216 Chronicles of the Cape Fear River

by reference to the fatiguing circumstances of his journey thus
far. ,

The view below and around the place where Mr. Clay stood
was striking beyond any effort of ours to portray. The wide
street, for a considerable distance on either hand, was one dense
mass of human beings, whilst the balconies, windows, etc., were
crowded with ladies, all eager listeners to the words of the great
statesman of the West. Never was such a scene, or anything
approaching to it, witnessed in Wilmington.

His speech ended, Mr. Clay entered the reception room, and
was then introduced to a rushing tide of people, made up of
both sexes and all ages and conditions. He remained in the re-
ception rooms until one o’clock, and then retired to his lodgings.

At two o’clock a most bountiful collation, prepared by Mr.
Keith, was spread out on tables in the open space south of Mr.
John Walker’s house on Princess Street, to which a general in-
vitation had been given, and of which hundreds partook. Mr.
Clay was not present, desiring to have a few hours’ rest. The
company was, however, highly gratified with able and instruc-
tive speeches from Hon. A. H. Stephens, member of Congress
from Georgia, who being on his way to Washington was in-

duced to remain over a day; Col. William W. Cherry, of Bertie,
an orator of surpassing eloquence; Col. B. F. Gaither, of Burke,
and others. Mr. Stephens well sustained the reputation which
had preceded him of being an eloquent, humorous, and effective
speaker.

At night there was a superb ball and party at the Carolina
Hotel and Masonic Hall—all the rooms being connected for
the occasion. The whole affair was got up under the superin-
tendency of ladies of Wilmington. It could not, therefore, but
be an elegant one. The rooms were beautifully decorated, the
refreshments choice, the supper in refined taste and order, the
music inspiring, and a hilarious spirit reigned throughout the
well-filled apartments. How many hours of the morning heard
the festive strains we do not exactly know and will not hazard a
conjecture. In the course of the evening Mr. Clay visited the
place of gaiety and remained a couple of hours or so.

Between seven and eight this morning Mr. Clay took his de-
parture for Raleigh, by way of the railroad, cheered by many,
many, newly-awakened and newly-born wishes for his welfare.

We have thus sketched a meagre outline of Mr. Clay’s visit
to Wilmington. The glowing lines of the picture the reader’s

Notable Incidents O17

imagination must supply. The enthusiasm, the kindly feeling,
the generous good will, all these are to be supposed, for they
were all exhibited in an eminent degree.

There was a very great concourse of strangers in town from
this and the neighboring counties, Fayetteville, and other parts
of the State, who aided us in doing honor to our venerable and
beloved guest.

THE VISIT OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

Early in May, 1847, Daniel Webster visited Wilmington as
the guest of Gov. Edward B. Dudley. In an old book contain-
ing the private correspondence of Mr. Webster I found a letter
by him dated Wilmington, May 6, 1847, as follows:

“At one o’clock yesterday, ten miles from this city, we met a
special train, with a large deputation, headed by ex-Governor
Dudley. The weather was bad, and the wind east, and I was
rather easily persuaded to stay over a day. The Governor
brought us to his own home, where we were grandly lodged. I
go to the hotel to meet the citizens at 11 o’clock, and go off at
half-past two this p. m., if the wind goes down. At present it
blows rather hard. This is an active little city, built on the east
side of the river, on sand-hills. The good people are Whigs, but
out of the city, and all around for fifty miles, it is a region
whose politics are personified by Mr. McKay.

“There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and
it is known to many in this land by the name of pitch, etc., etc.
We are here in the midst of this very thing, at the very center
of the tar and turpentine region. The pines are long-leaved
pines. In one of these, a foot from the bottom, a notch is cut,
and its capacity enlarged and its shape fashioned a little, so as
to hold the liquid, by chiseling, and then it is called the ‘box.’
Above the box the bark is cut off, for a foot or so, and the turpen-
tine oozes out of the tree on to this smooth surface, and then
runs slowly into the box. The box holds about a quart. In a
good large tree it will fill five times a season. Sometimes there
are two boxes in one tree, so that some trees will yield ten
quarts a year. But the greatest yield is the first year; after that
it is gradually diminished, and in seven or eight years the tree
dies, or will yield no more turpentine. Tar is made by bring-
ing together wood full of turpentine, either trees or knots, and