p155-030

Shakspeare—Suicide or a `fowl' deed—A conscientious table—
Fishing smacks—A pretty boy—Old Skipper, Skipper junior, and
little Skipper—A young Caliban—An alliterate Man—Fishermen—
Nurseries—Navy—The Way to train up a Child—Gulf Stream—
Humboldt—Crossing the Gulf—Ice-ships—Yellow fields—Flying
fish—A game at bowls—Bermuda—A post of observation—
Men, dwellings, and women of Bermuda—St. George—English
society—Washing decks—Mornings at sea—Evenings at sea—A
Moonlight scene—The ocean on fire—Its phosphorescence—
Hypotheses.

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

“Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again,”
was the gentle oratory of the aspiring Richard, in
allusion to the invading Bretagnes.—

“Lash hence these overweening rags of France.”

The interpreter of the heart's natural language—
Shakspeare, above all men, was endowed with
human inspiration. His words come ripe to our
lips like the fruit of our own thoughts. We speak
them naturally and unconsciously. They drop from
us like the unpremeditated language of children—
spring forth unbidden—the richest melody of the
mind. Strong passion, whether of grief or joy,
while seeking in the wild excitement of the moment
her own words for utterance, unconsciously
enunciates his, with a natural and irresistible energy.
There is scarcely a human thought, great or simple,

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

which Shakspeare has not spoken for his fellowmen,
as never man, uninspired, spake; which he
has not embodied and clothed with a drapery of
language, unsurpassable. So—

“Let's whip this straggler o'er the seas again,”

Ship, air, and ocean equally refuse to furnish me
with a solitary incident. My wretched “log” now
and then records an event: such as for instance,
how one of “the Doctor's” plumpest and most deliciously
embonpoint pullets, very rashly and unadvisedly
perpetrated a summerset over-board, after
she had been decapitated by that sable gentleman,
in certainly the most approved and scientific style.
None but a very silly chicken could have been
dissatisfied with the unexceptionable manner in
which the operation was performed. But, both
feathered and plucked bipeds, it seems, it is equally
hard to please.

For the last fourteen days we have been foot-balls
for the winds and waves. Their game may
last as many more; therefore, as we have as little
free agency in our movements as foot-balls themselves,
we have made up our minds to yield our
fretted bodies as philosophically as may be, to their
farther pastime. The sick have recovered, and

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

bask the hours away on deck in the beams of the
warm south sun, like so many luxurious crocodiles.

To their good appetites let our table bear witness.
Should it be blessed with a conscience, it is doubly
blessed by having it cleared thrice daily by the most
rapacious father-confessors that ever shrived penitent;
of which “gentlemen of the cloth” it boasts no
less than eight.

The first day we passed through a widely dispersed
fleet of those short, stump-masted non-descripts,
with swallow-tailed sterns, snubbed bows,
and black hulls, sometimes denominated fishing
smacks, but oftener and more euphoniously, “Chebacco
boats,” which, from May to October, are scattered
over our northern seas.

While we dashed by them, one after another, in
our lofty vessel, as, close-hauled on the wind, or
“wing and wing,” they flew over the foaming sea, I
could not help smiling at the ludicrous scenes which
some of their decks exhibited.

One of them ran so close to us, that we could
have tossed a potato into the “skipper's” dinner-pot,
which was boiling on a rude hearth of bricks placed
upon the open deck, under the surveillance of, I
think, the veriest mop-headed, snub-nosed bit of an
urchin that I ever saw.

“Keep away a little, or you'll run that fellow
down,” suddenly shouted the captain to the helmsman;
and the next moment the little fishing vessel
shot swiftly under our stern, just barely clearing the
spanker boom, whirling and bouncing about in the

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

wild swirl of the ship's wake like a “Massallah boat”
in the surf of Madras.

There were on board of her four persons, including
the steersman—a tall, gaunt old man, whose
uncovered gray locks streamed in the wind as he
stooped to his little rudder to luff up across our wake.
The lower extremities of a loose pair of tar-coated
duck trowsers, which he wore, were incased, including
the best part of his legs, in a pair of fisherman's
boots, made of leather which would flatten a
rifle ball. His red flannel shirt left his hairy breast
exposed to the icy winds, and a huge pea-jacket,
thrown, Spanish fashion, over his shoulders, was
fastened at the throat by a single button. His tarpaulin—
a little narrow-brimmed hat of the pot-lid
tribe, secured by a ropeyarn—had probably been
thrown off in the moment of danger, and now hung
swinging by a lanyard from the lower button-hole
of his jacket.

As his little vessel struggled like a drowning man
in the yawning concave made by the ship, he stood
with one hand firmly grasping his low, crooked rudder,
and with the other held the main sheet, which
alone he tended. A short pipe protruded from his
mouth, at which he puffed away incessantly; one
eye was tightly closed, and the other was so contracted
within a network of wrinkles, that I could just
discern the twinkle of a gray pupil, as he cocked it
up at our quarter-deck, and took in with it the noble
size, bearing, and apparel of our fine ship.

A duplicate of the old helmsman, though less

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

battered by storms and time, wearing upon his chalky
locks a red, woollen, conical cap, was “easing off” the
foresheet as the little boat passed; and a third was
stretching his neck up the companion ladder, to
stare at the “big ship,” while the little carrotyheaded
imp, who was just the old skipper razeed,
was performing the culinary operations of his little
kitchen under cover of the heavens.

Our long pale faces tickled the young fellow's
fancy extremely.

“Dad,” squalled the youthful reprobate, in the
softest, hinge-squeaking soprano—“Dad, I guess
as how them ar' chaps up thar, ha'nt lived on salt
grub long.”—The rascal—we could have minced
him with his own fish and potatoes.

“Hold your yaup, you youngster you,” roared
the old man in reply.—The rest of the beautiful
alliteration was lost in the distance, as his smack
bounded from us, carrying the young sans-culotte
out of reach of the consequences of his temerity.
To mention salt grub to men of our stomachs' capacity,
at that moment! He merited impaling upon
one of his own cod-hooks. In ten minutes after, we
could just discern the glimmer of the little vessel's
white sails on the verge of the distant horizon, in
whose hazy hue the whole fleet soon disappeared.

These vessels were on a tardy return from their
Newfoundland harvests, which, amid fogs and
squalls, are gathered with great toil and privation
between the months of May and October. The
fishermen constitute a distinct and peculiar class—
not of society, but of men. To you I need not

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

describe them. They are to be seen at any time, and
in great numbers, about the wharves of New-England
sea-ports in the winter season—weather-browned,
long-haired, coarsely garbed men, with honesty
and good nature stamped upon their furrowed and
strongly marked features. They are neither “seamen”
nor “countrymen,” in the usual signification
of these words, but a compound of both; combining
the careless, free-and-easy air of the one, with the
awkwardness and simplicity of the other. Free
from the grosser vices which characterize the foreignvoyaged
sailor, they seldom possess, however, that
religious tone of feeling which distinguishes the
ruder countryman.

Marblehead and Cape Cod are the parent nurseries
of these hardy men. Portland has, however,
begun to foster them, thereby adding a new and vigorous
sinew to her commercial strength. In conjunction
with the whale fisheries, to which the cod
are a sort of introductory school, these fisheries are
the principal nurseries of American seamen. I have
met with many American ships' crews, one-half or
two-thirds of which were composed of men who had
served their apprenticeship in the “fisheries.” The
youth and men whom they send forth are the bone
and muscle of our navy. They have an instinctive
love for salt water. Every one who is a parent,
takes his sons, one after another, as they doff their
petticoats, if the freedom of their limbs was ever restrained
by such unnecessary appendages, and places
them on the deck of his fishing smack; teaches
them to call the ropes by their names, bait, fling,

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

and patiently watch the deceptive hook, and dart the
harpoon, or plunge the grains—just as the Indian
is accustomed to lead his warrior-boys forth to the
hunting grounds, and teach them to track the lightfooted
game, or heavier-heeled foe—wing, with unerring
aim, the fatal arrow, or launch the deadly
spear.

The three succeeding days we were delayed by
calms, or contending with gales and head winds.
On the morning of the seventh day “out,” there was
a general exclamation of surprise from the passengers
as they came on deck.

“How warm!” “What a suffocating air!” “We
must have sailed well last night to be so far south!”
They might well have been surprised if this change
in the temperature had been gained by regular
“southing.” But, alas, we had barely lessened our
latitude twenty miles during the night. We had
entered the Gulf Stream! that extraordinary natural
phenomenon of the Atlantic Ocean. This immense
circle of tepid water which revolves in the
Atlantic, enclosing within its periphery, the West
India and Western Islands, is supposed by Humboldt
to be occasioned “by the current of rotation
(trade winds) which strikes against the coasts of
Veraguas and Honduras, and ascending toward the
Gulf of Mexico, between Cape Caloche and Cape
St. Antoine, issues between the Bahamas and Florida.”
From this point of projection, where it is
but a few miles wide, it spreads away to the northeast
in the shape of an elongated slightly curved
fan, passing at the distance of about eighty miles

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

from the coast of the southern states, with a velocity,
opposite Havana, of about four miles an hour,
which decreases in proportion to its distance from
this point. Opposite Nantucket, where it takes a
broad, sweeping curve toward Newfoundland, it
moves generally only about two miles an hour.
Bending from Newfoundland through the Western
Islands, it loses much of its velocity at this distance
from its radiating point, and in the eastern Atlantic
its motion is scarcely perceptible, except by a slight
ripple upon the surface.

This body of water is easily distinguishable from
that of the surrounding blue ocean by its leaden hue—
the vast quantity of pale-yellow gulf-weed, immense
fields of which it wafts from clime to clime
upon its ever-rolling bosom, and by the absence of
that phosphorescence, which is peculiar to the waters
of the ocean. The water of this singular stream is
many degrees warmer than the sea through which
it flows. Near Cuba the heat has been ascertained
to be as great as 81°, and in its course northward
from Cuba, it loses 2° of temperature for every 3°
of latitude. Its warmth is easily accounted for as
the production of very simple causes. It receives
its original impulse in the warm tropical seas, which,
pressed toward the South American shore by the
wind, meet with resistance and are deflected along
the coast northward, as stated above by Humboldt,
and injected into the Northern Atlantic Ocean—the
vast column of water having parted with very little
of its original caloric in its rapid progress.

We crossed the north-western verge of “The

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

Gulf” near the latitude of Baltimore, where its
breadth is about eighty miles. The atmosphere
was sensibly warmer here than that of the ocean
proper, and the water which we drew up in the
ship's bucket raised the mercury a little more than
8°. Not knowing how the mercury stood before
entering the Gulf, I could not determine accurately
the change in the atmosphere; but it must have
been very nearly as great as that in the denser fluid.
Veins of cool air circled through its atmosphere
every few minutes, as welcome and refreshing to
our bared foreheads as the sprinkling of the coolest
water.

When vessels in their winter voyages along our
frigid coasts become coated with ice, so as to resemble
almost precisely, though of a gigantic size,
those miniature glass ships so often seen preserved
in transparent cases, they seek the genial warmth
of this region to “thaw out,” as this dissolving process
is termed by the sailors. We were nearly
three days in crossing the Gulf, at a very acute
angle with its current, which period of time we
passed very pleasantly, for voyagers; as we had no
cold weather to complain of, and a variety of objects
to entertain us. Sea, or Gulf-weed, constantly
passed us in acres, resembling immense meadows
of harvest wheat, waving and undulating with the
breeze, tempting us to walk upon it. But for the
ceaseless roll and pitching of our ship, reminding us
of our where-about, we might, without much trouble,
have been cheated into the conviction that it
was real terra firma.

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

Flocks of flying fish suddenly breaking from a
smooth, swelling billow, to escape the jaws of some
voracious pursuer, whose dorsal fin would be seen
protruding for an instant afterward from the surface,
flitted swiftly, with a skimming motion, over the sea,
glittering in the sun like a flight of silver-winged
birds; and then as suddenly, with dried wings, dropped
into the sea again. One morning we found the
decks sprinkled with these finned aerial adventurers,
which had flown on board during the night.

