I did not remain long in Nashville after returning thither. I had instructions to go to Louisville, Kentucky, and there consult with a certain merchant as to certain lands. General Whipple accompanied me to the “depôt,” which was for the time and place as much of an honour as if Her Majesty were to come to see me off at Victoria Station. There was many and many a magnate in those days and there, who would have given thousands to have had his ear as Paxton and I had it.
One night we were in the side private box at the theatre in Nashville. Couldock, whom I had known well many years before, was on the stage. The General was keeping himself deeply in the shade to remain unseen. He remarked to Paxton that he wanted a house for his family, who would soon arrive, and could not find one, for they were all occupied. This one remark shows the man. I wonder how long General Butler would have hesitated to move anybody!
Captain Paxton knew everything and everybody. With a quick glance from his keen dark eyes he exclaimed—
“I’ve got it! Do you see that fat man laughing so heartily in the pit? He has a splendid house; it would just suit you; and he’s a d---d old rebel. I know enough about him to hang him three times over. He has” (here followed a series of political iniquities). “Voilà votre affaire.”
“And how is it that he has kept his house?” asked the General.
“He sent the quartermaster a barrel of whisky, or something of that sort.”
The General looked thoughtfully at the fat man as the latter burst into a fresh peal of laughter. I thought that if he had known what was being said in our box that laugh would have died away.
I do not know whether the General took the house. I think he did. I left for Louisville. There I saw the great merchant, who invited me to his home to supper and consulted with me. His daughters were rebels and would not speak to me. He had a great deal of property in Indiana, which might be oil-lands. If I would visit it and report on it, he would send his partner with me to examine it. I consented to go.
This partner, Mr. W., was a young man of agreeable, easy manners. With him I went to Indianapolis, and thence by “stages,” waggons, or on horseback through a very dismal country in gloomy winter into the interior of the State. I can remember vast marshy fields with millions of fiddler crabs scuttling over them, and more mud than I had ever seen in my life. The village streets were six inches deep in soft mud up to the doors and floors of the houses. At last we reached our journey’s end at a large log-house on a good farm.
I liked the good man of the house. He said to us, after a time, that at first he thought we were a couple of stuck-up city fellows, but had found to his joy that we were old-fashioned, sensible people. There was no sugar at his supper-table, but he had three substitutes for it—“tree-sweetnin’, bee-sweetnin’, and sorghum”—that is, maple sugar, honey, and the molasses made from Chinese maize. Only at a mile’s distance there was a “sugar-camp,” and we could see the fires and hear the shouts of the people engaged night and day in making sugar from the trees.