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Southern Field and Fireside.
I VOL. 1.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
MARINER'S BOAT SONG.
BY W. OILHOBK SIMMS.
“A Long, Strong Pull Together.”
i.
Now row, my gallant brothers, row!
Give way with will and sinew;
These seas that rise before our bow.
• Will try the muscle in you!
But what's the fear if hearts be true ?
We've but to pull together;—
True hearts and hands, all bent to do,
Will bear us bravely, boar us through,
And save the ship, and save the crew.
In spite of wind and weather!
• We’ve but to pull together!
Eow, brothers, row; row, brothers, row,
One long, strong pull together!
n.
And cheer with courage, as ye row;
What though the tempest brewing,
„ Worbs fate for many a brother now,
That drives, head on, to ruin?
'Tis not for us to shirk or shrink,
Though out In fearful weather:
We know some comrade's doom'd to sink,
And we, too, hang on Danger's brink;
But fear ye not; —don’t stop to think—
Pull bravely all together,
And we'U the danger weather!
Bow, brothers, row; row, brothers, row;
One long, strong pull together!
ill.
Bend to your oars, good brothers, —row!
Give way with hearty conrage;
Death's just as nigh on land, as now,
When seas are wolves at forage!
And Heaven's as near on sea as shore.
However wild the weather;
We’ve but to ply the manly oar,
And shut our ears to ocean’s roar, t
Nor heed the Fate, behind, before;
And bravely pull together—
Defying wind and weather!
Bow, brothers, row; row, brothers, row;
One long, strong pull together!
IV.
Bend to your oars, dear brothers, bend:
We may not ’scape this danger;
But times of peril prove the friend,
And we've escaped e’en stranger;
'Tis something of God’s law, I think,
When threats the angry weather;
And men are dash’d on Danger's brink,
* And all seem doom’d, and many sink.
That one and all their hands should link.
And bravely pnll together,
Defying wind and weather!
Bow, brothers, row; row, brothers, row;
We sink or swim together!
s«> mm
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
FROM A TOURIST’S QUIVER;
08,
Scenes and Incidents of a Tonr
From New Orleans to New Yorlr.
BY ONI or THE PARTY,
ARROW—NO. VI.
“ Natchez under the HilT'—The park on the bluff
above. —The widow with the black eyes.—The
City—The Citizens.—Gen. Quitman—Hi*
Villa —His Grave.—Beautiful Environs. — S.
S. Prentiss—His Grave.—His Character —
His Reputation Vindicated.
Steamer Eclipse, (
Above Natchez, Miss., Nov., ’59.)
Dear Mr. Editor:
In my last I informed you that we were to be
delayed here a few hours at the ancient and
opulent city of Natchez. I embraced the op
portunity to ramble over it, and even to pay a
visit to a few places of note in its charming
suburbs.
Going on shore at the “Landing,” or “Natch
ez under the Hill,” which is now a mart of
commerce, crowded with places of business, and
no longer a congeries of gambling and dance
houses, as in former days, we ascended a ter
raced road excavated with great skill in the pre
cipitous side of the bluff. The ascent was grad
ual and by a good side walk, guarded on the
precipice verge by a stout hand-railing. As we
climbed higher and higher, the view of.tlie river,
and the immense cotton fields of Louisiana op
posite, widened and increased in interest. Two
hundred feet in altitude from the steamer, we
came to a broad esplanade, which the taste of
the citizens had converted into a lovely park,
with winding avenues shaded by Pride of China
trees, and benches placed beneath them, on
- which were seated persons gazing upon the
broad stream with its moving steamers, and
upon the green shores of the opposite parish of
Concordia, with its picturesque, village and
handsome mansions.
t JANIES GARDNER, I
I Proprietor. )
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1860.
“An amazingly fine view! grand! vast! Up
on my word this is worth climbing the bluff to
see!” said Major Bedott, thrusting his thumbs
into the arm-holes of his plaid vest and puffing
out his cheeks with a sort of patronizing aspect
of approval. “ Did’nt expect to see such noble
scenery in Mississippi, Mr. Poyns! And dear
me! what a fine park! nothing to compare
with it in New Orleans! Seethe children and
dogs playing on the grass! the loungers smo
king and enjoying the sublime view! the pretty
arched bridges! I had no idea of all this! Look
at our great steamer there below, diminished to
a cock-boat, as Byron, or somebody else, so
writes about!”