Spars, covered with barnacles—an empty barrel
marked on the head N. E. Rum, which we slightly
altered our course to speak—a hotly contested affaire
d'honneur, between two bantam-cocks in the
weather-coop—a few lessons in splicing and braiding
sennet, taken from a good-natured old sailor—a
few more in the art of manufacturing “Turks'Heads,”
not, however, à la Grec—and other matters and
things equally important, also afforded subjects of
speculation and chit-chat, and means of passing
away the time with a tolerable degree of comfort,
and, during the intervals of eating and sleeping, to
keep us from the blues.

A gallant ship—a limitless sea rolled out like a
vast sheet of mottled silver—“goodlie companie”—
a warm, reviving sun—a flowing sheet, and a
courteous breeze, so gently breathing upon our
sails, that surly Boreas, in a gentler than his wonted
mood, must have sent a bevy of Zephyrs to waft us
along—are combinations which both nautical
amateurs and ignoramuses know duly how to
appreciate.

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

From the frequency of “squalls” and “blows”
off Hatteras, it were easy to imagine a telegraphic
communication existing between that head-land and
Bermuda, carried on by flashes of lightning and
tornadoes; or a game at bowls between Neptune
and Boreas, stationed one on either spot, and hurling
thunderbolts over the sea. This region, and that
included between 25° and 23° north latitude
termed by sailors the “horse latitudes,” are two of
the most unpleasant localities a voyager has to
encounter on his passage from a New-England
seaport to New-Orleans or Havana. In one he
is wearied by frequent calms, in the other, exposed
to sea sickness, and terrified by almost continual
storms.

On the eighth day out, we passed Bermuda—
that island-sentinel and spy of Britain upon our
shores. The position of this post with regard to
America, forcibly reminds me—I speak it with all
due reverence for the “Lion” of England—of a
lap-dog sitting at a secure distance and keeping
guard over an eagle volant. How like proud England
thus to come and set herself down before
America, and like a still beautiful mother, watch
with a jealous eye the unfolding loveliness of her
rival daughter—build up a battery d'espionage
against her shores, and seek to hold the very key
of her seas.

The Bermudas or “Summer islands” so called
from Sir George Summer, who was wrecked here
two centuries since—are a cluster of small coral
reefs lying nearly in the form of a crescent, and

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

walled round and defended from the sea by craggy
rocks, which rear their fronts on every side like
battlements:—They are situated about two hundred
and twenty leagues from the coast of South
Carolina, and nearly in the latitude of the city of
Charleston.

The houses are constructed of porous limestone,
not unlike lava in appearance. This material was
probably ejected by some unseen and unhistoried
volcanic eruption, by which the islands themselves
were in all probability heaved up from the depths
of the ocean. White-washed to resist the rain,
their houses contrast beautifully with the greenmantled
cedars and emerald carpets of the islands.
The native Bermudians follow the sea for a livelihood.
They make good sailors while at sea; but
are dissipated and indolent when they return to their
native islands, indulging in drinking, gaming, and
every species of extravagance.

The females are rather pretty than otherwise;
with good features and uncommonly fine eyes.
Like all their sex, they are addicted to dress, in
which they display more finery than taste. Dancing
is the pastime of which they are most passionately
fond. In affection and obedience to their
“lords,” and in tenderness to their children, it is
said that they are patterns to all fair ones who may
have taken those, seldom audibly-spoken, vows, “to
love, honour, and obey”—oft times unuttered, I
verily believe, from pure intention.

St. George, the principal town in the islands, has
become a fashionable military residence. The

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

society, which is English and extremely agreeable,
is varied by the constant arrival and departure of
ships of war, whose officers, with those of the
army, a sprinkling of distinguished civilians, and
clusters of fair beings who have winged it over the
sea, compose the most spirited and pleasant
society in the world. Enjoying a remarkably pure
air, and climate similar to that of South Carolina,
with handsomely revenued clergymen of the
Church of England, and rich in various tropical
luxuries, it is a desirable foreign residence and a
convenient and pleasant haven for British vessels
sailing in these seas.

This morning we were all in a state of feverish
excitement, impatient to place our eyes once more
upon land. Visions of green fields and swelling
hills, pleasantly waving trees and cool fountains—
groves, meadows, and rural cottages, had floated
through our waking thoughts and mingled with our
dreams.

“Is the land in sight, Captain?” was the only
question heard from the lips of one and another of
the expectant passengers as they rubbed their sleepy
eyes, poked their heads from their half-opened
state-room doors, or peeped from their curtained
berths. Ascending to the deck, we beheld the sun
just rising from the sea in the splendor of his
oriental pomp, flinging his beams far along the sky
and over the waters, enriching the ocean with his
radiance till it resembled a sea of molten gold,
gilding the dew-hung spars, and spreading a delicate
blush of crimson over the white sails. It was

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

a morning of unrivalled beauty. But thanks to
nautical housewifery, its richness could not be enjoyed
from the decks.

At sea, the moment the sun rises, and when one
feels in the humor of quitting his hot state-room
and going on deck, the officer of the watch sings
out in a voice that goes directly to the heart—
“Forard there—wash decks!” Then commences
an elemental war rivalling Noah's deluge. That
was caused by the pouring down of rain in drops—
thié by the out-pouring of full buckets. From the
moment this flood commences one may draw back
into his narrow shell, like an affrighted snail, and
take a morning's nap:—the deck, for an hour to
come, is no place for animals that are not webfooted.

Fore and aft the unhappy passenger finds no way
of escaping the infliction of this purifying ceremony.
Should he be driven aloft, there “to banquet on the
morning,” he were better reposing on a gridiron or
sitting astride a handsaw. If below, there the
steward has possession, sweeping, laying the breakfast
table and making-up berths, and the air, a hundred
times breathed over, rushes from the opening
state-rooms threatening to suffocate him—he were
better engulfed in the bosom of a stew-pan.

To stand, cold, wet, and uncomfortable upon the
damp decks till the sun has dried both them and
him is the only alternative. If after all the “holy
stone” should come in play, he may then quietly
jump over-board.

The evenings, however, amply compensate for

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

the loss of the fine mornings. The air, free from
the dust, floating particles and exhalations of the
land, is perfectly transparent, and the sky of a richer
blue. The stars seem nearer to you there; and the
round moon pours her unclouded flood of light,
down upon the sea, with an opulence and mellowness,
of which those who have only seen moonlight,
sleeping upon green hills, cities and forests, know
nothing. On such nights, there cannot be a nobler,
or prouder spectacle, as one stands upon the bows,
than the lofty, shining pyramid of snow-white canvass
which, rising majestically from the deck, lessens
away, sail after sail, far into the sky—each sheet
distended like a drum-head, yet finely rounded, and
its towering summit, as the ship rises and falls
upon the billows, waving like a tall poplar, swaying
in the wind. In these hours of moonlit enchantment,
while reclining at full length upon the deck,
and gazing at the diminished point of the flag-staff,
tracing devious labyrinths among the stars, the
blood has danced quicker through my veins as I
could feel the ship springing away beneath me like
a fleet courser, and leaping from wave to wave over
the sea. At such moments the mind cannot divest
itself of the idea that the bounding ship is instinct
with life—an animated creature, careering forward
by its own volition. To this are united the musical
sighing of the winds through the sails and rigging—
the dashing of the sea and the sound of the rushing
vessel through the water, which sparkles with phosphorescent
light, as though sprinkled with silver
dust.

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

A dark night also affords a scene to gratify curiosity
and charm the eye. A few nights since, an
exclamation of surprise from one of the passengers
called me from my writing to the deck. As, on
emerging from the cabin, I mechanically cast my
eyes over the sea, I observed that at first it had the
appearance of reflecting the stars from its bosom in
the most dazzling splendour, but on looking upward
to gaze upon the original founts of this apparently
reflected light, my eyes met only a gloomy
vault of clouds unillumined by a solitary star. The
“scud” flew wildly over its face and the heavens
were growing black with a gathering tempest. Yet
beneath, the sea glittered like a “lake of fire.” The
crests of the vast billows as they burst high in the
air, descended in showers of scintillations. The
ship scattered broken light from her bows, as
though a pavement of mirrors had been shivered in
her pathway. Her track was marked by a long
luminous train, not unlike the tail of a comet, while
gleams of light like lighted lamps floating upon the
water, whirled and flashed here and there in the
wild eddies of her wake. The spray which was
flung over the bows glittered like a sprinkling of
diamonds as it fell upon the decks, where, as it
flowed around the feet, it sparkled for some seconds
with innumerable shining specks. And so intense
was the light shining from the sea that I was enabled
to read with ease the fine print of a newspaper.
A bucket plunged into the sea, which whitened like
shivered ice, on its striking it, was drawn up full of
glittering sea-water that sparkled for more than a

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

minute, after being poured over the deck, and then
gradually losing its lustre, finally disappeared in
total darkness.

Many hypotheses have been suggested by scientific
men to account for this natural phenomenon.
“Some have regarded it,” says Dr. Coates, “as the
effect of electricity, produced by the friction of the
waves; others as the product of a species of fermentation
in the water, occurring accidentally in
certain places. Many have attributed it to the
well-known phosphorescence of putrid fish, or to
the decomposition of their slime and exuviæ, and a
few only to the real cause, the voluntary illumination
of many distinct species of marine animals.

“The purpose for which this phosphorescence is
designed is lost in conjecture; but when we recollect
that fish are attracted to the net by the lights
of the fisherman, and that many of the marine shellfish
are said to leave their native element to crawl
around a fire built upon the beach, are we not
warranted in supposing that the animals of which
we have been speaking, are provided with these
luminous properties, in order to entice their prey
within their grasp?”

p155-047

Land—Abaco—Fleet—Hole in the Wall—A wrecker's hut—
Bahama vampyres—Light houses—Conspiracy—Wall of Abaco—
Natural Bridge—Cause—Night scene—Speak a packet ship—
A floating city—Wrecker's lugger—Signal of distress—A
Yankee lumber brig—Portuguese Man-of-War.

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

“Land ho!” shouted a voice both loud and long,
apparently from the clouds, just as we had comfortably
laid ourselves out yesterday afternoon for our
customary siesta.

“Where away?” shouted the captain, springing
to the deck, but not so fast as to prevent our tumbling
over him, in the head-and-heels projection of
our bodies up the companion-way, in our eagerness
to catch a glimpse, once more, of the grassy earth;
of something at least stationary.

“Three points off the weather bow,” replied the
man aloft.

“Where is it?”—“which way?” “I see it”—“Is
that it captain—the little hump?” were the eager
exclamations and inquiries of the enraptured passengers,
who, half beside themselves, were peering,
straining, and querying, to little purpose.

It was Abaco—the land first made by vessels
bound to New Orleans or Cuba, from the north.

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

With the naked eye, we could scarcely distinguish
it from the small blue clouds, which, resting, apparently,
on the sea, floated near the verge of the
southern horizon. But with the spy glass, we could
discern it more distinctly, and less obscured by that
vail of blue haze, which always envelopes distant
objects when seen from a great distance at sea, or
on land.

As we approached, its azure vail gradually faded
away, and it appeared to our eyes in its autumnal
gray coat, with all its irregularities of surface and
outline clearly visible.

Slightly altering our course, in order to weather
its southern extremity, we ran down nearly parallel
with the shores of the island that rose apparently
from the sea, as we neared it, stretching out upon
the water like a huge alligator, which it resembled
in shape. Sail after sail hove in sight as we coasted
pleasantly along with a fine breeze, till, an hour before
the sun went down, a large wide-spreading
fleet could be discerned from the deck, lying becalmed,
near the extreme southern point of Abaco,
which, stretching out far into the sea, like a wall
perforated with an arched gateway near the centre,
is better known by the familiar appellation of
“The Hole in the Wall.”

“There is a habitation of some sort,” exclaimed
one of the passengers, whose glass had long been
hovering over the island.

“Where—where?” was the general cry, and
closer inspection from a dozen eyes, detected a

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

miserable hut, half hidden among the bushes, and
so wild and wretched in appearance, that we
unanimously refused it the honor of

“— A local habitation and a name!”

“When the demons of the tempest rave,”

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

subsiding of the tempest, just disappearing under
the horizon with a sailor's hearty blessing sent after
them.

