Part 18

Frontier life conduces to early maturity in cities as well as in men, and Montgomery was no exception to the rule. The hard knocks that produce self-reliance were not slow in coming. In spite of disastrous freshets and destructive epidemics, the population increased, and with its growth came a new and rougher element. An old newspaper suggests drily: “It requires no stretch of art to put rubbish before a shop door; to take down a gingerbread-maker’s sign; to take the wheels from a lady’s carriage and put them on a silversmith’s shop; and make noise enough to disturb the slumbers of the sick by beating stirrups for triangles, and blowing conch-shells for French horns.” Drunkenness and gambling increased, and the same paper soon had occasion to add: “This is the third, if not the fourth, attempt at homicide in this place within a few months.” Such things were the first test of the city’s capacity for self-government, and were met by primitive but rigorous measures. Indecency of language or conduct was punished by a ducking in some neighboring pond, followed by a ride on a rail. There is a record of an outrageous scoundrel who attempted to steal and sell an Indian family, and was promptly whipped through the streets by the squaws while the citizens lined up and saw it well done. But the lawlessness increased until finally it destroyed the peace and threatened the existence of the town. Then it was that the law-abiding class rose in mass, and under the leadership of Colonel John H. Thorington put down the gang and cleaned out their haunts.

If they had at times been too lenient toward lawlessness, and at others too impatient to wait for legal formalities, a ready explanation may be found in their absorption in business cares and enterprises. A new country of unknown resources had to be developed. Other things must wait. Governor Gilmer, of Georgia, who visited Montgomery in 1833, was deeply--perhaps too deeply--impressed with this side of their life. He says:

“I found the fertile lands of Montgomery settled up with active, intelligent, wealthy citizens, who had been drawn to it from the old States by the great advantages which it afforded to those who desired to increase their riches. The rapid accumulation of wealth whetted the appetite for getting money, until the people could not be satisfied with any quantity acquired. It was a subject of wondering cogitation to me, who had for many years been constantly taken up with the affairs of the government, and the strife of party politics, to listen to my Montgomery friends talking without ceasing of cotton, negroes, land and money.”

The hardest problem that the business man of those early times had to face was the question of transportation. Dry goods, groceries and manufactured articles had at first been brought from Savannah and Charleston by wagon or horseback. But the way was long, the roads wretched,--especially through the Creek territory,--and the Indians demanded exorbitant tolls at the bridges; so the method was anything but satisfactory, and other plans were soon tried. Barges and flatboats were laboriously poled up from Mobile. They bore the promising names, _Alabama Swan_, _Lady of the Lake_, _Cotton Patch_ and _Ready Money_, but consumed from fifty to seventy days on the trip. The local paper records the arrival of an “amphibious animal in the shape of a boat from East Tennessee.” It came down the Tennessee, was transported across thirty miles of land to the Coosa, and by that river reached its destination. After a journey of a thousand miles, it finally arrived with an amusing assortment of flour, whiskey, apple brandy, cider, dried fruit, feathers and a five-wheel carriage,--some of which must have been taken on board near the end of the trip.

Under such circumstances, the arrival of the first steamboat, the _Harriet_, on October 22, 1821, marked an epoch. Nor did the town fail to appreciate its importance. The entire population turned out to bid it welcome. The next day it carried an excursion up the river at the lively rate of six miles an hour. Steam was too precious to be wasted in whistling, so a gun was fired to signal its approach.

While the _Swans_ and the _Harriets_ were struggling for supremacy, a third rival destined to supplant them both made its modest appearance. The Montgomery Railroad, delayed by the panic of ’37, opened the first twelve miles of its line for business in 1840. It made no great display, and when the engine was out of fix horses were substituted without hesitation or serious loss of time. But it was the beginning of a system that soon put the city in close communication with the older Eastern States; and when President Davis came in 1861 over the same road, he traveled in a private car made in its own shops at Montgomery.

