The time was whiled away with
song, recitation, anecdotes, and laughter, until midnight brought us
to Natchez. It was a terrible night--dark, and beginning to rain.
Under the hill at Natchez, forty-five years ago, was a terrible place.
The road up the bluff was precipitous and muddy. There were no
accommodations for decent people under the hill. The dance-houses were
in full blast. Boisterous and obscene mirth rang from them; men and
women were drunk; some were singing obscene songs; some were shouting
profanity in every disgusting term; some, overcome with debauchery,
were insensible to shame, and men and women, rushing from house to
house, gathered a crowd to meet us as we landed. One tremendous
slattern shouted, as she saw us come on shore: "There are the
show-folks; now we'll have fun!" If Mrs. Farren--the daughter of
Russell--still lives, I will say to her that this was her advent to
Natchez. Up that hill, through mire and rain, I bore her in my arms,
on that terrible night. Caldwell alone was cheerful; Sol. Smith joked,
and Russell swore.
"How many, many memories
Sweep o'er my spirit now!"
It was a peculiarity of James H.
Pages:
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917