That light-houses have not been erected on the
dangerous head-lands and reefs which line the Bahama
channel, is a strange oversight or neglect on
the part of the governments of the United States
and England, which of all maritime nations are most
immediately concerned in the object. Suitable
light-houses on the most dangerous points, would
annually save, from otherwise inevitable destruction,
many vessels and preserve hundreds of valuable
lives. The profession of these marauders would
be, in such a case, but a sinecure; provided they
would allow the lights to remain. But, unless each
tower were converted into a well-manned gun-battery
the piratical character of these men will preclude
any hope of their permanent establishment.
Men of their buccaneering habits are not likely to
lie quietly on their oars, and see their means of
livelihood torn from them by the secure navigation
of these waters. They will sound, from island to
island, the tocsin for the gathering of their strength,
and concentrate for the destruction of these enemies
to their honest calling, before they have cast
their cheering beams over these stormy seas a
score of nights.

As we approached the Hole in the Wall, the
breeze which we had brought down the channel, stole
in advance and set in motion the fleet of becalmed
vessels, which rolled heavily on the long, groundswell,
about a league ahead of us. The spur or

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

promontory of Abaco, around which we were sailing,
is a high, wall-like ridge of rock, whose surface
gradually inclines from the main body of the island
to its abrupt termination about a quarter of a league
into the sea. As we sailed along its eastern side
we could not detect the opening from which it derives
its name. The eye met only a long black wall
of rock, whose rugged projections were hung with
festoons of dark purple sea-weed, and around whose
base the waters surged, with a roar heard distinctly
by us, three miles from the island.

On rounding the extremity of the headland, and
bearing up a point or two, the arch in the Cape
gradually opened till it became wholly visible, apparently
about half the altitude of, and very similar
in appearance to the Natural bridge in Virginia.
The chasm is irregularly arched, and broader at
thirty feet from the sea than at its base. The water
is of sufficient depth, and the arch lofty enough, to
allow small fishing vessels to pass through the aperture,
which is about one hundred feet in length
through the solid rock. There is a gap which
would indicate the former existence of a similar
cavity, near the end of this head-land. A large,
isolated mass of rock is here detached from the
main wall, at its termination in the sea, which was
undoubtedly, at some former period, joined to it by
a natural arch, now fallen into the water, as, probably,
will happen to this within a century.

These cavities are caused by the undermining of
the sea, which, dashing unceasingly against the
foundations of the wall, shatters and crumbles it by

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

its constant abrasion, opens through it immense fissures,
and loosens large fragments of the rock, that
easily yield and give way to its increased violence;
while the upper stratum, high beyond the reach of
the surge, remains firm, and, long after the base has
crumbled into the sea, arches over like a bridge the
chasm beneath. By and by this falls by its own
weight, and is buried beneath the waves.

As the shades of night fell over the sea, and veiled
the land from our eyes, we had a fresh object of excitement
in giving chase to the vessels which, as the
sun went down among them, were scattered thickly
along the western horizon far ahead of us—ships,
brigs, and schooners, stretching away under all sail
before the evening breeze to the south and west.
We had lost sight of them after night had set in,
but at about half past eight in the evening, as well all
were peering through the darkness, upon the qui
vive for the strangers, a bright light flashed upon
our eyes over the water, and at the same moment
the look-out forward electrified us with the cry—

“A ship dead ahead, sir!”

The captain seized his speaking-trumpet, and
sprang to the bows; but we were there before him,
and discovered a solitary light burning at the base
of a dark pyramid, which towered gloomily in the
obscurity of the night. The outline of the object
was so confused and blended with the sky, that we
could discern it but indistinctly. To our optics it
appeared, as it loomed up in the night-haze, to be a
ship of the largest class. The spy glass was in immediate
requisition, but soon laid aside again.

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

Let me inform you that “DAY and NIGHT” marked
upon the tube of a spyglass, signifies that it may
be used in the day, and kept in the beckets at night.

We had been gathered upon the bowsprit and
forecastle but a few seconds, watching in silence
the dark moving tower on the water before us, as
we approached it rapidly, when we were startled by
the sudden hail of the stranger, who was now hauling
up on our weather bow—

“Ship-ahoy!” burst loudly over the water from
the hoarse throat of a trumpet.

“Ahoy!” bellowed our captain, so gently back
again through the ship's trumpet, that the best “bull
of Bashan” might have envied him his roar.

“What ship's that?”

“The Plato of Portland,” with a second bellow
which was a very manifest improvement upon the
preceding.

“Where bound?”

“New-Orleans!”

Now came our turn to play the querist. “What
ship's that?”

“The J. L., eleven days from New-York, bound
to New-Orleans.”

“Ay, ay—any news?”

“No, nothing particular.”

We again moved on in silence; sailing in company,
but not always in sight of each other, during
the remainder of the night.

A delightful prospect met our eyes, on coming on
deck the morning after making the Hole in the
Wall. The sea was crowded with vessels, bearing

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

upon its silvery bosom a floating city. By some
fortuitous circumstance, a fleet of vessels, bearing
the flags of various nations, had arrived in the Bahama
channel at the same time, and now, were
amicably sailing in company, borne by the same
waves—wafted by the same breeze, and standing
toward the same point. Our New-York friend, for
whom, on casting our eyes over the lively scene we
first searched, we discovered nearly two leagues
from us to the windward, stretching boldly across the
most dangerous part of the Bahama Banks, instead
of taking, with the rest of the fleet, the farther but less
hazardous course down the “Channel”—if a few
inches more of water than the Banks are elsewhere covered
with, may with propriety be thus denominated.

A little to the south of us, rocking upon the
scarcely rising billows, was a rough clumsy looking
craft, with one low, black mast, and amputated
bowsprit, about four feet in length, sustaining a jib
of no particular hue or dimensions. Hoisted upon
the mast, was extended a dark red painted mainsail,
blackened by the smoke, which, issuing from a
black wooden chimney amidships, curled gracefully
upward and floated away on the breeze in thin blue
clouds. A little triangular bit of red bunting fluttered
at her mast head; and, towed by a long line
at her stern, a little green whale-boat skipped and
danced merrily over the waves. Standing, or rather
reclining at the helm—for men learn strangely indolent
postures in the warm south—with a segar between
his lips, and his eye fixed earnestly upon the
J. L., was a black-whiskered fellow, whose head

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

was enveloped in a tri-coloured, conical cap, terminated
by a tassel, which dangled over his left ear.
A blue flannel shirt, and white flowing trowsers,
with which his body and limbs were covered, were
secured to his person by a red sash tied around the
waist, instead of suspenders. Two others similarly
dressed, and as bountifully bewhiskered, leaned listlessly
over the side gazing at our ship, as she dashed
proudly past their rude bark. A negro, whose
charms would have been unquestionable in Congo,
was stretched, apparently asleep, along the mainboom,
which one moment swung with him over
the water, and the next supended him over his
chimney, whose azure incense ascended from his
own altar, to this ebony deity, in clouds of grateful
odour.

“What craft do you call that?” inquired one of
the passengers of the captain.

“What? It's a wrecker's lugger.—Watch him
now!”

At the moment he spoke, the lugger dropped
astern of us, came to a few points—hauled close on
the wind, and then gathering headway, bounded off
with the speed of the wind in the direction of the
New-York packet ship, which the wrecker's quicker
and more practised eye had detected displaying signals
of distress. Turning our glasses in the direction
of the ship, we could see that she had grounded
on the bank, thereby affording very ample illustration
of the truth of the proverb, “The more haste
the less speed.”

About the middle of the forenoon the wind died

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

away, and left us becalmed within half a mile of
a brig loaded with lumber. The remaining vessels
of the fleet were fast dispersing over the sea—this
Yankee “fruiterer” being the only one sailing within
a league of us.

These lumber vessels, which are usually loaded
with shingles, masts, spars, and boards, have been
long the floating mines of Maine. But as her
forests disappear, which are the veins from whence
she draws the ore, her sons will have to plough the
earth instead of the ocean. Then, and not till then,
will Maine take a high rank as an agricultural state.
The majority of men who sail in these lumber vessels
are both farmers and sailors; who cultivate
their farms at one season, fell its timber and sail
away with it in the shape of boards and shingles to
a West India mart at another. Jonathan is the
only man who knows how to carry on two trades at
one time, and carry them on successfully.

For their lumber, which they more frequently
barter away than sell, they generally obtain a return
cargo of molasses, which is converted by our “sober
and moral” fellow-countrymen into liquid gunpowder,
in the vats of those numerous distilleries, which,
like guide—posts to the regions of death, line the sea
skirts of New-England!

The smooth bottom, above which we were suspended,
through the deceptive transparency of the
water, appeared, though eighteen feet beneath us,
within reach of the oar. But there were many objects
floating by upon the surface, which afforded
us more interest than all beneath it.

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

Among these was the little nautilus which, gaily
dancing over the waves, like a Lilliputian mariner,

“Spreads his thin oar and courts the rising gale.”

“It's cause as how they takes in all sail, or goes
chuck to bottom, when it 'gins to blow a spankin'
breeze,”—truly a fine compliment to the navarchy
of Portugal!

This animal is a genus of the mollusca tribe,
which glitters in the night on the crest of every
bursting wave. In the tropical seas it is found
riding over the gently ruffled billows in great numbers,
with its crystalline sail expanded to the light
breeze—barks delicate and tiny enough for fairy
“Queen Mab.” Termed by naturalists pharsalia,
from its habit of inflating its transparent sail, this
splendid animal is often confounded with the nautilus
pompilius, a genus of marine animals of an entirely
distinct species, and of a much ruder

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

appearance, whose dead shells are found floating every
where in the tropical seas, while the living animal
is found swimming upon the ocean in every latitude.

Dr. Coates, in describing the Portuguese man-of--war
(pharsalia) says, that “it is an oblong animated
sack of air, elongated at one extremity into a conical
neck, and surmounted by a membraneous expansion
running nearly the whole length of the body,
and rising above into a semi-circular sail, which can
be expanded or contracted to a considerable extent
at the pleasure of the animal. From beneath the
body are suspended from ten to fifty, or more little
tubes, from half an inch to an inch in length, open
at their lower extremity, and formed like the flower
of the blue bottle. These I cannot but consider as
proper stomachs, from the centre of which depends
a little cord, never exceeding the fourth of an inch
in thickness, and often forty times as long as the
body.

“The group of stomachs is less transparent, and
although the hue is the same as that of the back,
they are on this account incomparably less elegant.
By their weight and form they fill the double office
of a keel and ballast, while the cord-like appendage,
which floats out for yards behind, is called by seamen
“the cable.” With this organ, which is supposed
by naturalists, from the extreme pain felt,
when brought in contact with the back of the hand,
to secrete a poisonous or acrid fluid, the animal secures
his prey.” But in the opinion of Dr. C. naturalists
in deciding upon this mere hypothesis have
concluded too hastily. He says that the secret will

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

be better explained by a more careful examination
of the organ itself. “The cord is composed of a
narrow layer of contractile fibres, scarcely visible
when relaxed, on account of its transparency. If
the animal be large, this layer of fibres will sometimes
extend itself to the length of four or five yards.
A spiral line of blue, bead-like bodies, less than the
head of a pin, revolves around the cable from end
to end, and under the microscope these beads appear
covered with minute prickles so hard and sharp
that they will readily enter the substance of wood,
adhering with such pertinacity that the cord can
rarely be detached without breaking.

“It is to these prickles that the man-of-war owes
its power of destroying animals much its superior in
strength and activity. When any thing becomes
impaled upon the cords, the contractile fibres are
called into action, and rapidly shrink from many
feet in length to less than the same number of inches,
bringing the prey within reach of the little tubes, by
one of which it is immediately swallowed.

“Its size varies from half an inch to six inches
in length. When it is in motion the sail is accommodated
to the force of the breeze, and the
elongated neck is curved upward, giving to the animal
a form strongly resembling the little glass
swans which we sometimes see swimming in goblets.

“It is not the form, however, which constitutes
the chief beauty of this little navigator. The lower
part of the body and the neck are devoid of all
colours except a faint irridescence in reflected
lights, and they are so perfectly transparent that the

p155-060 [figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

finest print is not obscured when viewed through
them. The back becomes gradually tinged as we
ascend, with the finest and most delicate hues that
can be imagined; the base of the sail equals the
purest sky in depth and beauty of tint; the summit
is of the most splendid red, and the central part is
shaded by the gradual intermixture of these colours
through all the intermediate grades of purple.
Drawn as it were upon a ground-work of mist, the
tints have an aerial softness far beyond the reach
of art.”