Business was the dominant interest during the first two decades of the city’s existence, and may have seemed to visitors like Governor Gilmer to exclude all other thoughts; yet beneath the surface there smouldered the Southern devotion to politics. The town was scarcely two years old when the Missouri question gave rise to an ardent discussion of State rights, which found frequent occasion for renewal in subsequent years; and at the public dinner prepared in celebration of the Fourth of July, 1826, there were two toasts whose sentiment seems strangely significant in the light of after events. They were:

“The Union of the States--The golden chain of our liberties; dissolved into its minute links, the fabric falls into ruin.”

“States Rights--The ark of our safety; every attempt to violate them should be regarded as highly obnoxious to the holy spirit of the Constitution.”

Nor was their zest for politics a mere fondness for empty debate or idle personalities. It was an innate love for public affairs, a desire to discuss and to take part in whatever touched the public welfare. Now it was a question of State versus national power in the Creek region, and they with other Alabamians took such a lively hand in it that Francis S. Key, the author of _The Star Spangled Banner_, had to be sent down as special commissioner to smooth matters over. A year later it was Texas struggling against the absolutism of Santa Anna, and so keen was the interest felt at Montgomery that a mass-meeting was held in the theatre, funds were contributed, and a company of forty men under Captain Ticknor was raised in the immediate neighborhood. In addition to the princely pay of $8 a month, there was the uncertain promise of a square mile of land out there. They got just six feet of it; for they were massacred after surrender at Goliad. In 1840, their attention was engrossed by the picturesque “Tippecanoe and Tyler too” campaign. Log cabins, coon-skins, and hard cider were seen on every hand, and the “Great ball,” which the Whig enthusiasts rolled through so many cities as a spectacular admonition to “keep the ball rolling,” passed through the streets inscribed with denunciations of the Nullifiers.

[Illustration: ALABAMA STATE CAPITOL WHERE PRESIDENT DAVIS WAS INAUGURATED.]

But, after all, the event which made politics a prominent feature of life at Montgomery was the removal thither of the State capital. Tuscaloosa, its location at that time, not being accessible enough, a constitutional amendment was adopted providing for its removal, and on January 28, 1846, the Legislature, after a hot contest, selected Montgomery as the site. Two days later, the Selma stage brought the news to the city. Next day there was a grand procession, and at night there were bonfires and a jollification that would have gladdened the soul of old Andrew Dexter. His desire was to be fulfilled, and the capitol was to stand on the very lot he had reserved for it on Goat Hill nearly thirty years before. The new building, erected by the city, was ready in the fall of ’47; the archives in one hundred and thirteen boxes were laboriously brought from Tuscaloosa in thirteen wagons, at a cost of $1325--figures as significant of poor transportation facilities as they are full of the magical number thirteen--and all was ready for the Legislature, which met in December. The effect on the city is vividly described in Garrett’s _Public Men_:

“The novelty of the occasion, together with the greater facilities to reach the seat of government, brought together an immense concourse of people.... The hotels were crowded to inconvenience, private boarding-houses were increased and thronged, and every avenue to the capitol presented at all hours of the day a stirring multitude. Candidates for the various offices were as thick as blackbirds in a fresh plowed field in spring.”

The new building was burned two years later, but was immediately rebuilt on substantially the same plan.

Immediately on becoming the seat of government, Montgomery of course became the most important place politically in the State, and during the stirring years before the Civil War was the scene of many events which connected its history more and more closely with that of the country at large, and paved the way for the conspicuous part it was to play in ’61.

The war with Mexico, like the struggle of Texas, aroused here more than a passing interest. In spite of the sad fate of Captain Ticknor’s men, its citizens enlisted again and went to the front under Captain Rush Elmore and Colonel J. J. Seibels; and during the first few weeks of its session in the new capitol the Legislature suspended routine work more than once to join in the enthusiastic receptions accorded such returning heroes as Generals Quitman and Shields.

