many places are tall, and leaning over the stream from each side, nearly half arch it. "Over our heads the soft, tenebrous boughs of the willow The scenery seemed to me Arcadian, as we sailed up this winding passage of green, and now and then caught glimpses of cotton plantations through the opening willows along the banks. It was getting night, and the sombregreen shade on each side of us grew deeper and deeper as day departed. The banks began to be busy with their dusky images, and now and then a fragment of old tradition about this river, would come across my mind, which fancy would seize, enlarge upon and shape to her liking. I saw the dark forms of the Yazoo warriors moving about among the trees on either side, and "wreaths of smoke ascending through the foliage, betrayed the half-hidden wigwam." But the light from the windows of a plantation house dispelled all fancy's sombre imagery, and left me with the actual fact that the Yazoo Indians disappeared from this valley more than a century ago. Twelve miles above the mouth of this river are the Yazoo hills, and four miles higher the site of Fort St. Peter, an ancient French settlement, which these Yazoo Indians. destroyed in 1729; and they in their turn have long since been unheard of. On this river and the country which it waters, was laid the scheme of the famous "Yazoo Speculation," which will long be remembered by its unfortunate victims. This speculation aroused the eloquence, and incited the taunts, invectives, and withering sarcasm of JOHN RANDOLPH. I have met on board the "Home," the gentleman, a Mississippi planter, whose carpet-bag was rifled on board the "Alleghany," the morning that the watch and portemonnaie were stolen from the "Woodruff;" also a young man from New York, who has come South to teach. But here we are at Satartia. Let me see-Satartia, Yazoo county, Mississippi, is put down in my memorandum as the terminus of my journey. That journey was commenced at 12 o'clock at night, and, after twelve days' travel, it is finished at 12 o'clock at night. What am I to divine from this, save that I left off as I begun? That is, that I am the same cold, forbidding Northerner, here in the warm heart of the sunny South, that I was twelve days ago when I left home. An old negro, whose hair was as silvery as the moonlight that fell upon it, took one of my trunks, and placing it on his head, told me to follow him and he'd take me to the tavern. We were soon at the door, and after thumping awhile, both of us by turns, a plump, dapper little man opened it, struck a light, and invited me in. My second trunk was brought, the charge asked, and answered, "Three bits." Three bits! what's that? Mine host replied, "Tis tree sheeling." Paid the old negro his three bits, was shown to my room, and-and-I'm tired and weary-good night. CHAPTER III. 66 Nothing seemed so pleasant to hope for or to keep, MACKAY. That most luxurious of sleepers, SANCHO PANZA, and who was grateful enough to "benison" the man who invented the luxury he loved so much to indulge in, probably never slept any sounder than we did last night. If we remember right, not the scattered fancy of a dream disturbed our repose. Our long, wearying journey had prepared us admirably for this rest. It was a beautiful morning in the sunny South as we walked out, thinking to find Satartia a lively village of considerable size. Seeing only a few houses in sight we walked on, supposing we were in the suburbs, to find more of the town, but soon walked out of it. We went back to the tavern porch and surveyed it--it is not half of a place. The houses are all poor and shabby, and have no shade to hide their tatters. The old negro told me, last night, that he had lived here thirty years. He, no doubt, has seen the rise, progress and dilapidation of the town. It had flourished once with the trade and traffic of four or five stores. Those were its "palmy days." Now it has only two stores-poor, low buildings; a tavern, dentist, doctor and shoemaker. But "mine host" makes up much for what the place lacks. He has as many occupations as HUMPHREY CLINKER had titles. His like cannot be found. He is land lord, landlady, fille de chambre, cook, waiter, bar-tender, porter, hostler, and does all the village tailoring, patching and mending. He is a Scotchman, born in Quebec, thence emigrated to Mackinaw, thence to Prairie du Chien, thence to St. Louis in 1820, when it had only four thousand inhabitants, thence to Vicksburgh, Mississippi, thence to Satartia; and here the good people in Satartia, and the planters about it, are determined he shall pass the remainder of his days as their good and kind "publican." Should any of my Northern friends come to Mississippi, and stop at Satartia, my word for it, endorsed with a day and a half's hospitality and good fare, they will find "UNCLE MAC" their trustworthy and kind-hearted landlord. After breakfast, which was plain and good, I called upon several Satartians, whose names had been given me as principal men in this place, but I could ascertain nothing in regard to schools; they'd had none here, time out of mind; and they knew of no place in the country where a teacher was wanted. As I had yet to go ten or twelve miles into the country, to my friend's, Major W., I asked if I could get a horse and carriage for that purpose. There was but one carriage owned in town, and that could not be got. The people here traveled mostly on horseback. Could I have a horse and saddle, then? Not one to be found. The horses were all in use, or they were like JOHN-A-DUCK's mare, "they'd let nobody ride them but JOHN-A-DUCK." In this dilemma, a young gentleman visiting here from New Orleans, informed me that one of Mr. H.'s negroes was in town, and, as he was going to Major W.'s plantation, I could send a letter by him, informing him of my arrival. A note was written and sent. The next morning a little negro boy came on a mule, bringing me a horse and saddle. Leaving my trunks with "UNCLE MAC," I mounted my horse and followed my little guide. He "wasn't going to take me," he said, "round by the carriage road through the uplands, twelve miles, but was going through by the shortest way, along the valley." It was the bridle-path, three or four miles nearer, from Satartia. But ere we had got out of sight of town we were overtaken by a young man on horseback. He was an overseer, in search of a place. Said his name was HAYNE. I asked him if he was kin to ROBERT Y. HAYNE, of South Carolina. 66 Yes, he was. He had the pure blood of the HAYNES in him." And when I praised that young orator, who, like the great champion of debate whom he so ably withstood in the United States Senate, was gifted with a little of that spirit that would raise mortals to the skies, he raised himself in his stirrups and spurred his horse with pride as he said, "Yes sir, he gin WEBSTER jessie." But riding under these trees through the woods we find our hats brushed off by the limbs occasionally, and our heads combed in rather too brusque a manner. Leaving the river we came into a portion of valley wood-land, about midway in which we met several horsemen with rifles on their shoulders, and powder-pouches strung around them, on a hunt, attended by a bevy of hounds. They had "started" a deer, and were in pursuit of him. They wished to know if we had seen him. Being informed that we had not, they spurred their horses on to the chase again. Our little sable guide rides ahead and opens the gates, when we come out of the woods to them, and often tells us we are getting off the track, by following some of the many trails that branch off from the main path. We passed through several door-yards, by log plantation-houses, and along plantations yet snowy with cotton-flakes, and speckled with negroes. This was a novel sight to me. |