In the Spring of 1865, when I had last seen Mobile, it was a city of ruins; warehouses ruined by “the great explosion,” merchants ruined by the war, politicians ruined by the abject defeat, women bankrupt in heart and hope. Emerging from the chaotic interior, in November, one rubbed his eyes, as he was whirled through the bustling streets, to be assured that he was not deceived by an unsubstantial vision. Warehouses were rising, torpedoes had been removed from the harbor, and a fleet of sail and steam vessels lined the repaired wharves. The main thoroughfares resounded with the rush of business. The hotels were overflowing. The “new blood of the South” was, of a truth, leaping in right riotous pulsations through the veins of the last captured city of the coast.
Everywhere, in the throng of cotton buyers, around the reeking bars, at the public tables, in the crowded places of amusement—two classes, crowded and commingled—Northern speculators and Rebel soldiers. These last come on you in every guise. Single rooms at the hotel were out of the question, and I received a jolly fellow, who looked as if he might be magnificent in a charge—on the breakfast table—as my room mate. He turned out to have been chief of staff to a conspicuous Southern General. I fell into a conversation with my neighbor at dinner, which soon drifted from requests for the mustard into a discussion of the claims of Southern “members” to seats in Congress. By and by he casually admitted that he had been in the Rebel service, which might interfere with his taking the test oath!
Nothing could exceed the general cordiality. Formerly a Southerner was moody, and resentful of approaches from Yankee-speaking strangers, unless they came properly introduced. Now he was as warm and unrestrained without the introduction as he used to be after it. That was about the most marked change one noticed on the social surface. But there was no abatement in the old ambitious pretensions. The North, we were told, must have the Southern trade; and with that trade it was to be corrupted. The North would be politically a power divided against itself; the South would be a unit, and it would rule again as it always had ruled. “Which side will we take?” answered an adept in political shuffling, whose presence graced many a caucus in Washington in the old times, “Why, the side that bids the highest for us, of course. And you need’nt be at any loss to know which side that is. You’ve been whipping us right soundly. We acknowledge the whipping, but we don’t kiss the hand that gave it—not by a d——d sight! We’ll unite with the opposition up North, and between us we’ll make a majority. Then we’ll show you who’s going to govern this country.”
The theory of reorganization, which prevailed during the war, based itself upon the belief in the existence of a Union party at the South. But there was no such party. There were “reconstructionists” who believed, from the day of the defeat at Gettysburg, that Southern independence was hopeless, and therefore wished to end the struggle on the best terms they could get; but these men loved not the Union more, but Jeff. Davis less. Now, when we sought for Union men to re-organize civil government there were none to be found. It was on precisely this point that the North failed, prior to the meeting of Congress, to comprehend the situation. Immediate reorganization meant restoration of civil power to the defeated Rebels. No other reorganization was possible. Many may say now that no other was desirable; that a community must always of necessity be controlled by its leading men. But in November the North thought differently. It was eager for reorganization, but determined that it should be effected only by Union men. Such reorganization would have meant merely that, instead of an honest government representing the great majority of defeated Rebels, a handful of aggrieved and vindictive refugees should be held up by aid from without, to sway power in the forms of republicanism over a people who, but for the bayonet, would submerge them in a week.
No such farce had been attempted in this region. In Alabama and throughout the greater portion of the Gulf States, the men who were taking the offices were the men who had just been relieved of duty under their Rebel commissions. The men who were to legislate safely for the Freedmen were the men from whom the national victory extorted freedom to the slave. The men who were to legislate security to the national debt were the men for whose subjugation that debt was created. Whether these are or are not desirable things, I do not here and now argue. But the fact is of importance to men of all parties.
People innocently asked, What is the temper of these re-organizing rebels? A remark quoted a moment ago, was the universal answer. They wanted to make the best for themselves of a bad bargain. They wanted to get the best terms they could. They still believed themselves the aggrieved party; held that the Abolitionists began the war; thought themselves fully justified in seceding; believed in the necessity of compulsory labor, and would come just as near as we would let them toward retaining it. There was the whole status in a nutshell.
Mobile talked, however, rather of plantations and cotton than of politics. Dozens of Northern men were on the streets, buying cotton on speculation. Every steamboat swelled the number of Yankees on the look-out for plantations, and of planters anxious to sell or lease. These planters were entirely honest in the idea which lies at the bottom of their convulsive grasp on slavery. They did not believe the negro would work without compulsion. Accordingly, they considered themselves absolutely destitute of reliable labor, and were anxious to be rid of their lands. The Yankees had faith in Sambo and propose to back their faith with abundant capital. If they succeed, their cotton fields are better than Nevada mines. If they fail—but a Yankee never fails in the long run.
[59]. Sometimes as low as two or three dollars per acre.