On the road, a quarter of a mile townward, an aged
colored man showed us, with pride, an unexploded bomb-shell
which has lain in his yard since the day it fell there
during the siege.
‘I was a-stannin’ heah, an’ de dog
was a-stannin’ heah; de dog he went for de shell,
gwine to pick a fuss wid it; but I didn’t; I
says, “Jes’ make you’seff at home
heah; lay still whah you is, or bust up de place,
jes’ as you’s a mind to, but I’s
got business out in de woods, I has!"’
Vicksburg is a town of substantial business streets
and pleasant residences; it commands the commerce
of the Yazoo and Sunflower Rivers; is pushing railways
in several directions, through rich agricultural regions,
and has a promising future of prosperity and importance.
Apparently, nearly all the river towns, big and little,
have made up their minds that they must look mainly
to railroads for wealth and upbuilding, henceforth.
They are acting upon this idea. The signs are,
that the next twenty years will bring about some noteworthy
changes in the Valley, in the direction of increased
population and wealth, and in the intellectual advancement
and the liberalizing of opinion which go naturally
with these. And yet, if one may judge by the past,
the river towns will manage to find and use a chance,
here and there, to cripple and retard their progress.
They kept themselves back in the days of steamboating
supremacy, by a system of wharfage-dues so stupidly
graded as to prohibit what may be called small retail
traffic in freights and passengers. Boats were
charged such heavy wharfage that they could not afford
to land for one or two passengers or a light lot of
freight. Instead of encouraging the bringing
of trade to their doors, the towns diligently and
effectively discouraged it. They could have had
many boats and low rates; but their policy rendered
few boats and high rates compulsory. It was
a policy which extended—and extends—from
New Orleans to St. Paul.
We had a strong desire to make a trip up the Yazoo
and the Sunflower—an interesting region
at any time, but additionally interesting at this
time, because up there the great inundation was still
to be seen in force—but we were nearly
sure to have to wait a day or more for a New Orleans
boat on our return; so we were obliged to give up the
project.
Here is a story which I picked up on board the boat
that night. I insert it in this place merely
because it is a good story, not because it belongs
here—for it doesn’t. It was told
by a passenger—a college professor—and
was called to the surface in the course of a general
conversation which began with talk about horses, drifted
into talk about astronomy, then into talk about the
lynching of the gamblers in Vicksburg half a century
ago, then into talk about dreams and superstitions;
and ended, after midnight, in a dispute over free trade
and protection.