A calm—A breeze on the water—The land of flowers—Juan
Ponce de Leon—The fountain of perpetual youth—An irremediable
loss to single gentlemen—Gulf Stream—New-Providence—
Cuba—Pan of Matanzas—Blue hills of Cuba—An armed cruiser—
Cape St. Antonio—Pirates—Enter the Mexican Gulf—Mobile—
A southern winter—A farewell to the North and a welcome to the
South—The close of the voyage—Balize—Fleet—West Indiaman—
Portuguese polacre—Land ho!—The land—Its formation—Pilot
or “little brief authority”—Light-house—Revenue cutter—Newspapers—
“The meeting of the waters”—A singular appearance—
A morning off the Balize—The tow-boat.

During the period we lay becalmed under a
burning sun, which, though entering its winter
solstice retained the fervour of summer fire, we
passed the most of our time in the little

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

cockle-shell of a yawl, (as though the limits of our ship
were not confined enough) riding listlessly upon the
long billows or rowing far out from the ship, which,
with all her light sails furled, rolled heavily upon
the crestless billows, suggesting the anomalous idea
of power in a state of helplessness.

An hour before sunset our long-idle sails were
once more filled by a fine breeze, which, ruffling the
surface of the ocean more than a league distant,
we had discerned coming from the Florida shore,
some time before it reached us; and as it came
slowly onward over the sea, we watched with no
little anxiety the agitated line of waves which
danced merrily before it, marking its approach.

A faintly delineated gray bank lining the western
horizon, marked the “land of flowers” of the romantic
Ponce de Leon. Can that be Florida! the
Pasqua de Flores of the Spaniards—the country of
blossoms and living fountains, welling with perpetual
youth! were our reflections as we gazed
upon the low marshy shore. Yet here the avaricious
Spaniard sought for a mine more precious
than the diamonds and gold of the Incas! a fountain
whose waters were represented to have the
wonderful property of rejuvenating old age and perpetuating
youth! Here every wrinkled Castillian
Iolas expected to find a Hebé to restore him to the
bloom and vigour of Adonis! But alas, for the
bachelors of modern days, the seeker for fountains
of eternal youth wandered only through inhospitable
wilds, and encountered the warlike Seminoles,
who, unlike the timorous natives of the newly

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

discovered Indies, met his little band with bold and
determined resolution. After a long and fruitless
search, he returned to Porto Rico, wearied, disappointed,
and no doubt with his brow more deeply
furrowed than when he set out upon his singularly
romantic expedition.

While we glided along the Florida shore, which
was fast receding from the eye, a sudden boiling
and commotion of the sea, which we had remarked
some time before we were involved in it, assured us
that we had again entered the Gulf Stream, where
it rushes from the Mexican Sea, after having made
a broad sweep of eighteen hundred miles, and in
twenty days after emerging from it in higher latitudes.
Our course was now very sensibly retarded
by the strong current against which we sailed,
though impelled by a breeze which would have
wafted us, over a currentless sea, nine or ten miles
an hour. In the afternoon the blue hills of Cuba,
elevated above the undulating surface of the island,
and stretching along its back like a serrated spine,
reared themselves from the sea far to the south;
and at sunset the twin hills of Matanzas, for which
sailors' imaginations have conjured up not the most
pleasing appellation—could be just distinguished
from the blue waves on the verge of the ocean; and
receding from the sea, with an uneven surface, the
vast island rose along the whole southern horizon,
not more than four or five leagues distant. The
Florida shore had long before disappeared, though
several vessels were standing toward it, bound apparently
into Key West, between which and

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

Havana we had seen an armed schooner, under
American colours, hovering during the whole afternoon.

Cape St. Antonio, the notorious rendezvous of
that daring band of pirates, which, possessing the
marauding without the chivalrous spirit of the old
buccaneers, long infested these seas, just protruded
above the rim of the horizon far to the south-east.
We soon lost sight of it, and in the evening, altering
our course a little to avoid the shoals which are scattered
thickly off the southern and western extremity
of Florida, ran rapidly and safely past the Tortugas—
the Scylla and Charybdis of this southern latitude.

We already begin to appreciate the genial influence
of a southern climate. The sun, tempered by
a pleasant wind, beams down upon us warm and
cheerily—the air is balmy and laden with grateful
fragrance from the unseen land—and though near
the first of December, at which time you dwellers
under the wintry skies of the north, are shivering
over your grates, we have worn our summer garments
and palm-leaf hats for some days past. If
this is a specimen of a southern winter, where quietly
to inhale the mellow air is an elysian enjoyment—
henceforth sleighing and skating will have
less charms for me.

We are at last at the termination of our voyage
upon the sea. In three days at the farthest we expect
to land in New-Orleans. But three days upon
the waveless Mississippi to those who have been
riding a month upon the ocean, is but a trifle. After
an uncommonly long, but unusually pleasant pas

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

sage of thirty-one days, we anchored off the Balize[1]
last evening at sun set.

The tedious monotony of our passage since leaving
Cuba, was more than cancelled by the scenes
and variety of yesterday. We had not seen a sail
for four or five days, when, on ascending to the deck
at sunrise yesterday morning, judge of my surprise
and pleasure at beholding a fleet of nearly fifty vessels
surrounding us on every side, all standing to
one common centre; in the midst of which our own
gallant ship dashed proudly on, like a high mettled
courser contending for the victory. To one imprisoned
in a companionless ship on the broad and
lonely ocean so many days, this was a scene, from
its vivid contrast, calculated to awaken in the bosom
emotions of the liveliest gratification and pleasure.

A point or two abaft our beam, within pistol shot
distance, slowly and majestically moved a huge,
British West Indiaman, her black gloomy hull
wholly unrelieved by brighter colours, with her red
ensign heavily unfolding to the breeze in recognition
of the stars and stripes, floating gracefully at
our peak. Farther astern, a taunt-rigged, rakish
looking Portuguese polacca (polaque) carrying even
in so light a breeze a “bone in her teeth,” glided
swiftly along, every thing set from deck to truck.
We could distinctly see the red woollen caps and
dark red faces of her crew, peering over the bow,
as they pointed to, and made remarks upon our

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

ship. Early in the morning, about a league ahead
of us, we had observed a heavy sailing Dutch ship,
as indeed all Dutch ships are; about eleven o'clock
we came up with, and passed her, with the same
facility as if she had been at anchor. On all sides
of us vessels of nearly every maritime nation were
in sight; and in conjectures respecting them, and
in admiring their variety of construction and appearance,
we passed most of the day, elated with the
prospect of a speedy termination to our voyage.

Before we had completed dinner, the cry of
“Land ho!” was heard from the main-top, and in
the course of half an hour we saw from the deck,
not exactly land, but an apology for it, in the form
and substance of an immense marsh of tall, wild
grass, which stretched along the horizon from west
to east ad infinitum. This soil, if you may term
it such, is formed by the accumulation and deposition
of ochreous matter discharged by the Mississippi,
whose turbid waters are more or less charged with
terrene particles, so much so, that a glass filled with
its water appears to deposit in a short time a sediment
nearly equal to one-twelfth of its bulk. The
matter discharged by the river, condensed and
strengthened by logs, trees, grass, and other gross
substances, is raised above the ordinary tide waters,
upon which a soil is formed of mingled sand and
marl, capable of producing the long grass, which
not only lines the coast in the vicinity of this river,
but extends many miles into the interior, where it
unites with the cypress swamps which cover the
greater part of the unreclaimed lowlands of

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

Louisiana. We coasted along this shore till about three in
the afternoon, when the light-house at the South-East
passage, the chief embouchure of the Mississippi,
appeared in sight but a few miles ahead; passing
this, we received a pilot from a fairy-like pilot-boat,
which, on delivering him, bounded away from us
like a swift-winged albatross. About four o'clock
the light-house at the South-West passage lifted its
solitary head above the horizon. The breeze freshening,
we approached it rapidly, under the guidance
of the pilot, who had taken command of our ship.
When nearly abreast of the light-house, a fierce little
warlike-looking revenue cutter ran alongside of us,
and lowering her boat, sent her lieutenant on board,
to see that “all was straight.” He cracked a bottle
of wine with the captain, and leaving some late
New-Orleans papers, took his departure. For the
next half hour the quarter-deck appeared like a school-room—
buzz, buzz, buzz! till the papers were read
and re-read, advertisements and all, and all were
satisfied. About six in the evening we cast anchor at
the mouth of the South-West pass, in company not
only with the fleet in which we had sailed during the
day, but with a large fleet already at anchor, waiting
for tide, pilots, wind, or two-boats. In approaching
the mouth of the river, we observed, to us, a novel
and remarkable appearance—the meeting of the
milky, turbid waters of the Mississippi, with the
pale green of the ocean. The waters of the former,
being lighter than the latter, and not readily mingling
with it, are thrown upon the surface, floating
like oil to the depth of only two or three feet. A

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

ship passing through this water, leaves a long, dark
wake, which is slowly covered by the uniting of the
parted waters. The line of demarkation between
the yellowish-brown water of the river, and the clear
green water of the sea, is so distinctly defined, that
a cane could be laid along it. When we first discovered
the long white line, about two miles distant,
it presented the appearance of a low sand beach.
As we reached it, I went aloft, and seating myself
in the top-gallant cross-trees, beheld one of the most
singular appearances of which I had ever formed any
conception. When within a few fathoms of the discoloured
water, we appeared to be rushing on to
certain destruction, and when our sharp keel cut and
turned up the sluggish surface, I involuntarily shuddered;
the next instant we seemed suspended between
two seas. Another moment, and we had
passed the line of division, ploughing the lazy and
muddy waves, and leaving a dark transparent wake
far astern. We are hourly expecting our tow-boat—
the Whale. When she arrives we shall immediately,
in the company of some other ships, move up for
New-Orleans. The morning is delightful, and we
have the prospect of a pleasant sail, or rather
tow, up the river. A hundred snow-white sails
are reflecting the rays of the morning sun, while
the rapid dashing of the swift pilot-boats about us,
and the slower movements of ships getting under
weigh to cross the bar, and work their own way up
to the city—together with the mingling sounds of
stern commands, and the sonorous “heave-ho-yeo!”
of the labouring seamen, borne upon the breeze,

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

give an almost unparalleled charm and novelty to
the scene. Our Whale is now in sight, spouting,
not jets d'eau, but volumes of dense black smoke.
We shall soon be under weigh, and every countenance
is bright with anticipation. Within an hour
we shall be floating upon the great artery of North
America, “prisoners of hope” and of steam, on our
way to add our little number to the countless thousands
who throng the streets of the Key of the Great
Valley through which it flows.

p155-069 PART II.

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

The Mississippi—The Whale—Description of tow-boats—A
package—A threatened storm—A beautiful brigantine—Physiognomy
of ships—Richly furnished cabin—An obliging Captain—
Desert the ship—Getting underweigh—A chain of captives—
Towing—New-Orleans—A mystery to be unravelled.

Upon the mighty bosom of the “Father of Waters,”
our gallant ship now proudly floats. The
Mississippi! that noble river, whose magnificent
windings I have traced with my finger upon the
map in my school-boy days, wishing, with all the
adventurous longing of a boy, that I might, like the
good fathers Marquetti and Hennepin, leap into an
Indian's birch canoe, and launching from its source
among the snows and untrodden wilds of the far
north, float pleasantly away under every climate,
down to the cis-Atlantic Mediterranean; where,
bursting from its confined limits, it proudly shoots
into the tideless sea through numerous passages,
like radii from one common centre. My wishes are
now, in a measure, about to be realized. The low,
flat, and interminable marshes, through the heart of

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

which we are rapidly advancing—the ocean like horizon,
unrelieved by the slightest prominence—the
sullen, turbid waves around us, which yield but
slowly and heavily to the irresistible power of steam—
all familiar characteristics of this river—would
alone assure me that I am on the Mississippi. My
last letter left us in the immediate expectation of
being taken in tow by the “Whale,” then coming
rapidly down the South-West passage, in obedience
to the hundred signals flying at the “fore” of as
many vessels on every side of us. In a few minutes,
snorting and dashing over the long groundswell,
and flinging a cloud of foam from her bows,
she ran alongside of us, and sent her boat on board.
While the little skiff was leaping from wave to wave
to our ship, we had time to observe more attentively
than when in motion, the singular appearance of this
unique class of steamboats.