“ Who’s Byron, Uncle Bob?” asked Tim, who
was smoking a cigar, and blowing the blue va
pors out through his nostrils, a fashion he had
learned among his friends, the Spanish fishermen
of Barritaria.
“ Byron ? Byron? Don’t be inquisitive, Tim,”
responded the Major, coloring and hesitating.
“Did’nt you tell me, Uncle Major, to ask
questions about everything I did’nt know?” de
manded Tim, very resolutely. “ I want to know
who Byron is, because that widow with the
black eyes asked me if I bad ever read him!”
“Confound that widow and you," said the
Mujor sotto voce. “Byron was a Scotch Poet,
wrote the Lady o' the Lake andJDon Juan and—
and—l believe was a lord; and a great poet for
the ladies, and was killed in a war with the
Turks by the Greeks, or some such romantic
way! Mr. Poyns here knows!”
“I want to buy hia book," said Tim dogged
ly, “ for I mean to give it to the widow with
them eyes!”
The Major looked at me with an air of per
plexed distress! I could not but smile! Here
wore undo and “neffy” both fascinated by the
dangerous-eyed, bewitching widow! In spite
of himself the Major looked comical, but Tim’s
face was as serious as an undertaker’s visage.
The widow had evidently moved the youth to
the very depth of his susceptibilities.
We now proceeded up the main street into
a gate which led out fropa the Park. It was a
handsome, compactly built avenue, lined with
fine edifices, and had an air of wealth and taste.
The first book store we came to Tim eutered,
and inquiring for “Byron’s book,” purchased a
superb copy of his poems at the price of ten dol
lars. The Major on the sly, and, as he thought,
unobserved by me, bought an elegant bijou-box
oUpearl and gold inlaid. I divined what its
destination would be, but made no sign! Here,
then, were uncle and nephew fairly in the field
as rivals!
And who was this captivatrix with the mis
chevious eyes ? One is not snre of the status of
strangers one meets en voyage! Did any one
know her? Did the Major? Was he sure of
the plantation and sixty Afriques ? Nous ver
rons. Time develops all things.
The two, laden with their purchases, rejoined
me, and we three proceeded up the street which
contained many elegant stores, in front of which
stood handsome equipages with servants in liv
ery, from which alighted some of the most
graceful ladies in the world, their oval faces,
dark eyes, sylph-like forms and soft, musical
voices, betraying their southern blood.
“ A low voice is a pleasant thing in woman,”
said the Major, misquoting, but giving the idea.
“The widow’s voice! ah, me!”
At this moment a fine looking man, with black
beard and brilliant eyes, met us. and recognizing
the Major, whom he had seen in Now Orleans,
shook hands with him very cordially. The Ma
jor introduced him as Col. Hillyer, editor of the
Courier. The Colonel cordially infited us to
his editorial rooms, and when we pleaded the
brevity of our time, he insisted on sending to us
a package of his late “exchanges” to take with
us on the boat. We accepted them very thank
fully ; and, here, let me remark that all editors
have that embarras des richesses, newspapers
they know not what to do with, and so have it
in their power to gladden many an invalid’s
room, or a poor man’s home, or a prisoner’s cell,
by an occasional distribution of these treasures.
The rich who take the newspapers, when done
with them, ought to recollect those who do not.
I have a friend who every Monday morning
sends all his papers he does not file to “the per
sons in prtson,” or the alms house. I drop this
fact merely as a hint. It gives very little trou
ble to do kindnesses and they do not cost much.
Often those are most acceptable which cost
After a ramble over this neat and social look
ing city, where the streets and side walks are
kept as clean as garden-walks, and all shaded
with trees that meet in the centre (for it was
an old Spanish town once with narrow Spanish
streets), I inquired where General Quitman was
buried. his villa, half a mile in the
suburbs,” was the reply.
We took a carriage and drove out there. The
villa is a grand, aristocratic mansion at the head
of a park-like lawn, and has all the air of opu
lence that belongs to an English nobleman s
estate The grave was in the private cemetery
near the hoase, yet unmarked by mausoleum;
for the people who idolized the warrior, states-
man and citizen, are to erect a worthy column
of marble to his fame. The General died seven
teen months ago, here, after lingering a year
under the effects of that mysterious poisoning
at the National Hotel. He came home to die.
He calmly arranged all hia affairs! Two weeks
before bis death, he had the happiness of giv
ing away one of his fair daughters to Captain
Lovell, U. S. N., the commander of the Water-
Witch, and, who was.also first officer with Lieu
tenant Hartstien wiien he rescued Dr. Kane.
