At Natchez, I left the boat, and stopped a day or two, to make the necessary preparations to go over land on horseback to Texas. There is a steamboat that plies regularly between this place and Alexandria on Red River; and we should rather have travelled by water as far as that place, and avoided crossing the Mississippi swamp by land; but the boat had gone, and would not return under a number of days.
Natchez is an incorporated city, containing about three thousand inhabitants. That part of it which lies under the bluff near the river, is muddy, looks old and disagreeable; but the main part of the city is situated on a high bank, two hundred feet above the river; chiefly built of brick, quite pleasant, and makes quite a show of business. The ground back of it, is full of gullies, and is unpleasant. It is an old town, but has much improved within a few years.
Many people going to Texas continue on down the river to New-Orleans, and there take a passage on board a vessel to some port in the province; but my desire was to see the country, and therefore, I chose to travel over land. A pleasant and companionable gentleman from the State of New-York, who came down in the boat with me, agreed to bear me company. Some acquaintances of his, with their families, were on the road to Texas, and he like myself wished to see the country.
Having provided ourselves with horses, portmanteaus, fireworks, &c. and obtained the necessary directions, we took an early start; crossed the Mississippi in a ferry boat, for which we were taxed half a dollar each; and took the road to Alexandria. We had some ill-forbodings about the great Mississippi swamp; for just as we were about to cross the river a gentleman, of whom we made some enquires respecting the route, told us he thought it now impossible to travel through it in consequence of the rains which had recently fallen. But we were all equipped to go by land, and this, our only route; and therefore, we determined, at all events, to push forward.
There is a road from the mouth of Red River, along its bank to Alexandria, and this, we were afterwards informed, is the best route; but it was seventy miles below us; and whoever takes it, must go down in a boat.
Our route lay, for the first six miles, up the river near its bank; and then we turned more to the west. We passed half a dozen cotton plantations, some quite large, and saw an army of negroes picking it.
The cotton plant grows about as high as a man's head, has blossoms about as big as that of a small rose, and resembling in appearance the hollyhock, but more extensive branches. The pod is about the size and shape of the outer covering of a walnut; and when ripe, it opens in quarters, and presents the cotton in full view. A negro takes a basket or a bag, and swings it at his side, and with his thumb and finger picks out the cotton, almost as fast as a hen picks up corn. It grows from the seed, is planted every year in hills like corn, and cultivated in the same manner.
A field of cotton in full blossom, makes a fine appearance. After it is picked, it is laid on a rack to dry; then ginned to take out the seed, and put up in bales for the market. The rope and bagging used, are the manufacture of Kentucky; or at least it brings more into market than all the other States. I was told that one prime hand on good land would make ten bales of cotton a year, and raise corn enough to support himself. The average worth of these bales is five hundred dollars. From enquiries I afterwards made, I believe the plantations generally make about seven bales to the hand. No wonder negroes are valuable in a cotton-growing country.
Our route now lay through a dense forest—and the ground generally so miry that we could only ride on a walk. Sometimes we came to the thick canebrakes, about twenty feet high, and overhanging our narrow path. Sometimes, we found the palmetto, which exactly resembles a large green, open fan, standing on a stem a foot high, and so thick that we could hardly ride through them, or see any path at all. Sometimes we came to a sheet of water a hundred yards wide, in which a horse would plunge to the saddle skirts, and for a while, become stuck fast; and again, we would find a cypress swamp, full of cypress knees and mud. Indeed it is the worst swamp I ever travelled over, before or since; and sometimes, I thought our horses were stuck too fast ever to move again.