American Adventures | Page 3

dances 424

Gigantic movements and mutations, Niagara-like noises, great bursts of
flame like falling fragments from the sun 437
A shaggy, unshaven, rawboned man, gray-haired and collarless, sat
near the window 444
Gaze upon the character called Daniel Voorhees Pike! 456
The houses were full of the suggestion of an easy-going home life and
an informal hospitality 465
Her hands looked very white and small against his dark coat 480
As water flows down the hills of Vicksburg to the river, so the visitor's
thoughts flow down to the great spectacular, mischievous, dominating
stream 485
Over the tenement roofs one catches sight of sundry other buildings of
a more self-respecting character 492
Vicksburg negroes 497
On some of the boats negro fish-markets are conducted 504
The old Klein house 512
Citizens go at midday to the square 520
Hanging in the air above the middle of the stream 536
These small parks give Savannah the quality which differentiates it
from all other American cities 556
The Thomas house, in Franklin Square 561
You will see them having tea, and dancing under the palm fronds of the
cocoanut grove 576
Cocktail hour at The Breakers 581

Nowhere is the sand more like a deep warm dust of yellow gold 588
The couples on the platform were "ragging" 600
Harness held together by that especial Providence which watches over
negro mending 613
It was a very jolly fair 616
The mysterious old Absinthe House, founded 1799 620
St. Anthony's Garden 632
Courtyard of the old Orleans Hotel 641
The little lady who sits behind the desk 656
The lights are always lowered at Antoine's when the spectacular Café
Boulot Diabolique is served 664
Passing between the brilliantly illuminated buildings, the Mardi Gras
parades are glorious sights for children from eight to eighty years of
age 672

THE BORDERLAND
O magnet-South! O glistening, perfumed South! O quick mettle, rich
blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!
WALT WHITMAN.

AMERICAN ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I
ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES

On journeys through the States we start, ... We willing learners of all,
teachers of all, lovers of all.
We dwell a while in every city and town ...
--WALT WHITMAN.

Had my companion and I never crossed the continent together, had we
never gone "abroad at home," I might have curbed my impatience at the
beginning of our second voyage. But from the time we returned from
our first journey, after having spent some months in trying, as some one
put it, to "discover America," I felt the gnawings of excited appetite.
The vast sweep of the country continually suggested to me some great
delectable repast: a banquet spread for a hundred million guests; and
having discovered myself unable, in the time first allotted, to devour
more than part of it--a strip across the table, as it were, stretching from
New York on one side to San Francisco on the other--I have hungered
impatiently for more. Indeed, to be quite honest, I should like to try to
eat it all.
Months before our actual departure for the South the day for leaving
was appointed; days before we fixed upon our train; hours before I
bought my ticket. And then, when my trunks had left the house, when
my taxicab was ordered and my faithful battered suitcase stood packed
to bulging in the hall, my companion, the Illustrator, telephoned to say
that certain drawings he must finish before leaving were not done, that
he would be unable to go with me that afternoon, as planned, but must
wait until the midnight train.
Had the first leap been a long one I should have waited for him, but the
distance from New York to the other side of Mason and Dixon's Line is
short, and I knew that he would join me on the threshold of the South
next morning. Therefore I told him I would leave that afternoon as
originally proposed, and gave him, in excuse, every reason I could
think of, save the real one: namely, my impatience. I told him that I
wished to make the initial trip by day to avoid the discomforts of the

sleeping car, that I had engaged hotel accommodations for the night by
wire, that friends were coming down to see me off.
Nor were these arguments without truth. I believe in telling the truth.
The truth is good enough for any one at any time--except, perhaps,
when there is a point to be carried, and even then some vestige of it
should, if convenient, be preserved. Thus, for example, it is quite true
that I prefer the conversation of my fellow travelers, dull though it may
be, to the stertorous sounds they make by night; so, too, if I had not
telegraphed for rooms,