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.

Chapter 36 The Professor’s Yarn