Her engine is of uncommon power, placed nearer
the centre of the hull than in boats of the usual construction;
her cabin is small, elevated, and placed
near the engine in the centre of the boat. With
the exception of the engine and cabin, she is “flush”
from stem to stern; one quarter of her length abaft
the cabin, and the same portion forward of the boilers
being a broad platform, which extends quite
around the boat, forming a very spacious guard on
either side.

The after part of this guard is latticed for the
purpose of carrying off the water with facility when
thrown back from the wheels. They seldom or
never take passengers up to the city. The usual

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

price for towing is, I think, about one dollar per
ton. Hence the expense is very great for vessels
of large burthen; and rather than incur it, many
ships, after being towed over the bar, which, at this
season, cannot be crossed otherwise, work their own
way up to town, which, with a fair wind, may be
effected in twenty-four hours, the distance being
but one hundred and five miles; but it not unfrequently
takes them ten or fifteen days. Our captain
informs me that he once lay thirty-six days in
the river before he could reach New-Orleans—but
fortunately, owing to the state of the market, on his
arrival, he realized two hundred per cent. more on
his cargo than he would have done had he arrived
a month carlier.

The jolly-boat from the steamer was now along
side, and the officer in the stern sheets tossed a
small package on our quarter-deck; and then, with
the velocity of an uncaged bird, his little green
cockle-shell darted away from us like a dolphin.
The next moment he stood upon the low deck of
the steamer.

“Go ahead!” loudly was borne over the water,
and with a plunge and a struggle, away she dashed
from us with her loud, regular boom, boom, boom!
throwing the spray around her head, like the huge
gambolling monster from which she derives her
name. With her went our hopes of speedy deliverance
from our present durance. With faces whose
complicated, whimsically-woful expression Lavater
himself could not have analyzed, and as though
moved by one spirit, we turned simultaneously

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

toward the captain, who leaned against the capstan,
reading one of the letters from the package just received.
There was a cloud upon his brow which
portended no good to our hopes, and which, by a
sympathetic feeling, was attracted to, and heavily
settled upon our own. We turned simultaneously
to the tow-boat: she was rapidly receding in the
distance. We turned again to watch our probable
fate in the captain's face. It spoke as plainly as
face could speak, “gentlemen, no tow-boat.” We
gazed upon each other like school-boys hatching a
conspiracy. Mutual glances of chagrin and dissatisfaction
were bandied about the decks. After
so long a passage, with our port almost in sight,
and our voyage nearly ended, to be compelled to
remain longer in our close prison, and creep like a

“Wounded snake, dragging its slow length along,”

“To weep our spirits from our eyes.”

It was a consummation we had never wished.
There was evidently a rebellion in embryo. The
storm was rapidly gathering, and the thunders had
already begun “to utter their voices.” The whole
scene was infinitely amusing. There could not
have been more feeling exhibited, had an order come
down for the ship to ride a Gibraltar quarantine.

The captain, having quietly finished the perusal

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

of his letters, now changed at once the complexion
of affairs.

“I have just received advices, gentlemen, from
my consignees in the city, that the market will be
more favourable for my cargo fifteen days hence,
than now; therefore, as I have so much leisure before
me, I shall decline taking the tow-boat, and
sail up to New-Orleans. I will, however, send my
boat aboard the brig off our starboard quarter,
which will take steam, and try to engage passage
for those who wish to leave the ship.”

There was no alternative, and we cheerfully sacrificed
our individual wishes to the interests of
Captain Callighan, whose urbanity, kindness and
gentlemanly deportment, during the whole passage
out, had not only contributed to our comfort and
happiness, but won for him our cordial esteem and
good feelings.[2]

In a few minutes one of our quarter-boats was
along-side, bobbing up and down on the short seas,
with the buoyancy of a cork-float. The first officer,
myself, and another passenger, leaped into
her; and a few dozen long and nervous strokes
from the muscular arms of our men, soon ran us
aboard the brig, whose anchor was already “apeak,”
in readiness for the Whale. As we approached
her, I was struck with her admirable symmetry
and fine proportions—she was a perfect model of
naval architecture. Though rather long for her
breadth of beam, the sharp construction of her bows,

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

and the easy, elliptical curve of her sides, gave her
a peculiarly light and graceful appearance, which,
united with her taunt, slightly raking taper masts,
and the precision of her rigging, presented to our
view a nautical ensemble, surpassing in elegance
any thing of the kind I had ever before beheld.

We were politely received at the gang-way by
the captain, a gentlemanly, sailor-like looking
young man, with whom, after introducing ourselves,
we descended into the cabin. I had time, however,
to notice that the interior of this very handsome
vessel corresponded with the exterior. The
capstan, the quarter-rail stanchions, the edge of the
companion-way, and the taffrail, were all ornamented
and strengthened with massive brass plates,
polished like a mirror. The binnacle case was of
ebony, enriched with inlaying and carved work. A
dazzling array of steel-headed boarding pikes formed
a glittering crescent half around the main-mast.
Her decks evinced the free use of the “holy-stone,”
and in snowy whiteness, would have put to the
blush the unsoiled floors of the most fastidious
Yankee housewife. Her rigging was not hung on
pins, but run and coiled “man-o'-war fashion,”
upon her decks. Her long boat, amidships, was
rather an ornament than an excrescence, as in most
merchantmen. Forward, the “men” were gathered
around the windlass, which was abaft the foremast,
all neatly dressed in white trousers and shirts, even
to the sable “Doctor” and his “sub,” whose double
banks of ivories were wonderingly illuminative,

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

as they grinned at the strangers who had so unceremoniously
boarded the brig.

As I descended the mahogany stair-case, supported
by a highly polished balustrade cast in brass,
my curiosity began to be roused, and I found myself
wondering into what pleasure-yacht I had intruded.
She was evidently American; for the
“stars and stripes” were floating over our heads.
Independent of this evidence of her nation, her
bright, golden sides, and peculiar American expression
(for I contend that there is a national and an
individual expression to every vessel, as strongly
marked and as easily defined as the expression of
every human countenance,) unhesitatingly indicated
her country.

My curiosity was increased on entering the
roomy, richly wrought, and tastefully furnished cabin.
The fairest lady in England's halls might
have coveted it for her boudoir. Here were
every luxury and comfort, that wealth and taste
combined could procure. A piano, on which lay
music books, a flute, clarionet, and a guitar of curious
workmanship, occupied one side of the cabin;
on the other stood a sofa, most temptingly inviting
a loll, and a centre table was strewed with pamphlets,
novels, periodicals, poetry, and a hundred little
unwritten elegancies. The transom was ingeniously
constructed, so as to form a superb sideboard,
richly covered with plate, but more richly lined, as
we subsequently had an opportunity of knowing, to
our hearts' content. Three doors with mirrored

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

pannelling gave egress from the cabin, forward, to
two state rooms and a dining-room, furnished in the
same style of magnificence.

My companions shared equally in my surprise,
at the novelty of every thing around us. I felt a
disposition to return to our ship, fearing that our
proposition to take passage in the brig might be
unacceptable. But before I had come to a decision,
Mr. F., our first officer, with true sailor-like
bluntness, had communicated our situation and
wishes. “Certainly,” replied the captain, “but I
regret that my state-rooms will not accommodate
more than five or six; the others will have to swing
hammocks between decks; if they will do this,
they are welcome.” Although this compliance with
our request was given with the utmost cheerfulness
and alacrity, I felt that our taking passage with
him would be inconvenient and a gross intrusion;
and would have declined saying, that some other
vessel would answer our purpose equally well. He
would not listen to me but in so urgent a manner
requested us to take passage with him, that we reluctantly
consented, and immediately returned to
our ship to relate our success, and transfer our baggage
to the brig. Fortunately, but five of our party,
including two ladies, were anxious to leave the
ship; the remainder choosing rather to remain on
board, and go up to town in her, as the captain flattered
them with the promise of an early arrival
should the wind hold fair.

In less than ten minutes we had bidden farewell,
and wished a speedy passage to our

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

fellow-passengers, who had so rashly refused to “give up the
ship” and were on our way with “bag and baggage”
to the brig, which now and then rose proudly upon
a long sea, and then slowly and gracefully settled
into its yielding bosom.

We had been on board but a short time when the
Whale, which had already towed four ships and a
brig, one at a time, over the bar, leaving each half a
league up the passage, came bearing down upon us.
In an incredibly short time she brought to ahead of
us, and in less than five minutes had our brig firmly
secured to her by two hawsers, with about fifty fathoms
play.

In the course of half an hour, we arrived where
the five other vessels, which were to accompany us
in tow, were anchored. More than two hours were
consumed in properly securing the vessels to the
tow-boat. Our brig was lashed to her larboard, and
the huge British Indiaman, mentioned in my last
letter, to her starboard side. Two ships sociably
followed, about a cable's length astern, and a Spanish
brig and a French ship, about one hundred
yards astern of these, brought up the rear.

These arrangements completed, the command to
“go ahead” was given, and slowly, one after the
other, the captive fleet yielded to the immense
power of the high-pressure engine. Gradually our
motion through the water became more and more
rapid, till we moved along at the rate of seven knots
an hour. The appearance our convoy presented,
was novel and sublime. It was like a triumph!
The wind though light, was fair, and every vessel

p155-078 [figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

was covered with clouds of snowy canvass. The
loud, deep, incessant booming from the tow-boat—
the black and dense masses of smoke rolling up
and curling and wreathing around the lofty white
sails, then shooting off horizontally through the air,
leaving a long cloudy galaxy astern, contributed
greatly to the novelty of this extraordinary scene.
We are now within twenty miles of the city of
Frenchmen and garlic soups, steamboats and yellow
fever, negroes and quadroons, hells and convents,
soldiers and slaves, and things, and people of every
language and kindred, nation and tribe upon the face
of the earth. From this place you will receive my
next letter, wherein perchance you may find a solution
of the mystery thrown around our beautiful
vessel.

Louisiana—Arrival at New-Orleans—Land—Pilot stations—
Pilots—Anecdote—Fort—Forests—Levée—Crevasses—Alarms—
Accident—Espionage—A Louisianian palace—Grounds—Sugar-house—
Quarters—An African governess—Sugar cane—St. Mary—
“English Turn”—Cavalcade—Battle ground—Music—Sounds
of the distant city—Land in New-Orleans—An amateur sailor.

We are at last in New-Orleans, the queen of the
South-west—the American Waterloo, whose Wellington,
“General Jackson”—according to the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

elegant ballad I believe still extant in the “Boston
picture-books,”

New-Orleans! the play-thing of monarchs.
“Swapped,” as boys swap their penknives. Discovered
and lost by the French—possessed by the
gold-hunting Spaniard—again ceded to the French—
exchanged for a kingdom with the man who
traded in empires, and sold by him, for a “plum”
to our government!

We arrived between eight and nine last evening,
after a very pleasant run of twenty-eight hours from
the Balize, charmed and delighted of course with
every thing. If we had landed at the entrance of
Vulcan's smithy from so long a sea-passage, it
would have been precisely the same—all would
have appeared “couleur de rose.” To be on land,
even were it a sand bank, is all that is requisite to
render it in the eyes of the new landed passenger, a
Paradise.

During the first part of our sail up the river,
there was nothing sufficiently interesting in the
way of incident or variety of scenery, to merit the
trouble either of narration or perusal. Till we arrived
within forty-five or fifty miles of New-Orleans,
the shores of the river presented the same flat,
marshy appearance previously described. With the
exception of two or three “pilot stations,” near its
mouth, I do not recollect that we passed any

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

dwelling. These “stations” are situated within a few
miles of the mouth of the river, and are the residences
of the pilots. The one on the left bank of
the river, which I had an opportunity of visiting,
contained about sixteen or eighteen houses, built
upon piles, in the midst of the morass, which is the
only apology for land within twenty leagues. One
third of these are dwelling houses, connected with
each other for the purpose of intercourse, by raised
walks or bridges, laid upon the surface of the mud,
and constructed of timber, logs, and wrecks of vessels.
Were a hapless wight to lose his footing, he
would descend as easily and gracefully into the
bosom of the yielding loam, as into a barrel of
soft soap. The intercourse with the shore, near
which this miserable, isolated congregation of
shanties is imbedded, is also kept up by a causeway
of similar construction and materials.

