Altogether his plantation was quite an advantageous one. It was only twenty miles from town, and he could get his letters down quite frequently. They were sent in the care of his Columbus friends, and any person from the neighborhood who happened to be in town brought them out.
He had been in the war four years, and was heartily glad that it was over. Still it was an utter surprise. Neither the army nor the people had ever known to what straits they were reduced; but if the Western army had been equal to the Eastern, it would never have happened. The Army of Virginia was an army of gentlemen. There was no such material in that Western army. All the troops in the world couldn’t have taken Lookout Mountain from Bob Lee’s army. “But you had three things too many for us, the Irish, the niggers, and Jesus Christ. So we’re subjugated, and cussed glad for leave to go to work and try to get ahead a little again. But,” and he broke out into fearful oaths against, “the scoundrels you hired with money, to butcher our young men, and enslave the bravest people on the face of the earth!”
By and by we came to a place for dinner. “That’s the very best railroad eating-house I ever saw anywhere.” Fortified by his recommendation, we all went in. Not a thing was there on the table save sour bread and tough steak, smothered in onions. But it excelled in one thing—the bill was a dollar, and the money was to be paid, not merely in advance of the meal, but before you got a sight at the table.
Another Georgian subsequently entered into the conversation. He hoped the Yankees would come down with their money and machinery, and have good luck growing cotton, for their good luck would now be good luck to everybody. “Yankees have always made more money among us than we ever made ourselves. There was ——, a Yankee, who came down to our country without even a change of linen, the poorest poor devil you ever see. He has married two of the best plantations on Pearl River, and is now a millionaire. Another fellow came down from New York, poor, traded a little, made money one way and another, till he got a start, and now he owns four of our best plantations.”
They agreed in exaggerating the difficulties of the cotton cultivation. It was the very hardest of all crops, they really reckoned. You had to begin your plowing at New Years, and work right along, as close as you could push things, with your whole force. By April you had to plant, and, then, it was one perpetual rush to keep ahead of the grass and weeds, till July. Then you got your arrangements completed for picking; went to work at it as early as you could, and were kept driving till the last of December. Fact was, it took thirteen months to make a good crop of cotton. One hand, they supposed, ought to work twenty acres; ten in cotton, and as many more in corn. Others tried to work twenty-five acres with one hand, but they didn’t do it very well. They only plowed three to four inches deep, and were sure that if they stirred up the ground deeper than that, it would be too loose for the cotton to take a firm root!
But free niggers could never be depended upon for such continuous and arduous work. The abolition of slavery was the death-blow to the great cotton interest of the United States. “I honestly believe,” exclaimed the young Georgia planter first named, “that in five years the South will be a howling wilderness. The great mass of our lands are fit for nothing else, and you’ve destroyed the only labor with which we can cultivate them in cotton.”
Near Wytheville, accident threw me into conversation with a tall, raw-boned mountaineer, who might have been good looking but for the vulgarity of dyeing his moustache. He had been in the war for awhile, and then had gone to speculating. “I’ve made a good deal out of the war, and if the cussed thing hadn’t collapsed quite so soon, I’d been a millionaire—in Confed!” He was extravagant in his praises of Floyd, and presently it transpired that he had commanded a regiment on Floyd’s right, in one of the early affairs of the war—“Carnifex Ferry,” in West Virginia. He seemed delighted to learn that I had myself seen something of that fight—from the other side—and was at once full of inquiries and boasts. “I tell you, we got off mighty smart. The men didn’t know we were retreating; had been told they were only going to change their position. You scoundrels got my flag and trunk though. But what in thunder was that infernal racket on your left, after dark, when you were drawing off?” I explained the sad mistake by which a couple of our regiments had fired into each other. “Well, do you know, you scared us worse with that performance of yours than anything else? We felt certain you were going to sweep in on our right.” Curiously enough, this precise maneuver had been urged upon General Rosecrans by General (then Colonel) Smith, of the Thirteenth Ohio, and but for the approach of night might have been executed. I gathered from the Rebel Colonel that it would probably have been successful.
“But we came very near using up your Dutch General, when you crossed the river and followed us up to the mountain. Old Bob Lee came down and reinforced us. All our arrangements were made for Floyd to march around to your rear. We were about to start, the guides were all ready, the route selected, and we would have been in your rear before daylight, with Bob Lee in your front; but Lee thought we were too late starting, and made us stop till the next night. By the next night, there was no Rosecrans there.”