From that time until the Confederacy was born in its midst, the little city, like a mountain lake, bore on its ruffled surface traces of every storm that passed over the land. No other city reflected more vividly the heated debates in Congress over the fatal territorial problems thrust on us by the Mexican War. Nowhere else was the attitude of the South on these burning questions stated so promptly and so emphatically as in the once famous Alabama Platform, first presented by Mr. Yancey, February 14, 1848, to a great political convention assembled in the capitol. The scene was historic, and is thus described by his biographer, Mr. DuBose:

“At this stage in the proceedings Mr. Yancey rose. The galleries were crowded with ladies and their escorts; the floor, lobbies, and rotunda were packed with men. He drew from his pocket his own resolutions and read them.... He spoke at length.... A vote was taken, and Yancey’s resolutions were adopted, without even one opposing voice, amidst the most enthusiastic cheering on the floor and in the lobbies, the ladies in the galleries waving their handkerchiefs in the contagion of joy.”

It was a characteristic example of his keen political foresight and also of the wonderfully persuasive eloquence that set his hearers on fire. No orator ever combined more perfectly closeness of reasoning with the fire of earnestness and an irresistible personal magnetism. The capitol, old Estelle Hall, every public place in the city, rang with the mellow tones of his voice; his debates with Hilliard were attended by throngs never equaled in the State before or since; and the mention of his name at this day arouses in the memory of old residents a sense of ecstasy produced by no other. No better idea of his manner can be given than by quoting once more from his biography, this time from a letter of General H. D. Clayton, describing a subsequent impromptu debate with his great friend and opponent, Hilliard:

“Mr. Hilliard, being loudly called, took his stand, and made the graceful speech he always does.... Then broke forth the deafening, enthusiastic cry, ‘Yancey, Yancey.’ He came like a man conscious of right should always come.... As with modesty becoming a maiden of sixteen, he requested to be permitted to occupy the stand, ‘To the stand,’ shouted an hundred voices.... Bowing low he began--Here I must pause. I should despise my own presumption should I undertake further description of what followed. First went the _Confederation_ newspaper, once in existence, now a dream, a shadow of things that were, gone glimmering like a schoolboy’s tale. At every blow some foe fell, broken in every bone. For just two hours this work of destruction proceeded amidst deafening shouts from the throats of what is admitted on all sides to have been at least two-thirds of the crowded house, called to put Yancey down.”

[Illustration: FIRST PAGE OF THE PERMANENT CONSTITUTION OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES AS REPORTED BY THE COMMITTEE.

THIS IS IN THE HANDWRITING OF GEN. THOS. R. R. COBB, WHO WAS A MEMBER OF THE COMMITTEE. TAKEN FROM THE ORIGINAL, WHICH IS IN THE POSSESSION OF MR. A. L. HULL, ATHENS, GA.]

In the debates and speeches of those days the men and the measures of the last decade before the war are preserved with a vividness that seems almost magical. Estelle Hall echoes with fierce discussions of the great Compromise of 1850. What a vista of history opens before the mind as the streets resound to the tramp of Colonel Buford’s men on their vain errand to Kansas! And what a sobering sense of reality it brings to read his card in the papers! “I wish to raise three hundred industrious, sober, discreet, reliable men, capable of bearing arms; not prone to use them wickedly or unnecessarily, but willing to protect their section in every real emergency.”

But interesting as these incidents are to the student, they were historically only preliminary to the dramatic events connected with the secession of the State and the organization of the Confederate Government. The course of South Carolina and the propositions for compromise had been watched with the greatest eagerness, and when the Alabama Convention assembled in the capitol on January 7, 1861, the excitement was intense. Hotels were crowded, lobbies thronged, the factions were busy caucusing, and so close did the estimate of votes run that a delegate who was opposed to secession exclaimed: “Mr. Yancey can save the Union by the wave of his hand.” When the convention finally, on January 11th, came to a vote, the scene was a solemn and impressive one. Mr. Yancey, as chairman of the committee to draw up the ordinance of secession, rose to close the debate. The majority of the committee, he said, preferred that the ordinance should state simply that the State resumed its original sovereignty by its own act, without adding anything that might seem an apology; but for harmony they had yielded to the desire of the minority and agreed to a preamble and certain resolutions. The question was put and the vote stood 61 to 39. Alabama had declared her independence.

