Other travellers think, the more fault they find, the more they will be noticed; and they will be treated with the more deference and respect. I once happened to ride in the stage with the venerable Chief Justice Marshall. He was affable and polite, at peace with himself, and displeased at nothing. In the same stage, as if nature intended to exhibit two beings, in bold relief, and make the contrast the more striking, was a testy young man, who found fault with every thing, and was pleased with nothing. He cursed the driver, the stage and the road; and the country through which we travelled was too execrable to live in. At the hotel, where we stopped to dine, he keeps the house in a continual uproar. The dinner bell rang, and we set down at the table. For some reason, he did not come in immediately; and when he made his appearance, the table was entirely full. This was too much for him to bear. He cursed the waiter for not saving a place for him. The waiter, as quick as possible, provided him a place at a side table. But he was determined not to be thrown into the shade in this manner. The Judge ate his dinner in silence; but this side table gentleman kept a continual cry for something. "I say, waiter"—bring me this, and bring me that.—His vociferations became quite annoying. At length, he cried out with rather increased vehemence, "I say, waiter, bring me a fresh potatoe." The moment this was uttered, one of the gentleman at our table said, "Waiter, give that gentleman a fresh chair, I am sure he has set in that one long enough." This was a damper. It caused quite a laugh at the young man's expense. He became silent, and after dinner, we saw no more of him.
"Behold us mounted once again,"—and immediately after leaving this gentleman's plantation, we again passed into a dense forest and found a muddy path. In about six miles we found some sandy land and pine timber, and here we left what is called the Mississippi swamp. We soon came to the outlet of the lake, which we had to ford. The water was deep, and the shore deep mud. It was a difficult job to make a horse wallow through. We were told that a horse got swamped and died in the mud, a few feet from the spot where we crossed.
We came to the banks of Washita river, followed it down three miles, and crossed over to Harrisonburg. The town is built on a level plain on the west bank of the river; but it contains not more than twenty houses. This river empties into Red River, and is navigable for steamboats a long distance above the village. It is forty-two miles west of Natchez. On this river are the lands where the famous Aaron Burr talked of establishing a colony; but unless the land above and below is better than in this region, it might not have been very flourishing. The soil is too sandy and poor.
We rode twenty-five miles over a rolling sandy country, generally covered with pine woods; and stopped at night with a gentleman who had been one of Burr's party. He did not seem inclined to say much of that ill-fated expedition. Here we were kindly treated, and fared well. He had been there nineteen years; had cleared a large plantation; raised cotton, corn and cattle; had eight or ten negroes, and possessed the necessaries of life in abundance. But he still lived in a log house, without a glass window in it. I asked him, why he did not have windows. He said, the house was well enough; if the hole cut for a window did not make it light enough, he opened the door. It was not just such a house as I should be contented in, for nineteen years, and possessing the wealth he had.—It, however, was to his taste; and for aught I could see, he was as happy as those who live in much better houses.
To-day we travelled thirty-three miles to Alexandria, just one hundred miles from Natchez. The first forty was Mississippi swamp, excellent land, but a good deal of it too low for cultivation; the last sixty miles was, with few exceptions, hilly, sandy, pitch pine woods. We passed only a few good plantations. Occasionally, we found a small prairie of poor soil, and a deserted log house. It was indeed the most dreary road I ever travelled. In the last day's travel, we passed two small rivers; one we crossed in a ferry boat; and to our special wonder, we found quite a decent bridge over the other.
Red River is rightly named; it is almost as red as blood, caused by the red soil through which it passes. It is quite a large stream; but the water is too brackish to drink, or for culinary purposes. The only resource of the inhabitants of Alexandria is to catch rain water for which they have enormous large cisterns. We crossed the river opposite the town in a ferry boat, and found the current about as strong as that of the Mississippi. It is navigable for steamboats, in a moderate stage of water, as high up as "the raft," and when the removal of that is completed, for a long distance into the country. About a mile above the town, there is a short rapid which boats cannot pass when the water is low.
The mouth of Red River has probably undergone some changes. It is almost certain, that in by-gone years, Red River had its own separate channel to the Gulf of Mexico; but in process of time, the ever changing Mississippi river took a long turn that way; struck into its channel, and after appropriating its waters and three miles of its bed to its own use, wheeled round to the left, and pursued its own course to the ocean. In this state of the case, the upper part of Red River became a tributary of the Mississippi, and the lower part a mere waste-way to pass off its superfluous waters. But the inconstant Mississippi, a short time ago, cut out for itself a new, strait channel across the bend, and left Red River to itself. This cut-off, however, proved of incalculable advantage to that section of country. It let off the Mississippi waters so freely, that a large tract of most excellent land does not now overflow; and this is sought for with avidity, and settling fast.