Up at dawn. Crossed by ferry to Portsmouth, and arrived at
railway station, which was at no place in particular, in a street down which
the rails were laid. Mr. Robinson, the superintendent, gave me permission to
take a seat in the engine car, to which I mounted accordingly, was duly
introduced to, and shook hands with the engineer and the stoker, and took my
seat next the boiler. Can any solid reason be given why we should not have
those engine sheds or cars in England? They consist of a light frame placed on
the connection of the engine with the tender, and projecting so as to include
the end of the boiler and the stoke-hole. They protect the engineer from rain,
storm, sun, or dust. Windows at each side afford a clear view in all
directions, and the engineer can step out on the engine itself by the doors on
the front part of the shed. There is just room for four persons to sit
uncomfortably, the persons next the boiler being continually in dread of
roasting their legs at the furnace, and those next the tender being in danger
of getting logs of wood from it shaken down on their feet. Nevertheless I
rarely enjoyed anything more than that trip. It is true one's enjoyment was
marred by want of breakfast, for I could not manage the cake of dough and the
cup of bitter, sour, greasy nastiness, called coffee, which were presented to
me in lieu of that meal this morning.
But the novelty of the scene through which I passed atoned
for the small privation. I do not speak of the ragged streets and lines of
sheds through which the train passed, with the great bell of the engine tolling
as if it were threatening death to the early pigs, cocks, hens, and negroes and
dogs which walked between the rails — the latter, by the by, were always the
first to leave — the negroes generally divided with the pigs the honor of
making the nearest stand to the train — nor do I speak of the miserable suburbs
of wooden shanties, nor of the expanse of inundated lands outside the town.
Passing all these, we settled down at last to our work: the stoker fired up,
the engine rattled along over the rugged lane between the trees which now began
to sweep around us from the horizon, where they rose like the bank of a river
or the shores of a sea, and presently we plunged into the gloom of the primeval
forest, struggling as it were, with the last wave of the deluge.
The railroad, leaving the land, boldly leaped into the air,
and was carried on frailest cobweb-seeming tracery of wood far above black
waters, from which rose a thick growth and upshooting of black stems of dead
trees, mingled with the trunks and branches of others still living, throwing
out a most luxuriant vegetation. The trestle-work over which the train was
borne, judged by the eye, was of the slightest possible construction. Sometimes
one series of trestles was placed above another, so that the cars ran on a
level with the tops of the trees; and, looking down, we could see before the
train passed the inky surface of the waters, broken into rings and agitated,
round the beams of wood. The trees were draped with long creepers and shrouds
of Spanish moss, which fell from branch to branch, smothering the leaves in
their clammy embrace, or waving in pendulous folds in the air. Cypress,
live-oak, the dogwood, and pine struggled for life with the water, and about
their stems floated balks of timber, waifs and strays carried from the rafts by
flood, or the forgotten spoils of the lumberer. On these lay tortoises,
turtles, and enormous frogs, which lifted their heads with a lazy curiosity
when the train rushed by, or flopped into the water as if the sight and noise were
too much for their nerves. Once a dark body of greater size plashed into the
current which marked the course of a river. “There's many allygaitors come up
here at times,” said the engineer, in reply to my question; “but I don't take
much account of them.”
When the trestle-work ceased, the line was continued through
the same description of scenery, generally in the midst of water, on high
embankments which were continually cut by black rapid streams, crossed by
bridges on trestles of great span. The strange tract we are passing through is
the “Dismal Swamp,” a name which must have but imperfectly expressed its
horrors before the railway had traversed its outskirts, and the canal, which is
constructed in its midst, left traces of the presence of man in that remnant of
the world's exit from the flood. In the centre of this vast desolation there is
a large loch, called “Lake Drummond,” in the jungle and brakes around which the
runaway slaves of the plantations long harbored, and once or twice assembled bands
of depredators, which were hunted down, broken up, and destroyed like wild
beasts.