[Illustration: THE PERMANENT CONSTITUTION OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES.

AS REPORTED BY COMMITTEE AND AMENDED BY CONGRESS, IS IN THE POSSESSION OF THE DAUGHTER OF ALEX. B. CLITHERALL, MRS. A. C. BIRCH, MONTGOMERY, ALA.]

The scenes that followed are best described in the next day’s newspaper:

“THE RUBICON IS CROSSED.”

“Yesterday will form a memorable epoch in the history of Alabama. On that day our gallant little State resumed her sovereignty, and became free and independent. So soon as it was announced that the ordinance of secession had passed, the rejoicing commenced and the people seemed wild with excitement. At the moment the beautiful flag presented by the ladies to the convention was run up on the capitol, ... the cannon reverberated through the city, the various church bells commenced ringing, and shout after shout might have been heard along the principal streets.”

At night the capitol and other buildings were “most beautifully illumined,” and fireworks and speeches gave vent to feelings long pent up.

But in the excited crowd were sad hearts as well as gay. Many who heartily believed in the right of secession deemed it inexpedient at the time. A few caught some vision of the dreadful days to come; and one house at least amidst the general rejoicing was draped in mourning.

All hesitation was, however, soon swept away by the contagious excitement of the speedy assembling of the Confederate Congress. South Carolina had suggested Montgomery as the place of meeting, partly because of its central location, partly because of the conspicuous part it had already played. The idea met with favor, and the Alabama convention gave the proper formal invitation.

The little city, so soon to become the storm centre of the South, was at that time a town of some twelve thousand inhabitants, but made the proud boast of being the richest for its size in the country. A newspaper writer of the day thus describes it:

“The principal streets are wide and well improved, the stores and other houses for the transaction of business are large, commodious and handsome.... In regard to the private residences of the well-to-do portion of the population, too much cannot be said in their praise. A large number of them present much architectural skill and beauty, surrounded by capacious grounds, handsomely ornamented with the rarest shrubbery known to the South.”

[Illustration: THE POLLARD RESIDENCE, BUILT BEFORE THE WAR.]

Another visitor was impressed with the numerous

“residences of gentlemen who own plantations in the hotter and less healthful parts of the State. Many of these have been educated in the older States, and with minds enlarged and liberalized by travel, they form, with their families, a cultivated and attractive society.”

[Illustration: MONUMENT TO CONFEDERATE SOLDIERS ERECTED ON THE CAPITOL GROUNDS BY THE LADIES’ MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION.]

Here assembled, on February 4, 1861, the delegates from the Southern States that had seceded, and, amidst scenes still familiar to all Americans, they proceeded to organize the Confederate Government. The excitement culminated with the arrival and inauguration of Mr. Davis. An enormous crowd escorted him from the depot to the Exchange Hotel, where he was welcomed by Mr. Yancey in an apt little speech containing the famous words “The man and the hour have met.” The ceremony of inauguration took place February 18th in front of the capitol. The enthusiasm was unbounded. One who was present declared years afterwards: “I never before or since that hour so experienced the ecstasy of patriotism.” At 10 o’clock in the morning Mr. Davis left the Exchange in a carriage drawn by six white horses. A vast throng escorted him up Dexter Avenue to the capitol.

[Illustration: JEFFERSON DAVIS.]