The General had left his room, where he lay all
day on a sofa, to witness his daughter's mar
riage. He then remained up to receive the res
pects of the numerous guests, who desired once
more to shake hands with the Irst American
Governor of Mexico. (Will he be the last ?) His
hospitality was of the old school sort Civility
and courtesy were high virtues in his estima
tion. Ho would as soon have dene a dishonor
able act, as to have lacked courtesy towards all
men. He could not refuse to receive all who
came in to the reception. He forgot his weak
ness and remained up till 3 o'clock in the morn
ing, seeing the last guest depart The result
was, he sunk at once when born# to his room,
to which from that moment he remained con
fined. On the fifteenth day after the wedding,
he slowly and calmly yielded to She power of
death, which on the battle field, *nd amid the
leaden hail at the Belen gate, ha< spared him
as if he carried a charmed life.
Without doubt General Quitma# was one of
the most remarkable men of tha republic. When
his'life shall be written well ana truthfully, all
men will give to his character unquestioned
and high homage. His memory is embalmed in
the hearts of Mississippians. A nobto obelisk
is about to be up-reared in the Park on the
bluff, or in Fort Rosalie near by, to his fame.
Mrs. Quitman did not long survive her hus
band. The splendid estate occupied by the
General, called Monmouth, is now in the occu
pancy of his son-in-law, Captain Lovell. Gen
eral Quitman haa left one son, Henry Quitman,
who is a sugar planter on the Gulf coast; a
young gentleman of fine qualities, and a worthy
inheritor of his father’s name and fame.
From Monmouth wo were driven past the
splendid seats of Judge Boyd, Chancellor Turn
er, Dr. Duncan and others, riding for an hour
through private grounds and amid the most
lovely landscapes of lawn, grove, garden and
villa, tastefully intermingled, which I have ever
beheld. The Major was enraptured.
“ I always heard,” he said with enthusiasm,
“ these Natchez people were the richest and
proudest in the world, and lived like nobles;
and now I see it. We have nothing, positively
nothing, sir, about New Orleans like it.”
As for Tim, he only said, quietly, “ I did not
think people could make sqph handsome places.
It is like an album full of pretty pictures.”
We were frequently met or overtaken by per
fectly-appointed equipages, and by gentlemen
and ladies on horseback. The women here
have a thorough-bred air and look I like. There
are not less than twenty villas with their grounds
and avenues, lakes and groves, covering a
league of the suburbs, and all communicating
with each other by private, gravelled carriage
roads. Most of these families are related, and
constitute together the most delightful society
in the South.
Emerging from a romantic dell, we came upon
a high road, which led us to a small brick-en
qlosed cemetery, half hidden by shrubbery.
We had enquired for Prentiss’ grave, and we
were told we should find it within this quiet
enclosure, wherein three or four ancient look
ing, moss-grown tombs were visible, half ob
scured by vines. The iron gate was locked. I
climbed it, and, making my way through matted
grass and tangled creepers, stood before the up
right slab of white marble which marked the
resting place of the great Grator. I bared my
head in the presence of the- mighty dead; for,
with all his infirmities, Prentiss was the peer of
the greatest intellects of his age. Justice has
not yet been done to his noble character. His
errors are all referable to his physical infirmity.
He was lame—very lame, and had been so from
his birth. When he grew to boyhood, sensitive
and talented and ambitious, he felt keenly his
lameness and wept over a deformity wbich, in
his own mind, degraded him in the presence of
his school mates. Early he learned to taste the
bitterness of an ambitious and lofty spirit, feel
ing physical inferiority, while he was proudly
conscious of intellectual superiority. When he
became a man, his painful sensitiveness to his
lameness led him to withdraw himself from all
female society. Under the cloud of his morbid
feelings, he fancied woman scorned him. He
felt humbled and degraded in her presence. The
barb thus rankled ever in his heart He did
not know till long afterwards, when a lovely wo
man gave him her heart and hand, that a true
woman is interested more by the splendor of
mind in man, than symmetry of person: that
beautiful women look rather to the intellect and
are dazzled by it, no matter how plain the
casket.
For thirteen Jfears of his earlier manhood he
refused introduction to ladies. Such was the
sensitiveness of this proud nature! He well
knew hia own intellectual powers, and, knowing
them, he despised more and more his infirm
body and believed that all others did. Yet his
face was wonderfully handsome. His head was
large and noble and grand in outline. His smile
was beautiful, nis powers of conversation were
imperial and unapproachable. Yet, constantly
feeding upon his own morbid emotions, he de
spised himself. He felt (like some mighty an
gel in chains,) bound to a body that lacked the
full and perfect impress of his kind. This one,
unendurable idea was never absent from him.
