Having spent my boyhood near Louisville, Kentucky, and falling in
love with the character of the young men of that chivalric State, I
found my way back to that region in the beginning of the year 1861,
from my home in the city of New York. In March, I went down the
Mississippi river to seek a school, and stopped in Arkansas, where I
hoped to find a relative who was engaged in teaching. Failing to
find either my kinsman or a remunerative school, I entered into
partnership with a young man from Memphis named George Davis, for
the purpose of getting out wine-cask staves, to be shipped to New
Orleans and from thence to France. We located in Phillips county,
Arkansas, bordering on the St. Francis river, more than 100 miles
from Memphis. The venture proved profitable, and with five hired
hands--Frenchmen--we were making money fast enough to satisfy a
moderate ambition, and I had time to look about me and study the
various phases of Arkansas society.

Frequent log-rollings--meetings of the neighbors to clear away the
dead timber which falls during the winter--brought me into contact
with the citizens for miles around. All sought acquaintance with the
stranger youth, and were generally courteous and friendly. In trials
of strength and skill, I occasionally gained an advantage which
made me friends among the older, but evidently waked up envy in the
breasts of some of the rougher young men. My refusal to drink with
the crowd, also widened the breach which I noticed was forming
without any cause on my part.

I was often sounded on the subject of slavery, which is the
touchstone always used in the South to test the character of a
new-comer. As a young man, I had no very fixed views upon the
subject. I had the impression that where it existed it should be