The Ship Island region was as woodsy and tenantless as ever.
The island has ceased to be an island; has joined itself compactly
to the main shore, and wagons travel, now, where the steamboats used
to navigate. No signs left of the wreck of the ‘Pennsylvania.’
Some farmer will turn up her bones with his plow one day, no doubt,
and be surprised.
We were getting down now into the migrating negro region.
These poor people could never travel when they were slaves;
so they make up for the privation now. They stay on a plantation till
the desire to travel seizes them; then they pack up, hail a steamboat,
and clear out. Not for any particular place; no, nearly any
place will answer; they only want to be moving. The amount
of money on hand will answer the rest of the conundrum for them.
If it will take them fifty miles, very well; let it be fifty.
If not, a shorter flight will do.
During a couple of days, we frequently answered these hails.
Sometimes there was a group of high-water-stained, tumble-down cabins,
populous with colored folk, and no whites visible; with grassless
patches of dry ground here and there; a few felled trees,
with skeleton cattle, mules, and horses, eating the leaves and
gnawing the bark–no other food for them in the flood-wasted land.
Sometimes there was a single lonely landing-cabin; near it
the colored family that had hailed us; little and big, old and young,
roosting on the scant pile of household goods; these consisting
of a rusty gun, some bed-ticks, chests, tinware, stools, a crippled
looking-glass, a venerable arm-chair, and six or eight base-born
and spiritless yellow curs, attached to the family by strings.
They must have their dogs; can’t go without their dogs.
Yet the dogs are never willing; they always object; so, one after another,
in ridiculous procession, they are dragged aboard; all four feet
braced and sliding along the stage, head likely to be pulled off;
but the tugger marching determinedly forward, bending to his work,
with the rope over his shoulder for better purchase.
Sometimes a child is forgotten and left on the bank; but never
a dog.
The usual river-gossip going on in the pilot-house. Island No. 63–
an island with a lovely ‘chute,’ or passage, behind it in the former times.
They said Jesse Jamieson, in the ‘Skylark,’ had a visiting pilot
with him one trip–a poor old broken-down, superannuated fellow–
left him at the wheel, at the foot of 63, to run off the watch.
The ancient mariner went up through the chute, and down the river outside;
and up the chute and down the river again; and yet again and again;
and handed the boat over to the relieving pilot, at the end of three
hours of honest endeavor, at the same old foot of the island where
he had originally taken the wheel! A darkey on shore who had observed
the boat go by, about thirteen times, said, ‘ ‘clar to gracious,
I wouldn’t be s’prised if dey’s a whole line o’ dem Sk’ylarks! ‘
Anecdote illustrative of influence of reputation in the changing
of opinion. The ‘Eclipse’ was renowned for her swiftness.
One day she passed along; an old darkey on shore, absorbed in
his own matters, did not notice what steamer it was.
Presently someone asked–
‘Any boat gone up?’
‘Yes, sah.’
‘Was she going fast?’
‘Oh, so-so–loafin’ along.’
‘Now, do you know what boat that was?’
‘No, sah.’
‘Why, uncle, that was the “Eclipse.” ‘
‘No! Is dat so? Well, I bet it was–cause she jes’ went by here a-SPARKLIN’!’
Piece of history illustrative of the violent style of some of the people
down along here, During the early weeks of high water, A’s fence rails
washed down on B’s ground, and B’s rails washed up in the eddy and landed
on A’s ground. A said, ‘Let the thing remain so; I will use your rails,
and you use mine.’ But B objected–wouldn’t have it so. One day,
A came down on B’s ground to get his rails. B said, ‘I’ll kill you!’
and proceeded for him with his revolver. A said, ‘I’m not armed.’