Mr. Robinson, a young man some twenty-seven years of age,
was an excellent representative of the young American — full of intelligence,
well-read, a little romantic in spite of his practical habits and dealing with
matters of fact, much attached to the literature, if not to the people, of the
old country; and so far satisfied that English engineers knew something of
their business, as to be anxious to show that American engineers were not
behind them. He asked me about Washington politics with as much interest as if
he had never read a newspaper. I made a remark to that effect. “Oh, sir, we
can't believe,” exclaimed he, “a word we read in our papers. They tell a story
one day, to contradict it the next. We never know when to trust them, and
that's one reason, I believe, you find us all so anxious to ask questions and
get information from gentlemen we meet travelling.” Of the future he spoke with
apprehension; “but,” said he, “I am here representing the interests of a large
number of Northern shareholders, and I will do my best for them. If it comes to
blows after this, they will lose all, and I must stand by my own friends down
South, though I don't belong to it.”
So we rattle on, till the scene, at first so attractive,
becomes dreary and monotonous, and I tire of looking out for larger turtles or
more alligators. The silence of these woods is oppressive. There is no sign of
life where the train passes through the water, except among the amphibious
creatures. After a time, however, when we draw out of the swamp and get into a
dry patch, wild, ragged-looking cattle may be seen staring at us through the
trees, or tearing across the rail, and herds of porkers, nearly in the wild-boar
stage, scuttle over the open. Then the engineer opens the valve; the sonorous
roar of the engine echoes though the woods, and now and then there is a little
excitement caused by a race between a pig and the engine, and piggy is
occasionally whipped off his legs by the cow-lifter, and hoisted volatile into
the ditch at one side. When a herd of cattle, however, get on the line and show
fight, the matter is serious. The steam horn is sounded, the bell rung, and
steam is eased off, and every means used to escape collision; for the railway
company is obliged to pay the owner for whatever animals the trains kill, and a
cow's body on one of these poor rails is an impediment sufficient to throw the
engine off, and “send us to immortal smash.”
It was long before we saw any workmen or guards on the line;
but at one place I got out to look at a shanty of one of the road watchmen. It
was a building of logs, some twenty feet long by twelve feet broad, made in the
rudest manner, with an earthen roof, and mud stuffed and plastered between the
logs to keep out the rain. Although the day was exceedingly hot, there were two
logs blazing on the hearth, over which was suspended a pot of potatoes. The air
inside was stifling, and the black beams of the roof glistened with a clammy
sweat from smoke and unwholesome vapors. There was not an article of furniture,
except a big deal chest and a small stool, in the place; a mug and a teacup
stood on a rude shelf nailed to the wall. The owner of this establishment, a
stout negro, was busily engaged with others in “wooding up” the engine from the
pile of cut timber by the roadside. The necessity of stopping caused by the
rapid consumption is one of the désagrémens of wood fuel. The wood is cut down and
stacked on platforms, at certain intervals along the line; and the quantity
used is checked off against the company at the rate of so much per cord. The
negro was one of many slaves let out to the company. White men would not do the
work, or were too expensive; but the overseers and gangsmen were whites. “How
can they bear that fire in the hut?” “Well. If you went into it in the very
hottest day in summer, you would find the niggers sitting close up to blazing
pine-logs; and they sleep at night, or by day when they've fed to the full, in
the same way.” My friend, nevertheless, did not seem to understand that any
country could get on without negro laborers.
By degrees we got beyond the swamps, and came upon patches
of cleared land — that is, the forest had been cut down, and the only traces
left of it were the stumps, some four or five feet high, “snagging” up above
the ground; or the trees had been girdled round, so as to kill them, and the
black trunks and stiff arms gave an air of meagre melancholy and desertion to
the place, which was quite opposite to its real condition. Here it was that the
normal forest and swamp had been subjugated by man. Presently we came in sight
of a flag fluttering from a lofty pine, which had been stripped of its
branches, throwing broad bars of red and white to the air, with a blue square
in the upper quarter containing seven stars. “That's our flag,” — said the
engineer, who was a quiet man, much given to turning steam-cocks, examining
gauges, wiping his hands in fluffy impromptu handkerchiefs, and smoking tobacco
— “That's our flag! And long may it wave — o'er the land of the free and the
home of the ber-rave!” As we passed, a small crowd of men, women, and children,
of all colors, in front of a group of poor broken-down shanties or log-huts,
cheered — to speak more correctly — whooped and yelled vehemently. The cry was
returned by the passengers in the train. “We're all the right sort hereabouts,”
said the engineer. “Hurrah for Jeff Davis!” The right sort were not
particularly flourishing in outward aspect, at all events. The women,
pale-faced, were tawdry and ragged; the men, yellow, seedy looking. For the
first time in the States, I noticed barefooted people.
