass pleasantly, was most cheerfully done; and though we came there as strangers, yet we found many friends, and every house whose portals we entered proved a home to us.
In the afternoon “Hickman’s Missouri Cornet Band” discussed some of their soul stirring music to a “large and appreciative audience” assembled at the promenade on the bluff. Such an assemblage of beauty was there as your correspondent has not before seen since entering upon his career as a rebel. And there were so many of them, the whole city seemed to have sent forth its fair ones. Imagine my surprise, then, when I was told by a very charming young lady, after having bestowed compliments upon the performance of the band, which would have made the ears of Capt. Hickman tingle, had he heard them, that she regretted very much that there were “so few ladies out; had it only have been generally known that Gen. Price’s band had been going to play at that time, quite a number of ladies would have been present!” Natchez must be rich in regard to ladies (and what greater treasure can a Southern city have?) as are the heavens above us of the starry jewels of the night. How we regretted it when the time came for us to leave! I can only wonder that we got away at all! Many a poor fellow amongst us has left his heart back there; he didn’t intend to, but, in truth, he couldn’t help himself. “Yours ever” in all probability, would have been in the same fix, had he not been in the condition of the Irishman who was asked if he had not lost his hat–”the devil a one had I to loose.”
Natchez! we will ever remember thee. Refreshing oasis in the weary desert of our solider life, even now our brief stay among thy hospitable people seems but the ideal pleasure of a dream. Thy sunny smiles, and beauty, and music, and sweet flowers are embalmed in memory; and when it is our good fortune to return to our homes, we shall tell among the pleasant incidents of our soldier life the times we spent in Natchez. Many blessings and much prosperity be upon thy good people! And now, good bye to the ladies, and all the pleasures attendant upon their society. War is ahead of us, with all of its stern realities; and its concomitants, long marches, short rations and weary days and sleepless nights, and sore feet and tired and aching bones, and hills where there are nine rocks to one dirt, and heavy streams, like White river, to ford sixteen times in one day, and Arkansas. That last word is significant enough to one who was there with us one year ago.
We camped for some time on the banks of the Tensas river, about twenty five miles north west of Natchez, waiting to see if a boat wouldn’t come along and take us before the high water would. Fortunately the boat got to us just in time to save us from the river. While in camp we had a fine time riding in boats, fishing, bathing, trying to catch musquotoes, and killing alligators. The last named were plentiful in the bayous around us, and all one had to do to kill them was to hit them in the right place; a thing which, like putting salt on a bird’s tail, was quite easily done.
Speaking of musquitoes reminds me that they are “purrty tol’ble thick” down on the Tensas, even at this time of the year. I was sitting one evening about dark in front of my tent, making propellers of my arms in my efforts to protect myself from the attacks of the blood thirsty insects of the tent, when an aged contraband came along, and I questioned him thus: “Uncle, musquitoes are awful plenty down here with you, aint they?” With a look of intelligence which was indicative of a full knowledge of the subject under discussion, he replied–”Well, massa, dey aint many ov ’em ’round here ‘jis now, but wait about a month or two and den we’ll show you what skeeters is!” It is necessary for me to say that I hadn’t time to wait, and that I was willing to take his word for it!
I never hear of the extortion practiced upon the unoffending public by these steamboat captains. Why is this? Is any one so simple as to think they are not guilty. Let me tell an incident or two, which I “do know.” The steamer Dr. Batey, lying at Trinity, and doing nothing except receiving pay from the government, asked the Captain of Gen. Price’s escort six hundred dollars to take his company twenty miles up the river to Hansborough; and passengers on the boat are paying twenty-five dollars to go to Monroe, a distance of one hundred and seventy-five miles, and this, too, with the poorest of fare, and no bars to keep the musquitoes (I suppose they call them so, but they are nearer the size of a sand-hill crane) from eating you up. We were in Mississippi for nearly a year, and heard and knew much of extortion while there, but I think one’s knowledge on the subject is incomplete until he shall have traveled on one of these Southwestern steamboats. But I must say that we have found the officers of the “Twilight” to be clever and accommodating gentlemen.
Do you wish to have the news from this side of the river? Well, Judge, I wish from my heart I could tell it to you. But just now we are as destitute of news as a Mississippi Jew of that commodity yclept conscience. All we know is that Gen. Price has gone on ahead of us to Little Rock. Gen. Hindman is said to have been on a boat which we met to-day, going down the river.
All accounts which we have of our army in Arkansas represent it in a bad condition. There has been sad mismanagement somewhere, and it will require all the popularity, energy and military talent of Gen. Price to bring order out of the existing confusion. All with whom I have conversed seem to believe that he is the man for the task before him. It will take some time to reorganize the army, and then look out, for somebody will be sure to get hurt! We’ll be in for anything from a fight to a foot-race.
We hope to see, once in a while, the familiar face of the “Crisis” when we are on our way to Missouri. Au revoir.
Lon.