Up the Mississippi
of alternate land and water. Everything
�as flat as your hand� � �Nature caught in the
act, making a continent.� Rushes, trees and
driftwood; then little, lonely houses, like the
rudimentary ones drawn by the slate-pencil of
childhood. A remnant of a fire-raft � a
reminescence of the bombardment of the forts,
last April. A salute to Gen. Banks as we
passed them. White and black people on the
lonely plantations as we steam up the tortuous
river, the latter hard at work, in spite of the
day being Sunday. The negroes were glad
to see us, as a matter of course, not so the whites.
One fellow, looking like an overseer, could not
restrain his malevolent feelings, so he shook
his fist at the huge steamer, a proceeding which
induced a roar of laughter from the good natured
soldiers. It was a Southern version of Dame
Partington and her mop against the Atantic.
Little houses, groves of orange trees laden
with fruit, fields of sugar-cane, presses, tall
chimneys. Saw all from the deck-roof and
top of paddle-box. An invitation to a collation
and claret, to �the press� and the band, by Gen.
Banks, and an interview with him subsequent-
ly, in which he made a bit of a speech which
didn�t amount to much. On deck again. The
scenery growing prettier. By 5 � P. M.