Once, an injudicious friend, indiscreet with wine,
said, “ Prentiss, what made you lame?”
Mr. Prentisß turned upon him a withering look
of scorn, hatred and contempt, and answered in
a hoarse and terrible whisper, before which the
other trembled :
“ God's curse, sir!’’
Then, turning his back upon him, with a lip
tremulous from unfathomable feeling, he cover
ed his face with his hands, and hastening to his
chamber, cast himself upon his bed in a par
oxysm of bitter weeping. Who could not pity
such a man ? Who shall wonder, oh unchari
table Pharisee, that he sought relief at the
gaming board, staking thousands recklessly upon
a card; or in the intoxication of the wine cup ?
lie gambled not for money—he drank not from
love of strong drink, but to escape the pressure
of damning thought The sight of his infirm
limb at times would drive this proud man to
fierce despair 1 What cared he for the sots who
flocked about him and drank at his expense!
They were his tobls. He made use of them to
help him drown renecnon i They Uiauk ftn sen
sual thirst of drink; he, to quench the fires of
thought! He despised them! Not one dare
take a familiarity with him I He who spoke to
him lightly of his lameness, was unforgiven for
evermore 1
Who will fling the stone? Who will con
demn ? Who can judge him, who was never in
his place ? What mind can conceive of the in
intellectual and moral torture of this proud, bril
liant genius, going through life hating liis own
form, and shunning, for years, God’s greatest
and best gift to man, fiom a sense of self-degra
dation in woman’s presence ?*
No, justice has not yet been done to this great
and wonderful man. He was not understood by
but a few of his nearest friends — never by his
boon-companions. They fancied he was such an
one as themselves, when he towered above them
like a prince and despised them like a god. His
own brother, who wrote his life in two volumes,
did not at all comprehend his true character,
and has unawares left a false and unjust impres
sion of him upon the mind of his readers.
Even the grave lifts up its voice in echo of
the vulgar opinion which classes him with ordi
nary inebriates and reckless gamesters. It was
with pain I read the inscription upon the head
stone ; it is with sorrow I copy it. I give it
below:
“If thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquity,
who shall stand t
But there is forgtvcnness with Thee that
Thou mayest be feared.”
8. 8. PRENTISS,
BORN AT PORTLAND, ME,
Sept. 80,1803.
Departed
THIS LfEE
AT
NATCHEZ,
Jut If 1850.
Had not the Holy Bible some other verses than
these bitter ones! We are all sinners; but why
should this man be held up, thus as a sinner more
than all?
Permit me to add here the following tribute
to ray noble friend's memory, (for I knew him
well), as an offset, if possible, to this severe me
mento mori, which, it is to be hoped, will ere
long be removed from the head of his grave it so
inappropriately distinguishes:
When intelligence of his death was spread,
abroad, scarce a journal arrived without contain
ing its tribute of respect to the memory of this
gifted man. His hold upon the hearts of his coun
trymen was exhibited, not so much in cold hom
age to his greatness, as in the warm enthusiastic
expressions of admiration, aMce from political
friends and opponents. Equally gratifying was
the response from the Northern States. Prentiss’
fame was no sectional thing. His eloquence
touched the heart and riveted the attention, while
his personal qualities attracted the warm attach
ment of every one within his reach. I copy
from two of our New Orleans cotemporaries some
portion oftheir hasty, but eloquent and truthful
eulogiums.
from the Nctr Orleans Delta.
A weak and debilitated boy, with a gentle lisp
and supported by sustaining cane, was soon seen
stealing away the technical hearts of stern judg
es, and weaving seduative tales in the honest
ears of sworn jurymen. Resistless as the pen
etrating breeze, his juvenile eloquence searched
every avenue of thought and feeling. The clas
sic page and the varied mass of modern litera
ture were conveniently stored away in the mas
sy caverns of his broad and fertile intellect. A
dose train of didactic reasoning on the most ab-
j Two Dollars Per Annum, I.
I Always In Advance. |
struse legal topic, was lit up with the pyrotech
nic fires of fancy. The most ordinary incidents
of hfe, the merest common places, were caught
upon the wings of his imagination, and blended
and effectively commingled, in his illustrative
oratory, with’the boldest and most gorgeous me
taphors.
