“We crossed it at Natchez.”

“At Natchez!  We do not often see Confederates from Natchez.  You must have been very fortunate to get through.”

Then we explained who and what we were.  The explanation was followed by a little period of silence on the part of our new acquaintances.  Very soon, however, the ice was broken, and our conversation became free.  We were assured that we might travel anywhere in that region as officers of the Rebel army, without the slightest suspicion of our real character.  They treated us courteously, and prevailed upon us to join them at dinner.  Many apologies were given for the scantiness of the repast.  Corn-bread, bacon, and potatoes were the only articles set before us.  Our host said he was utterly unable to procure flour, sugar, coffee, or any thing else not produced upon his plantation.  He thought the good times would return when the war ended, and was particularly anxious for that moment to arrive.  He pressed us to pass the night at his house, but we were unable to do so.  On the following day we returned to Natchez.

Everywhere on the road from Vidalia to the farthest point of our journey, we found the plantations running to waste.  The negroes had been sent to Texas or West Louisiana for safety, or were remaining quietly in their quarters.  Some had left their masters, and were gone to the camps of the National army at Vicksburg and Natchez.  The planters had suspended work, partly because they deemed it useless to do any thing in the prevailing uncertainty, and partly because the negroes were unwilling to perform any labor.  Squads of Rebel cavalry had visited some of the plantations, and threatened punishment to the negroes if they did any thing whatever toward the production of cotton.  Of course, the negroes would heed such advice if they heeded no other.

On all the plantations we found cotton and corn, principally the latter, standing in the field.  Sometimes there were single inclosures of several hundred acres.  The owners were desirous of making any arrangement that would secure the tilling of their soil, while it did not involve them in any trouble with their neighbors or the Rebel authorities.

They deplored the reverses which the Rebel cause had suffered, and confessed that the times were out of joint.  One of the men we visited was a judge in the courts of Louisiana, and looked at the question in a legal light.  After lamenting the severity of the storm which was passing over the South, and expressing his fear that the Rebellion would be a failure, he referred to his own situation.

“I own a plantation,” said he, “and have combined my planting interest with the practice of law.  The fortune of war has materially changed my circumstances.  My niggers used to do as I told them, but that time is passed.  Your Northern people have made soldiers of our servants, and will, I presume, make voters of them.  In five years, if I continue the practice of law, I suppose I shall be addressing a dozen negroes as gentlemen of the jury.”