Natchez on parade: marching bands, fire engines, and a massive military ship were all part of the city's elaborate carnival of 1906.

The ancient "Father of Waters." The 200-foot bluffs. The beautiful mansions from another time. All conjure up different images of the romantic yet enigmatic city of Natchez, the oldest Mississippi River port in the nation.

In the post-Victorian year of 1906, this city with deep historical roots was, for the first three weeks in February, the main topic of discussion for most of the state's 1.6 million citizens. Front-page articles featuring the grand old city were printed in almost every daily and weekly paper from Corinth to Columbia and from Grenada to Gulfport. The stories weren't about the city's colorful heritage; they were all about the festival. Young people, old people, and those of all ages in between were thrilled about the upcoming ninth annual Natchez Mardi Gras carnival and parade.

What a time those two days--Monday, February 26, and Tuesday, February 27--must have been. The weather was just right, not cold and with no rain, which helped to boost the attendance to its highest number ever. The Natchez Daily Democrat reported 20,000 "strangers" in addition to the city's 12,000 population who at times crowded practically every street in the city to the sidewalks. Several special trains and four steamboats brought thousands in and out on both days to help alleviate the strain on local hotels and inns, which were filled to capacity.

There were two parades each day, one in the morning and another at night. Each daytime parade "formed on Broadway and marched up Main to Pine, along Pine to Franklin, down Franklin to Wall, along Canal to Washington, up Washington to Pine, along Pine to Main, and down Main to the Royal Palace," reported the newspaper. Each night parade of a thousand sparkling lights followed a different route: "From Den to Rankin, along Rankin to Franklin to Canal, along Canal to Main, up Main to Pine, along Pine to State, down State to Pearl, along Pearl to Jefferson, down Jefferson to Wall, along Wall to State, then up State to Pearl, where it disbanded at the Royal Palace."

Mounted police led each parade, followed by the Phoenix Steam Fire Company No. 7, "clad in their red shirts, sans coats." Proudly they marched in front of their historically accurate float depicting the first engine of the Mississippi Central Railroad. Following close behind the floral white and gold engine was one of five marching bands, adding even more color, merriment, and life.

In step behind them were the flamboyantly dressed men of the Eagle Hook and Ladder Company No. 2, ahead of their single-team horse-drawn float in Mardi Gras colors of green and gold, the wheels of which were embellished with human face designs. Of this float, the Democrat reporter wrote, "it was one of gaud and glitter, better seen than described."

After another band, the boys of the Protection Steam Fire Company No. 3 stole the show with their splendid float, "A Royal Banquet." This magnificent display contained "48 yards of rose vines, 48 yards of gold leaf, 48 yards of daisy vines, 2,800 feet of gold tinsel, five gross of white roses, seven gross of lilies, and four gross of daisies. On either side of the float were improvised bowers, in which were seated children, and two white doves."

Next, on the heels of a thundering band of drummers, 65 sailors ("Jackies") and Marines from the U.S. Monitor Arkansas were followed by a company of cadets from nearby Jefferson Military College. Then came the city's Quitman Rifles, who acted as the Royal Guard to the Mardi Gras king (Rex IX), his queen, and their court, followed by the precision drill team from Chamberlain-Hunt Academy in Port Gibson.

If all of this wasn't enough, six fairytale-like white horses appeared as if from the pages of a children's book, pulling the giant $5,000 steam calliope of the Great Cosmopolitan Amusement Company. The massive instrument was seemingly ablaze with hundreds of electrical lights powered by a self-contained electrical plant. Accompanied by two brass bands, this colossal wonder was a show-stopper by itself. But even that wasn't all; next came dozens of mounted cowboys, including trick riders, expert marksmen, and lasso artists, plus "20 genuine Sioux Indians," many in full headdress, riding ponies. Following them was a virtual stampede of circus animals and clowns and ... Wow! What a parade!

The entertainment was non-stop. There were fancy-dress balls at night amid the ever-present street fairs complete with a merry-go-round, a Ferris Wheel, and a mock-up of the Tyrolean Alps where for a fee one could "hike the Pike." In all, there were 12 paid shows. In addition, the Baker Grand Theatre featured world-famous actress Alice Nielson, billed as "America's Greatest Prima Donna."

As spectacular as all of this was, it was the fighting ship, the 3,225-ton, steel-clad Arkansas, that drew the most attention. Touted by the Mardi Gras committee as its number-one drawing card, the mammoth war ship did not disappoint, as thousands of visitors took advantage of the opportunity "to inspect the big ship from turret to hull."

The U.S. Monitor Arkansas was a rather unique ship. Only four of its type were ever built. With its low freeboard hull and its two 12-inch, 40-caliber cannons enclosed in a single revolving turret, it was an obvious holdover design from the Civil War era. Although still very much considered modern in 1906, it was in the last group of monitors (single gun turret ships) to be constructed for the U.S. Navy. Along with its sister monitors Connecticut, Florida, and Wyoming, it was built specifically for the protection of our nation's coastlines. The handsome ship, commissioned at Newport News, Virginia, on October 28, 1902, measured 255 feet in length and was 50 feet wide, and with a draft of only 12 1/2 feet, the snow white and bronze beauty could steam almost anywhere.

The great armored ship arrived at Natchez on Sunday, February 25, at 3:30 p.m., and anchored in the middle of the river straight out from the landing at the foot of Silver Street. There she stayed as steadfast as an island throughout the festivities. On Tuesday, King Rex IX, Clarence Edward Moritz, and his queen, Elizabeth Watkins Morris, made their debut aboard the steamer "Senator Cordill," which served as their "royal yacht," along with a flotilla of 11 smaller boats. When the royal crew came steaming across the river from the Louisiana side, the naval gunners onboard the Arkansas greeted them with a booming 21-gun salute. Later, when Governor James K. Vardaman and the members of the Mississippi Legislature (who rode a special train down from Jackson) departed the ship after having received a VIP guided tour, Vardaman was given a seven-gun salute in keeping with his station. Arkansas commander Captain Rogers H. Galt, his officers, and many of his crewmen took part in the parades and the grand ball, which ended the celebration at midnight Tuesday night.

After an additional day of rest in the city, the Jackies returned to their ship. A journalist with the Daily Democrat announced their departure with these words: "Yesterday morning at six o'clock, just as the rising sun was tinting the eastern sky with its golden rays, the United States Monitor Arkansas weighed anchor in front of the city and, amid the tooting of steam whistles, turned her face toward the open sea."

As may be imagined, for those who witnessed the two days of unparalleled merrymaking and patriotically themed parades a century ago--and surely some saw all four of them--it couldn't have been anything less than unforgettable. I, of course, wasn't there. I have only read newspaper accounts of it. Nevertheless, my mind is practically overwhelmed with images and sounds of things that might have been--no, must have been. My imagination reels with excitement just thinking about it. What an awesome event. And as far as I've been able to find, the only hitch mentioned in the entire 48-hour spectacle happened during the second daytime parade, when the Eagle Hook and Ladder float of Fire Company No. 2 wasn't able to participate because one of its big gray horses, "Joe," was sick and a mate could not be secured.

The person who coined the phrase "I love a parade" must have seen this one. When and if someone ever invents a time machine, this is one of the treats I would love to travel back in time to see. In lieu of that, the next time I'm in Natchez, I'll bet you that with a little imagination, if I stand on just the right corner, at perhaps Main and Pearl, and listen as if to a whisper, I'll be able to hear that big calliope coming up the street. But wait! If I close my eyes, I think I can hear it even now.