Nor was his mind “ cribbed, cabined, and con
fined ” within the narrow limits of a mere pro
fessional life. He always identified himself with
every project of patriotism, benevolence, charity,
or literature, that was agitated in his vicinage.
A monument to Franklin, or a sympathetic ap
peal in favor of struggling Hungary, or a dona
tive response to the tearful orphan, or a com
memoration of the birtli-day of the Bard of Avon,
would equally fixe his boul and syllablo his
tongue. He possessed one of the most highly
endowed intellects we ever knew. His memory
was singularly retentive, so that be could repeat
whole cantos of Byron on the moment. His log
ical faculty was very acute and discerning. It
was often the complaint of the court and his
brother lawyers, that he would argue a case all
to pieces. He would penetrate to the very bot
tom of a subject, as it were, by intuition, and
lay it bare in all its parts, like a chemist analyz
ing any material object, or a surgeon making a
dissection. His reading was full and general,
and everything he gathered from books, as well
as from intercourse with his fellow-men, clung
to his memory, and was ever at his command.—
But his most striking talent was his oratory.—
We have never known or read of a man, who
equalled Prentiss in the faculty of thinking on
hi* lees, or of &temporaneous eloquence. He
required no preparation to spook on any subject,
and on all he was equally happy. We have
heard from him, thrown out in a dinner speech,
or at a public meeting, when unexpectedly called
on, more brilliant and striking thoughts, than
many of the most gifted poets and orators ever
elaborated in their closets. He possessed a rare
wit. His garland was enwreathed with flowers
culled from every shrub or plant, and from every
clime. And if at times the thorn lurked beneath
the bright flower, the wound it inflicted was soon
assuaged and healed by some mirthful and
laughter-moving palliative.
His heart overflowed with warm, generous,
and patriotic feeling. He was as brave and chi
valrous a3 Bayard—as soft, tender, and affection
ate as a loving child, untainted by the selfish
ness of the world. All small, selfish, narrow
feelings were foreign to his nature. His bosom
was the home of honor—his imagination was full
ot lofty thoughts, and his mind disdained the
grovelling feelings and considerations of the
worldly minded. Let not his friends be incon- 4
solable.
It is proper that such a mind should thus
glide from these scenes of worldly trouble. It
is just that a bright exhalation, which has shone
so brilliantly, should disappear thus suddenly,
ere it begins gradually to fade and flicker; that
the fire of so noble an intelligence, should not
diminish, and gradually and slowly go out, amid
decrepitude and physical decay; but that, like
the meteor shooting across the heavens, illumi
nating the earth, it should sink suddenly and for
ever, into the earth from, which it sprung 1
JFrom the Neve Orleans Crescent.
Now that he is dead, it will not be deemed in
vidious to the living, for a friend to say that as
a popular orator he had no equal in the South
west. Gifted with a rich voice of great compass
aud power of modulation —with a face of eminent
beauty and intellectuality—
His gestures did obey
Tbe oracular mind that made his features glow,
And when his curved lip half opea lay,
Passion's divlnest stream had made impetuous way.
His imagination was “ as wild and free of wing
as'Eden's garden bird,” which fluttered and
toyed with every beautiful flower, while his wit
relieved the tension of the heart strings, drawn
to pam by his pathos. Never did we hear a
man wiio had so much hold on the masses. A
friend once said to him in our presence, “ Pren
tiss, you always mesmerize me when you speak.”
He answered, “ then it is an affair of reciprocity,
for a multitude always electrifies me 1” One se
cret of his great power undoubtedly was the sin
cerity of his speeches —the sympathy which
bound him to his audience, was the tie which
bound them to him. It was as a lawyer, how
ever, that his early and intimate friends most
admired his talents. It is rarely that vivid.im
agination, pointed wit and strong reasoning pow
er are united. Where, however, there is this
union we have the character of the orator. Such '
was O’Connell—such was Prentiss.
Os our friend, as a man, we have not the heart
to speak. Where he was known he was loved
as much for the kindness and generosity of his
nature, as he was admired for the brilliancy of
his genius and the power of his intellect.
He leaves a wife and children to mourn his
death, but to treasure his memory. Amid the
widow's weeds shall sparkle the brightest jewel,
a husband's reputation, while the childfen, if
rich in nothing else, have a princely heritage in
that father’s name. May they prove heirs as v
well to his eminent talents and his many vir
tues.
An revoir.
NO. 38.