The pilots, of whom there are from twelve to
twenty at each station, are a hardy, rugged class of
men. Most of them have been mates of merchantmen,
or held some inferior official station in the
navy. The majority of them, I believe, are English,
though Americans, Frenchmen and Spaniards, are
not wanting among their number. The moral
character of this class of men, generally, does not
stand very high, though there are numerous instances
of individuals among them, whose nautical
skill and gentlemanly deportment reflect honour
upon their profession.

It is by no means an unusual circumstance for
the commander of a ship, on entering a harbour, to

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

resign, pro tem., the charge of his vessel to a pilot,
whom a few years before, while a petty officer under
his command, he may have publicly disgraced
and dismissed from his ship for some misdemeanor.

In eighteen hundred and twenty-seven, when off
Maldonado, ascending the La Plata, a Spanish pilot
came on board a ship of war; and as he stalked aft
from the gangway, with the assumed hauteur of littleness
in power, the penetrating eye of one of the
lieutenants was fixed upon his countenance with a
close and scrutinizing gaze. The eye of the pilot
fell beneath its stern expression for a moment; but
he again raised it, and stealing a quick, furtive, and
apparently recognising glance at the officer, his dark
brown face changed suddenly to the hue of death,
and with a fearful cry, he sprang with the activity
of a cat into the mizen rigging; but before he could
leap over the quarter, the officer had seized a musket
from a marine, and fired: the ball struck him
near the elbow the instant he had cleared the rigging.
A heavy splash was heard in the water, and
as those on deck flew to the stern, a dark spot of
blood upon the water was the only evidence that a
human being had sunk beneath. While they were
engaged in looking upon the spot where he had
plunged, and wondering, without knowing the cause,
at this summary method of proceeding on the part
of the lieutenant, a cry, “there he is,” was heard
and repeated by fifty voices, naval discipline to
the contrary notwithstanding, and about twenty fathoms
astern, the black head of the pilot was seen
emerging from the waves—but the next instant,

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

with a horrible Spanish curse, he dived from their
sight, and in a few minutes, appeared more than a
hundred yards astern.

It appeared that during the well-known piratical
depredations, a few years previous, in the vicinity
of Key West and Cape St. Antonio, this officer had
the command of a shore expedition against the pirates.
During the excursion he attacked a large
band of them in their retreats, and, after a long and
warmly contested conflict, either slew or took the
whole party prisoners. Among those was the redoubtable
pilot, who held the goodly office of second
in command among those worthy gentlemen. But
as they proceeded to their schooner, which lay half
a league from the shore, the rover, not liking the
prospect which his skill in “second sight” presented
to his fancy, suddenly, with a powerful effort, threw
off the two men between whom he was seated, and
leaping, with both arms pinioned behind him, over
the head of the astonished bow oarsman, disappeared
“instanter;” and while a score of muskets and pistols
were levelled in various directions, made his
appearance, in a few minutes, about a furlong astern,
and out of reach of shot. It was thought useless
to pursue him in a heavy barge, and he effected his
escape. This said swimmer was recognised by
the lieutenant in the person of the pilot; and as the
recognition was mutual, the scene I have narrated
followed.

At sunrise, the morning after leaving the Balize,
we passed the ruins, or rather the former location,
(for the traces are scarcely perceptible) of the old

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

Spanish for Plaquemine, where, while this country
was under Spanish government, all vessels were
obliged to heave to, and produce their passports for
the inspection of the sage, big-whiskered Dons, who
were there whilom domesticated.

Toward noon, the perpetual sameness of the
shores, (they cannot be termed banks) of the river,
were relieved by clumps of cypress and other trees,
which gradually, as we advanced, increased into
forests, extending back to a level horizon, as viewed
from the mast-head, and overhanging both sides of
the river. Though so late in the season, they still
retained the green freshness of summer, and afforded
an agreeable contrast to the dry and leafless forests
which we had just left at the north. At a distance,
we beheld the first plantation to be seen on ascending
the river. As we approached it, we discovered
from the deck the commencement of the embankment
or “Levée,” which extends, on both sides
of the river, to more than one hundred and fifty miles
above New-Orleans. This levée is properly a dike,
thrown up on the verge of the river, from twenty-five
to thirty feet in breadth, and two feet higher than
high-water mark; leaving a ditch, or fossé, on the
inner side, of equal breadth, from which the earth
to form the levée is taken. Consequently, as the
land bordering on the river is a dead level, and,
without the security of the levée, overflowed at half
tides, when the river is full, or within twenty inches,
as it often is, of the top of the embankment, the
surface of the river will be four feet higher than the
surface of the country; the altitude of the inner side

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

of the levée being usually six feet above the general
surface of the surrounding land.

This is a startling truth; and at first leads to reflections
by no means favorable in their results, to
the safety, either of the lives or property of the
inhabitants of the lowlands of Louisiana. But
closer observation affords the assurance that however
threatening a mass of water four feet in height,
two thousand five hundred in breadth, and of infinite
length, may be in appearance, experience has
not shown to any great extent, that the residents
on the borders of this river have in reality, more to
apprehend from an inundation, so firm and efficacious
is their levée, than those who reside in more
apparent security, upon the elevated banks of our
flooding rivers of the north. It cannot be denied
that there have been instances where “crevasses”
as they are termed here, have been gradually worn
through the levée, by the attrition of the waters,
when, suddenly starting through in a wiry stream,
they rapidly enlarge to torrents which, with the force,
and noise, and rushing of a mill-race, shoot away
over the plantations, inundating the sugar fields, and
losing themselves in the boundless marshes in the
rear. But on such occasions, which however are
not frequent, the alarm is given and communicated
by the plantation bells, and before half an hour
elapses, several hundred negroes, with their masters,
(who all turn out on these occasions, as at a fire,)
will have gathered to the spot, and at the expiration
of another half-hour, the breach will be stopped,
the danger past, and the “Monarch of rivers,”

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

subdued by the hand of man, will be seen again moving,
submissively obedient, within his prescribed
limits, sullenly, yet majestically to the ocean.

During the afternoon, we passed successively
many sugar plantations, in the highest state of cultivation.
Owing to the elevation of the levée, and
the low situation of the lands, we could see from
the deck only the upper story of the planters' residences
upon the shore; but from the main top, we
had an uninterrupted view of every plantation which
we passed. As they very much resemble each
other in their general features, a description of one
of them will be with a little variation applicable to
all. Fortunately for me, a slight accident to our
machinery, which delayed us fifteen or twenty
minutes, in front of one of the finest plantations
below New-Orleans, enabled me to put in practice
a short system of espionage upon the premises,
from the main top, with my spy-glass, that introduced
me into the very sanctum of the enchanting
ornamental gardens, in which the palace-like edifice
was half-embowered.

The house was quadrangular, with a high steep
Dutch roof, immensely large, and two stories in
height; the basement or lower story being constructed
of brick, with a massive colonnade of the
same materials on all sides of the building. This
basement was raised to a level with the summit of the
levée, and formed the ground-work or basis of the
edifice, which was built of wood, painted white, with
Venetian blinds, and latticed verandas, supported by
slender and graceful pillars, running round every

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

side of the dwelling. Along the whole western
front, festooned in massive folds, hung a dark-green
curtain, which is dropped along the whole length
of the balcony in a summer's afternoon, not only
excluding the burning rays of the sun, but inviting
the inmates to a cool and refreshing siesta, in some
one of the half dozen net-work hammocks, which
we discovered suspended in the veranda. The
basement seemed wholly unoccupied, and probably
was no more than an over-ground cellar. At each
extremity of the piazza was a broad and spacious
flight of steps, descending into the garden which
enclosed the dwelling on every side.

Situated about two hundred yards back from the
river, the approach to it was by a lofty massive
gateway which entered upon a wide gravelled walk,
bordered by dark foliaged orange trees, loaded with
their golden fruit. Pomegranate, fig, and lemon
trees, shrubs, plants and exotics of every clime
and variety, were dispersed in profusion over this
charming parterre. Double palisades of lemon
and orange trees surrounded the spot, forming one
of the loveliest and most elegant rural retirements,
that imagination could create or romantic ambition
desire. About half a mile in the rear of the dwelling,
I observed a large brick building with lofty
chimneys resembling towers. This was the sugar-house,
wherein the cane undergoes its several
transmutations, till that state of perfection is
obtained, which renders it marketable.

On the left and diagonally from the dwelling
house we noticed a very neat, pretty village,

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

containing about forty small snow-white cottages, all
precisely alike, built around a pleasant square, in
the centre of which, was a grove or cluster of
magnificent sycamores. Near by, suspended from
a belfry, was the bell which called the slaves to
and from their work and meals. This village
was their residence, and under the shade of the
trees in the centre of the square, we could discern
troops of little ebony urchins from the age of
eight years downward, all too young to work in the
field, at their play—under the charge of an old,
crippled gouvernante, who, being past “field
service,” was thus promoted in the “home department.”

This plantation was about one mile and a half in
depth from the river, terminating, like all in lower
Louisiana, in an impenetrable cypress swamp; and
about two miles in breadth by the levée. About
one half was waving with the rich long-leafed cane,
and agreeably variegated, exhibiting every delicate
shade from the brightest yellow to the darkest
green. A small portion of the remainder was in
corn, which grows luxuriantly in this country,
though but little cultivated; and the rest lay in
fallow, into which a portion of every plantation is
thrown, alternately, every two years.

By the time I had completed my observations,
spying the richness, rather than “the nakedness”
of the land, the engineer had arranged the
machinery and we were again in motion; passing
rapidly by rich gardens, spacious avenues, tasteful
villas, and extensive fields of cane, bending to the

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

light breeze with the wavy motion of the sea. Just
before sunset we passed the site of the old fort St.
Mary, and in half an hour after, swept round into
the magnificent curve denominated the “English
Turn.”[3] As we sailed along, gay parties, probably
returning from and going to, the city, on horseback,
in barouches and carriages, were passing along
the level road within the levée; their heads and
shoulders being only visible above it, gave to the
whole cavalcade a singularly ludicrous appearance—
a strange bobbing of heads, hats and feathers,
suggesting the idea of a new genus of locomotives
amusing themselves upon the green sward.

Much to our regret, we did not arrive opposite
the “battle ground” till some time after sunset.
But we were in some measure remunerated for our
disappointment, by gazing down upon the scene of
the conflict from aloft, while as bright and clear a
moon as ever shed its mellow radiance over a
southern landscape, poured its full flood of light
upon the now quiet battle field. I could distinguish
that it was under cultivation, and that
princely dwellings were near and around it; and
my ear told me as we sailed swiftly by, that where

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

shouts of conflict and carnage once broke fiercely
upon the air, now floated the lively notes of cheerful
music, which were wafted over the waters to the
ship, falling pleasantly upon the ear.

The lights and habitations along the shore now
became more frequent. Luggers, manned by
negroes, light skiffs, with a solitary occupant in
each, and now and then a dark hulled vessel, her
lofty sails, reflecting the bright moon light, appearing
like snowy clouds in the clear blue sky, were
rapidly and in increasing numbers, continually
gliding by us. By these certain indications we
knew that we were not far from the goal so long
the object of our wishes.

We had been anticipating during the morning
an early arrival, when the panorama of the crescent
city should burst upon our view enriched, by the
mellow rays of a southern sun, with every variety
of light and shade that could add to the beauty or
novelty of the scene. But our sanguine anticipations
were not to be realized. The shades of night
had long fallen over the town, when, as we swiftly
moved forward, anxiously trying to penetrate the
obscurity, an interminable line of lights gradually
opened in quick succssion upon our view; and a
low hum, like the far off roaring of the sea, with
the heavy and irregular tolling of a deep mouthed
bell, was borne over the waves upon the evening
breeze, mingling at intervals with loud calls far
away on the shore, and fainter replies still more
distant. The fierce and incessant baying of dogs,
and as we approached nearer, the sound of many

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

voices, as in a tumult;—and anon, the wild, clear,
startling notes of a bugle, waking the slumbering
echoes on the opposite shore, succeeded by the
solitary voice of some lonely singer, blended with
the thrumming notes of a guitar, falling with
melancholy cadence upon the ear—all gave indications
that we were rapidly approaching the termination
of our voyage.