Now began another phase of scenery — an interminable
pine-forest, far as the eye could reach, shutting out the light on each side by
a wooden wall. From this forest came the strongest odor of turpentine;
presently black streaks of smoke floated out of the wood, and here and there we
passed cleared spaces, where in rude-looking furnaces and factories people more
squalid and miserable looking than before were preparing pitch, tar,
turpentine, rosin, and other naval stores, for which this part of North
Carolina is famous. The stems of the trees around are marked by white scars,
where the tappings for the turpentine take place, and many dead trunks testified
how the process ended.
Again, over another log village, a Confederate flag floated
in the air; and the people ran out, negroes and all, and cheered as before. The
new flag is not so glaring and gaudy as the Stars and Stripes; but, at a
distance, when the folds hang together, there is a considerable resemblance in
the general effect of the two. If ever there is a real sentiment du drapeau got
up in the South, it will be difficult indeed for the North to restore the
Union. These pieces of colored bunting seem to twine themselves through heart
and brain.
The stations along the roadside now gradually grew in
proportion, and instead of a small sentry-box beside a wood pile, there were
three or four wooden houses, a platform, a booking office, an “exchange” or
drinking room, and general stores, like the shops of assorted articles in an
Irish town. Around these still grew the eternal forest, or patches of cleared
land dotted with black stumps. These stations have very grand names, and the
stores are dignified by high-sounding titles; nor are “billiard saloons” and “restaurants”
wanting. We generally found a group of people waiting at each; and it really
was most astonishing to see well-dressed, respectable-looking men and women
emerge out of the “dismal swamp,” and out of the depths of the forest, with
silk parasols and crinoline, bandboxes and portmanteaux, in the most civilized
style. There were always some negroes, male and female, in attendance on the voyagers,
handling the baggage or the babies, and looking comfortable enough, but not
happy. The only evidence of the good spirits and happiness of these people
which I saw was on the part of a number of men who were going off from a
plantation for the fishing on the coast. They and their wives and sisters,
arrayed in their best — which means their brightest, colors-—were grinning from
ear to ear as they bade good-by. The negro likes the mild excitement of sea
fishing, and in pursuit of it he feels for the moment free.
At Goldsborough, which is the first place of importance on
the line, the wave of the Secession tide struck us in full career. The station,
the hotels, the street through which the rail ran was filled with an excited
mob, all carrying arms, with signs here and there of a desire to get up some
kind of uniform — flushed faces, wild eyes, screaming mouths, hurrahing for “Jeff
Davis” and “the Southern Confederacy,” so that the yells overpowered the
discordant bands which were busy with “Dixie's Land.” Here was the true
revolutionary furor in full sway. The men hectored, swore, cheered, and slapped
each other on the backs; the women, in their best, waved handkerchiefs and
flung down garlands from the windows. All was noise, dust, and patriotism.
It was a strange sight and a wonderful event at which we
were assisting. These men were a levy of the people of North Carolina called
out by the Governor of the State for the purpose of seizing upon forts Caswell
and Macon, belonging to the Federal Government, and left unprotected and undefended.