“After he took his seat on the platform in front of the capitol,” wrote an eye-witness, “and a short prayer had been offered, he read a very neat little speech, not making many promises, but hoping by God’s help to be able to fulfill all expectations. He took the oath amidst the deepest silence; and when he raised his hand and his eyes to heaven, and said ‘so help me God,’ I think I never saw any scene so solemn and impressive.”

Years have gone by since those brave days. The scenes that so stirred not only Montgomery but the entire land have passed into the pages of history. The eager throng that crowded Capitol Hill, and hung breathlessly on every word of the brief inaugural address; the ringing cheers and the roar of cannon that welcomed the news of Virginia’s secession; the groups of leaders planning earnestly laws and constitutions and deep schemes of public policy; the soldiers in gray marching by with high hopes and light step; the sad day when the Confederate Government packed its archives and took its departure for Richmond--these memories and a thousand others that cluster about them will always be kept alive by the tender sentiment that clings to the Lost Cause.

But Montgomery, true to the spirit of its history, does not look backward. Business enterprise has adapted itself to new surroundings. It is to-day a city of the New South. On the site of the old Indian town, Ecunchatty, stands a great modern factory. The change is typical. Far over the wide stretches of field and river float the long streamers of smoke, the banners of the modern army of industry, in striking but friendly contrast to the white dome on Capitol Hill, the centre of Montgomery’s past and present political life.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

NEW ORLEANS

“THE CRESCENT CITY”

BY GRACE KING

Sail across the blue waters of the Gulf and make your way up the mighty current of the Mississippi, like the leisurely traveler of yore, if you wish to approach New Orleans in the proper way and spirit; unless--which also furnishes a proper way and spirit--you wind your way down the mighty current, from some far northern starting-point. And for guidance provide not yourself with an up-to-date map of the United States, crisscrossed with railroads, and speckled with illegibly printed names of swarming towns. The pilot chart of the steamboat is the true informant here if you are not the fortunate possessor or borrower of some old print of the last century, one of those happy combinations of fact and imagination issued by the ancient cartographer in the effort to compromise old theories with new discoveries; charts tracked by the foot of the pioneer, not by the wheel of the locomotive, graded by the paddle of the canoe, not by that of the steamer; charts that bear record to the history as well as geography of a country and chronicle its ever-clearer and ever-increasing vastness and importance. Upon such a map was the name New Orleans first written down. Naught to the north but Canada and the Great Lakes; to the east, the Atlantic seaboard with its mere fringe of English settlements fenced in by impassable mountains; to the west, mountains again, and illimitable prairies, covered over by bounding buffalo. South, lay the Gulf of Mexico with Florida on the one side, Mexico on the other. From one of the Great Lakes at the north, Lake Michigan, to the Gulf of Mexico at the south, comes through the blank expanse of paper, the huge, black serpent line of the Mississippi twisting and curving through, a triumph of the artist, its great valley, pictured from mountain range to mountain range, teeming with Indian villages, fields of waving corn, droves of innumerable deer, and illimitable forests. At the head of navigation lay the little village of Chicagou, about midway the little stronghold of St. Louis, at the terminus New Orleans; the three names linking together across the distance two hundred years ago even as to-day.

[Illustration: TOMB OF AVAR, CITY PARK.]

De Soto first conceived the project of founding a settlement upon the Mississippi River, his Rio Grande. As he lay stricken with fever upon its banks within sight of its majestic currents, his mind dwelt upon the glory of annexing the great stream and its territory to Spain, the souls of its peoples to the Catholic Church. From his couch, he urged forward the building of the ships to be sent to Havana for the necessary supplies; with dying ears he listened to the sound of the busy axes and hammers, and with dying voice he charged upon his men the accomplishment of what would turn all the suffering and loss of their expedition into brilliant success and ensure his fame and theirs to all time.

But the Spaniards, sinking the body of their commander beneath the turbid waters of the Mississippi, sank there too his plans and ambitions, and, turning their backs upon the river, recked not that Spain should gain or lose it.