In a few minutes, as we still shot onward, we
could trace a thousand masts, penciled distinctly
with all their net-work rigging upon the clear
evening sky. We moved swiftly in among them;
and gradually checking her speed, the tow-boat
soon came nearly to a full stop, and casting off the
ship astern, rounded to and left us along side of a
Salem ship, which lay outside of a tier “six deep.”
When the bustle and confusion of making fast had
subsided, we began our preparations to go on shore.
So anxious were we once more to tread “terra
firma,” that we determined not to wait for a messenger
to go half a mile for a carriage, but to walk
through the gayly lighted streets to our hotel in
Canal-street, more than a mile distant. So after
much trouble in laying planks, for the surer footing
of the ladies, from gangway to gangway, we safely
reached, after crossing half a dozen ships, the firm,
immoveable Levée. I will now briefly relate the
little history of our truly elegant brig, as I partially
promised to do in my last, and conclude this long,
long letter.

Her commander was formerly an officer of the
United States navy. He is a graduate of Harvard

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

University, and presents in his person the admirable
union of the polished gentleman, finished scholar,
and practical seaman. Inheriting a princely fortune
from a bachelor uncle, he returned to Massachusetts,
his native state, and built according to his own taste
the beautiful vessel he now commands. He has
made in her one voyage to India, and two up the
Mediterranean, and is now at this port to purchase
a cargo of cotton for the European market. His
officers are gentlemen of education and nautical science;
his equals and companions in the cabin, though
his subordinates on the deck.

If the imagination of the lonely sailor, as he mechanically
paces his midnight watch, creates an Utopia
in the wide ocean of futurity, if there be a limit
to the enjoyment of a refined seaman's wishes, or a
“ne plus ultra,” to his ambition, they must all be
realized and achieved, by the sole command and
control of a vessel so correctly beautiful as the
D******; so ably officered and manned, so opulent
with every luxury, comfort, and convenience, and
free as the winds to go and come over the “dark
blue sea,” obedient alone to the uncontrolled will
and submissive to the lightest pleasure of her absolute
commander.

p155-092

Bachelor's comforts—A valuable valet—Disembarked at the Lev
ée—A fair Castilian—Canaille—The Crescent city—Reminiscence
of school days—French cabarets—Cathedral—Exchange—
Cornhill—A chain of light—A fracas—Gens d'Armes—An affair
of honour—Arrive at our hotel.

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

How delightfully comfortable one feels, and how
luxuriantly disposed to quiet,—after having been
tossed, and bruised, and tumbled about, suns ceremonie,
like a bale of goods, or a printer's devil, for
many long weary days and nights upon the slumberless
sea—to be once more cosily established in
a smiling, elegant little parlour, carpeted, curtained,
and furnished with every tasteful convenience that
a comfort loving, home-made bachelor could covet.
In such a pleasant sitting-room am I now most enviably
domesticated, and every thing around me contributes
to the happiness of my situation. A cheerful
coal-fire burns in the grate—(for the day is cloudy,
misty, drizzly, foggy, and chilly, which is the
best definition I can give you, as yet, of a wet December's
day in New-Orleans,)—diffusing an agreeable
temperature throughout the room, and adding,
by contrast with the dark gloomy streets, seen indistinctly
through the moist glass, to the enjoyment
of my comforts. I am now seated by my writing-desk
at a table, drawn at an agreeable distance from

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

the fire-place—and fully convinced that a man never
feels so comfortably, as when ensconced in a snug
parlour on a rainy day.

A statue of dazzling ebony, by name Antoine, to
which the slightest look or word will give instant
animation, stands in the centre of the room, contrasting
beautifully in colour with the buff paper-hangings
and crimson curtains. He is a slave—about
seventeen years of age, and a bright, intelligent, active
boy, nevertheless—placed at my disposal as
valet while I remain here, by the kind attention of
my obliging hostess, Madame H—. He serves
me in a thousand capacities, as post-boy, cicerone,
&c. and is on the whole, an extremely useful and
efficient attaché.

Our party having safely landed on the Levée,
nearly opposite Rue Marigny, we commenced our
long, yet in anticipation, delightful walk to our hotel.
We had disembarked about a quarter of a league
below the cathedral, from the front of which, just
after we landed, the loud report of the evening gun
broke over the city, rattling and reverberating through
the long massively built streets, like the echoing of
distant thunder along mountain ravines. On a firm,
smooth, gravelled walk elevated about four feet, by
a gradual ascent from the street—one side open to
the river, and the other lined with the “Pride of
China,” or India tree, we pursued our way to Chartres-street,
the “Broadway” of New-Orleans. The
moon shone with uncommon brilliancy, and thousands,
even in this lower faubourg, were abroad, enjoying
the beauty and richness of the scene. Now,

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

a trio of lively young Frenchmen would pass us,
laughing and conversing gayly upon some merry
subject, followed by a slow moving and stately
figure, whose haughty tread, and dark roquelaure
gathered with classic elegance around his form in
graceful folds, yet so arranged as to conceal every
feature beneath his slouched sombrero, except a
burning, black, penetrating eye,—denoted the exiled
Spaniard.

We passed on—and soon the lively sounds of
the French language, uttered by soft voices, were
heard nearer and nearer, and the next moment, two
or three duenna-like old ladies, remarkable for
their “embonpoint” dimensions, preceded a bevy
of fair girls, without that most hideous of all excrescences,
with which women see fit to disfigure their
heads, denominated a “bonnet”—their brown, raven
or auburn hair floating in ringlets behind them.

There was one—a dark-locked girl—a superb
creature, over whose head and shoulders, secured
above her forehead by a brilliant which in the clear
moon burned like a star, waved the folds of a snow-white
veil in the gentle breeze, created by her motion
as she glided gracefully along. She was a
Castilian; and the mellow tones of her native land
gave richness to the light elegance of the French,
as she breathed it like music from her lips.

As we passed on, the number of promenaders increased,
but scarcely a lady was now to be seen.
Every other gentleman we met was enveloped in a
cloud, not of bacchanalian, but tobacconalian incense,
which gave a peculiar atmosphere to the Levée.

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

Every, or nearly every gentleman carried a sword
cane, apparently, and occasionally the bright hilt of
a Spanish knife, or dirk, would gleam for an instant
in the moon-beams from the open bosom of its possessor,
as, with the lowering brow, and active tread
of wary suspicion, he moved rapidly by us, his
roundabout thrown over the left shoulder and secured
by the sleeves in a knot under the arm, which
was thrust into his breast, while the other arm was
at liberty to attend to his segar, or engage in any
mischief to which its owner might be inclined. This
class of men are very numerous here. They are
easily distinguished by their shabby appearance,
language, and foreign way of wearing their apparel.
In groups—promenading, lounging, and sleeping
upon the seats along the Levée—we passed several
hundred of this canaille of Orleans, before we arrived
at the “Parade,” the public square in front of the
cathedral. They are mostly Spaniards and Portuguese,
though there are among them representatives
from all the unlucky families which, at the building
of Babel, were dispersed over the earth. As to their
mode and means of existence, I have not as yet informed
myself; but I venture to presume that they
resort to no means beneath the dignity of “caballeros!”

After passing the market on our right, a massive
colonnade, about two hundred and fifty feet in
length, we left the Levée, and its endless tier of
shipping which had bordered one side of our walk
all the way, and passing under the China-trees, that
still preserved their unbroken line along the river,

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

we crossed Levée-street, a broad, spacious esplanade,
running along the front of the main body or
block of the city, separating it from the Levée, and
forming a magnificent thoroughfare along the whole
extensive river-line. From this highway streets
shoot off at right angles, till they terminate in the
swamp somewhat less than a league back from the
river. I have termed New-Orleans the crescent
city in one of my letters, from its being built around
the segment of a circle formed by a graceful curve
of the river at this place. Though the water, or
shore-line, is very nearly semi-circular, the Leveestreet,
above mentioned, does not closely follow the
shore, but is broken into two angles, from which
the streets diverge as before mentioned. These
streets are again intersected by others running parallel
with the Levée-street, dividing the city into
squares, except where the perpendicular streets meet
the angles, where necessarily the “squares” are lessened
in breadth at the extremity nearest the river,
and occasionally form pentagons and parallelograms,
with oblique sides, if I may so express it.

After crossing Levée-street, we entered Rue St.
Pierre, which issues from it south of the grand
square. This square is an open green, surrounded
by a lofty iron railing, within which troops of boys,
whose sports carried my thoughts away to “home,
sweet home,” were playing, shouting and merry
making, precisely as we used to do in days long
past, when the harvest-moon would invite us from
our dwellings to the village green, where many and
many a joyful night we have played till the magic

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

voice of our good old Scotch preceptor was heard
from the door of his little cottage under the elms,
“Laads, laads, it's unco time ye were in bed,
laads,” warning us to our sleepy pillows. The
front of this extensive square was open to the river,
bordered with its dark line of ships; on each side
were blocks of rusty looking brick buildings of
Spanish and French construction, with projecting
balconies, heavy cornices, and lofty jalousies or
barricaded windows. The lower stories of these
buildings were occupied by retailers of fancy wares,
vintners, segar manufacturers, dried fruit sellers,
and all the other members of the innumerable occupations,
to which the volatile, ever ready Frenchman
can always turn himself and a sous into the
bargain. As we passed along, these shops were all
lighted up, and the happy faces, merry songs, and
gay dances therein, occasionally contrasted with
the shrill tone of feminine anger in a foreign tongue,
and the loud, fierce, rapid voices of men mingling
in dispute, added to the novelty and amusement of
our walk. I enumerated ten, out of seventeen successive
shops or cabarets, upon the shelves of
which I could discover nothing but myriads of claret
and Madeira bottles, tier upon tier to the ceiling;
and from this fact I came to the conclusion, that
some of the worthy citizens of New-Orleans must
be most unconscionable “wine-bibbers,” if not
“publicans and sinners,” as subsequent observation
has led me to surmise.

On the remaining side of this square stood the
cathedral, its dark moorish-looking towers flinging

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

their vast shadows far over the water. The whole
front of the large edifice was thrown into deep
shade, so that when we approached, it presented
one black mingled mass, frowning in stern and
majestic silence upon the surrounding scene.

Leaving this venerable building at the right, we
turned into Chartres-street, the second parallel with
the Levée, and the most fashionable, as well as
greatest business street in the city. As we proceeded,
cafés, confectioners, fancy stores, millineries,
parfumeurs, &c. &c., were passed in rapid
succession; each one of them presenting something
new, and always something to strike the attention
of strangers, like ourselves, for the first time in the
only “foreign” city in the United States.

At the corner of one of the streets intersecting
Chartres-street—Rue St. Louis I believe—we passed
a large building, the lofty basement story of
which was lighted with a glare brighter than that
of noon. In the back ground, over the heads of
two or three hundred loud-talking, noisy gentlemen,
who were promenading and vehemently gesticulating,
in all directions, through the spacious room—
I discovered a bar, with its peculiar dazzling array
of glasses and decanters containing “spirits”—
not of “the vasty deep” certainly, but of whose
potent spells many were apparently trying the
power, by frequent libations. This building—of
which and its uses more anon—I was informed,
was the “French” or “New Exchange.” After
passing Rue Toulouse, the streets began to assume
a new character; the buildings were loftier and

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

more modern—the signs over the doors bore English
names, and the characteristic arrangements of
a northern dry goods store were perceived, as we
peered in at the now closing doors of many stores
by which we passed. We had now attained the
upper part of Chartres-street, which is occupied almost
exclusively by retail and wholesale dry goods
dealers, jewellers, booksellers, &c., from the northern
states, and I could almost realize that I was
taking an evening promenade in Cornbill, so great
was the resemblance.

As we successively crossed Rues Conti, Bienville
and Douane, and looked down these long straight
avenues, the endless row of lamps, suspended in
the middle of these streets, as well as in all others
in New-Orleans, by chains or ropes, extended from
house to house across, had a fine and brilliant effect,
which we delayed for a moment on the flag-stone
to admire, endeavouring to reach with our eyes the
almost invisible extremity of this line of flame.
Just before we reached the head of Chartres-street,
near Bienville, in the immediate vicinity of which is
the boarding house of Madame H —, where we
intended to take rooms, our way was impeded by a
party of gentlemen in violent altercation in English
and French, who completely blocked up the “trottoir.”
“Sir,” said one of the party—a handsome,
resolute-looking young man—in a calm deliberate
voice, which was heard above every other, and listened
to as well—“Sir, you have grossly insulted me,
and I shall expect from you, immediately—before
we separate—an acknowledgment, adequate to the

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

injury.” “Monsieur,” replied a young Frenchman
whom he had addressed, in French, “Monsieur, I
never did insult you—a gentleman never insults!
you have misunderstood me, and refuse to listen to
a candid explanation.” “The explanation you have
given sir,” reiterated the first speaker, “is not sufficient—
it is a subterfuge;” here many voices mingled
in loud confusion, and a renewed and more
violent altercation ensued which prevented our
hearing distinctly; and as we had already crossed
to the opposite side of the street, having ladies under
escort, we rapidly passed on our way, but had
not gained half a square before the clamour increased
to an uproar—steel struck steel—one, then another
pistol was discharged in rapid succession—
“guards,” “gens d'armes, gens d'armes,” “guards!
guards!” resounded along the streets, and we arrived
at our hotel, just in time to escape being run
down, or run through at their option probably, by
half a dozen gens d'armes in plain blue uniforms,
who were rushing with drawn swords in their
hands to the scene of contest, perfectly well assured
in our own minds, that we had most certainly arrived
at New-Orleans!