The enthusiasm of the “citizens” was unbounded, nor was it quite free from a
taint of alcohol. Many of the volunteers had flint firelocks, only a few had
rifles. All kinds of head-dress were visible, and caps, belts, and pouches of
infinite variety. A man in a large wide-awake, with a cock's feather in it, a
blue frock-coat, with a red sash and a pair of cotton trousers thrust into his
boots, came out of Griswold's Hotel with a sword under his arm, and an article
which might have been a napkin of long service, in one hand. He waved the
article enthusiastically, swaying to and fro on his legs, and ejaculating “H'ra
for Jeff Dav's — H'ra for S'thern E’r’rights!” and tottered over to the
carriage through the crowd amid the violent vibration of all the ladies'
handkerchiefs in the balcony. Just as he got into the train, a man in uniform
dashed after him, and caught him by the elbow, exclaiming, “Them's not the
cars, General! The cars this way, General!” The military dignitary, however,
felt that if he permitted such liberties in the hour of victory he was degraded
forever, so, screwing up his lips and looking grave and grand, he proceeded as
follows: “Sergeant, you, go be ––. I say these are my cars! They're all my
cars! I'll
send them where I please — to –– if I like, sir. They shall
go where I please — to New York, sir, or New Orleans, sir! And sir, I'll arrest
you.” This famous idea distracted the General's attention from his project of
entering the train, and muttering, “I'll arrest you,” he tacked backwards and
forwards to the hotel again.
As the train started on its journey, there was renewed
yelling, which split the ear — a savage cry many notes higher than the most
ringing cheer. At the wayside inn, where we dined — pièce de résistance being pig —
the attendants, comely, well-dressed, clean negresses were slaves — “worth a
thousand dollars each.” I am not favorably impressed by either the food or the
mode of living, or the manners of the company. One man made very coarse jokes
about “Abe Lincoln” and “negro wenches,” which nothing but extreme party
passion and bad taste could tolerate. Several of the passengers had been clerks
in Government offices at Washington, and had been dismissed because they would
not take the oath of allegiance. They were hurrying off full of zeal and
patriotism to tender their services to the Montgomery Government.
* * * * * *
I had been the object of many attentions and civilities from
gentlemen in the train during my journey. One of them, who told me he was a
municipal dignitary of Weldon, having exhausted all the inducements that he
could think of to induce me to spend some time there, at last, in desperation,
said he would be happy to show me “the antiquities of the place.” Weldon is a
recent uprising in wood and log-houses from the swamps, and it would puzzle the
archaeologists of the world to find anything antique about it.
At nightfall the train stopped at Wilmington, and I was shot
out on a platform under a shed, to do the best I could. In a long, lofty, and comfortless
room, like a barn, which abutted on the platform, there was a table covered
with a dirty cloth, on which lay little dishes of pickles, fish, meat, and
potatoes, at which were seated some of our fellow-passengers. The equality of
all men is painfully illustrated when your neighbor at table eats with his
knife, dips the end of it into the salt, and disregards the object and end of
napkins. But it is carried to a more disagreeable extent when it is held to
mean that any man who comes to an inn has a right to share your bed. I asked
for a room, but I was told that there were so many people moving about just now
that it was not possible to give me one to myself; but at last I made a bargain
for exclusive possession. When the next train came in, however, the woman very
coolly inquired whether I had any objection to allow a passenger to divide my
bed, and seemed very much displeased at my refusal; and I perceived three
big-bearded men snoring asleep in one bed in the next room to me as I passed
through the passage to the dining-room.
The “artist” Moses, who had gone with my letter to the post,
returned, after a long absence, pale and agitated. He said he had been pounced
upon by the Vigilance Committee, who were rather drunk, and very inquisitive.
They were haunting the precincts of the post-office and the railway station, to
detect Lincolnites and Abolitionists, and were obliged to keep themselves wide
awake by frequent visits to the adjacent bars, and he had with difficulty
dissuaded them from paying me a visit. They cross-examined him respecting my
opinion of Secession, and desired to have an audience with me in order to give
me any information which might be required. I cannot say what reply was given
to their questioning; but I certainly refused to have any interview with the
Vigilance Committee of Wilmington, and was glad they did not disturb me. Rest,
however, there was little or none. I might have as well slept on the platform
of the railway station outside. Trains coming in and going out shook the room
and the bed on which I lay, and engines snorted, puffed, roared, whistled, and
rang bells close to my key-hole.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 87-94
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