Though affairs of the kind just described are no
uncommon thing here, and are seldom noticed in
the papers of the day—yet the following allusion
to the event of last evening may not be uninteresting
to you, and I will therefore copy it, and terminate
my letter with the extract.

“An affray occurred last night in the vicinity of
Bienville-street, in which one young gentleman was

p155-101 [figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

severely wounded by the discharge of a pistol, and
another slightly injured by a dirk. An “affaire
d'honneur” originated from this, and the parties met
this morning. Dr. — of New-York, one of the
principals, was mortally wounded by his antagonist
M. Le — of this city.”

Sensations on seeing a city for the first time—Capt. Kidd—Boston—
Fresh feelings—An appreciated luxury—A human medley—
School for physiognomists—A morning scene in New-Orleans—
Canal-street—Levée—French and English stores—Parisian and
Louisianian pronunciation—Scenes in the market—Shipping—A
disguised rover—Mississippi fleets—Ohio river arks—Slave laws.

I know of no sensation so truly delightful and
exciting as that experienced by a traveller, when
he makes his debut in a strange and interesting city.
These feelings have attended me before, in many
other and more beautiful places; but when I sallied
out the morning after my arrival, to survey this
“Key of the Great Valley,” I enjoyed them again
with almost as much zest, as when, a novice to cities
and castellated piles, I first gazed in silent wonder
upon the immense dome which crowns Beacon
Hill, and lingered to survey with a fascinated eye
the princely edifices that surround it.

I shall ever remember, with the liveliest emotions,
my first visit to Boston—the first “CITY,”

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

(what a charm to a country lad in the appellation)
I had ever seen. It was a delightful summer's
morning, when, urged forward by a gentle wind,
our little, green-painted, coasting packet entered the
magnificent harbour, which, broken and diversified
with its beautiful islands, lay outspread before us
like a chain of lakes sleeping among hills. With
what romantic and youthful associations did I then
gaze upon the lonely sea-washed monument, as we
sailed rapidly by it, where the famous pirate,
“Nick,” murdered his mate; and a little farther on,
upon a pleasant green island, where the bloody
“Robert Kidd” buried treasures that no man could
number, or find!—With what patriotism, almost
kindled into a religion, did I gaze upon the noble
heights of Dorchester as they lifted their twin
summits to the skies on our left, and upon the proud
eminence far to the right, where Warren expired
and liberty was born!

I well remember with what wild enthusiasm I
bounded on shore ere the vessel had quite reached
it, and with juvenile elasticity, ran, rather than
walked, up through the hurry and bustle that always
attend Long Wharf. With what veneration
I looked upon the spot, in State-street, where the
first American blood was shed by British soldiers!
With what reverence I paced “Old Cornhill”—and
with what deep respect I gazed upon the venerable
“Old South,” the scene of many a revolutionary
incident! The site of the “Liberty Tree”—
the “King's” Chapel, where Lionel Lincoln
was married—the wharf, from which the tea was

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

poured into the dock by the disguised citizens,
and a hundred other scenes and places of interesting
associations were visited, and gave me a pleasure
that I fear can never so perfectly be felt again.
For then, my feelings were young, fresh and buoyant,
and my curiosity, as in after life, had never
been glutted and satiated by the varieties and novelties
of our variegated world. Even the “cannon-ball”
embedded in the tower of Brattle-street church,
was an object of curiosity; the building in which
Franklin worked when an apprentice, was not passed
by, unvisited; and the ancient residence of “Job
Pray” was gazed upon with a kind of superstitious
reverence. I do not pretend to compare my present
feelings with those of that happy period. Although
my curiosity may not be so eager as then, it is full
as persevering; and though I may not experience
the same lively gratification, in viewing strange
and novel scenes, that I felt in boyhood, I certainly
do as much rational and intellectual pleasure; and
obtain more valuable and correct information than I
could possibly gain, were I still guided by the more
volatile curiosity of youth.

In spite of our fatigue of the preceding evening,
and the luxury of a soft, firm bed, wherein one
could sleep without danger of being capsized by a
lee-lurch—a blessing we had not enjoyed for many
a long and weary night—we were up with the sun
and prepared for a stroll about the city. Our first
place of destination was the market-house, a place
which in almost every commercial city is always
worthy the early notice of a stranger, as it is a

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

kind of “House of Representatives” of the city to
which it belongs, where, during the morning, delegates
from almost every family are found studying
the interests of their constituents by judicious
negotiations for comestibles. If the market at
New-Orleans represents that city, so truly does
New-Orleans represent every other city and nation
upon earth. I know of none where is congregated
so great a variety of the human species, of every
language and colour. Not only natives of the well
known European and Asiatic countries are here to
be met with, but occasionally Persians, Turks,
Lascars, Maltese, Indian sailors from South
America and the Islands of the sea, Hottentots,
Laplanders, and, for aught I know to the contrary,
Symmezonians.

Now should any philanthropic individual, anxious
for the advancement of the noble science of
physiognomy, wish to survey the motley countenances
of these goodly personages, let him on some
bright and sunny morning bend his steps toward
the market-house; for there, in all their variety and
shades of colouring they may be seen, and heard.
If a painting could affect the sense of hearing as
well as that of sight, this market multitude would
afford the artist an inimitable original for the
representation upon his canvass of the “confusion
of tongues.”

As we sallied from our hotel to commence our
first tour of sight seeing, the vast city was just
waking into life. Our sleepy servants were opening
the shutters, and up and down the street a

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

hundred of their drowsy brethren were at the same
enlightening occupation. Black women, with huge
baskets of rusks, rolls and other appurtenances of
the breakfast table, were crying, in loud shrill
French, their “stock in trade,” followed by milk-criers,
and butter-criers and criers of every thing
but tears: for they all seemed as merry as the
morning, saluting each other gayly as they met,
“Bo' shoo Mumdsal”—“Moshoo! adieu,” &c. &c.,
and shooting their rude shafts of African wit at
each other with much vivacity and humor.

We turned down Canal-street—the broadest in
New-Orleans, and destined to be the most magnificent.
Its breadth I do not know, correctly, but it
is certainly one half wider than Broadway opposite
the Park.—Through its centre runs a double row
of young trees, which, when they arrive at
maturity, will form the finest mall in the United
States, unless the esplanade—a beautiful mall at the
south part of the city, should excel it.

From the head of Canal-street we entered Levee-street,
leaving the custom house, a large, plain,
yellow stuccoed building upon our right, near
which is a huge, dark coloured, unshapely pile of
brick, originally erected for a Bethel church for
seamen, but never finished, and seldom occupied,
except by itinerant showmen, with their wonders.
Levée-street had already begun to assume a bustling,
commerce-like appearance. The horse-drays
were trundling rapidly by, sometimes four abreast,
racing to different parts of the Levée for their loads—
and upon each was mounted a ragged negro,

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

who, as Jehu-like he drove along, standing upright
and unsupported, resembled “Phaeton in the suds”—
rather than “Phaeton the god-like.”

The stores on our left were all open, and nearly
every one of them, for the first two squares, was
occupied as a clothing or hat store, and kept by
Americans; that is to say, Anglo Americans as
distinguished from the Louisianian French, who
very properly, and proudly too, assume the national
appellation, which we of the English tongue have
so haughtily arrogated to ourselves. As we
approached the market, French stores began to
predominate, till one could readily imagine himself,
aided by the sound of the French language, French
faces and French goods on all sides, to be traversing
a street in Havre or Marseilles. Though I do not
pretend to be a critical connoisseur in French, yet
I could discover a marked and striking difference
between the language I heard spoken every where
and by all classes, in the streets, and the Parisian,
or trans-Atlantic French. The principal difference
seems to be in their method of contracting or
clipping their words, and consequently varying,
more or less, the pronunciation of every termination
susceptible of change. The vowels o and e are
more open, and the a is flatter than in the genuine
French, and often loses altogether its emphatic fulness;
while u, corrupted from its difficult, but peculiarly
soft sound, is almost universally pronounced
as full and plain as oo in moon. This difference
is of course only in pronunciation; the same literature,
and consequently the same words and

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

orthography, being common both to the creole and
European. The sun had already risen, when I
arrived, after a delightful walk, at the “marché.”—
This is a fine building consisting of a long, lofty
roof, supported by rows of columns on every side.
It is constructed of brick, and stuccoed; and, either
by intention or an effect of the humid atmosphere
of this climate, is of a dingy cream colour.

A broad passage runs through the whole length
of the structure, each side of which is lined with
stalls, where some one, of no particular colour, presides;
and before every pillar, the shining face of
a blackee may be seen glistening from among his
vegetables. As I moved on through a dense mass
of negroes, mulattoes, and non-descripts of every
shade, from “sunny hue to sooty,” all balancing their
baskets skilfully upon their heads, my ears were
assailed with sounds stranger and more complicated
than I ever imagined could be rung upon that marvellous
instrument the human tongue. The “langue
des halles”—the true “Billingsgate” was not only
here perfected but improved upon; the gods and
goddesses of the London mart might even take lessons
from these daughters of Afric, who, enthroned
upon a keg, or three-legged stool, each morning
hold their levée, and dispense their esculent blessings
to the famishing citizens. During the half hour
I remained in the market, I did not see one white
person to fifty blacks. It appears that here servants
do all the marketing, and that gentlemen and ladies
do not, as in Boston, Philadelphia, and elsewhere,
visit the market-places themselves, and select their

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

own provision for their tables. The market-place
in Philadelphia is quite a general resort and promenade
for early-rising gentlemen, and it is certainly
well worth one's while to visit it more than
once, not only for the gratification of the palate and
the eye, by the inviting display of epicurean delicacies,
but to become more particularly acquainted
with the general habits and manners of the country
people, who always constitute the greater portion
of the multitude at a market. Among them are individuals
from every little hamlet and village for ten
or fifteen miles around the city, and by studying
these people, a tolerably good idea may be formed
by a stranger of the manners and customs of the
inhabitants, (that is, the farming class) of the vicinity.

But here, there is no temptation of the kind to
induce one to visit the market in the city more than
once. He will see nothing to gratify the spirit of
inquiry or observation, in the ignorant, careless-hearted
slaves, whose character presents neither
variety nor interest. However well they may represent
their brethren in the city and on the neighbouring
sugar plantations, they cannot be ranked
among the class of their fellow-beings denominated
citizens, and consequently, are not to be estimated
by a stranger in judging of this community.

So far as regards the intrinsic importance of this
market, it is undoubtedly equal to any other in
America. Vegetables and fruits of all climates are
displayed in bountiful profusion in the vegetable
stalls, while the beef and fish-market is abundantly

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

supplied, though necessarily without that endless
variety to be found in Atlantic cities.

In front, upon the water, were double lines of
market and fish-boats, secured to the Levée, forming
a small connecting link of the long chain of shipping
and steamboats that extend for a league in
front of the city. At the lower part of the town
lie generally those ships, which having their cargoes
on board, have dropped down the river to
await their turn to be towed to sea. Fronting this
station are no stores, but several elegant private
dwellings, constructed after the combined French
and Spanish style of architecture, almost embowered
in dark, evergreen foliage, and surrounded by parterres.
The next station above, and immediately
adjoining this, is usually occupied by vessels, which,
just arrived, have not yet obtained a berth where
they can discharge their cargoes; though not unfrequently
ships here discharge and receive their
freight, stretching along some distance up the Levée
to the link of market-boats just mentioned.

From the market to the vicinity of Bienville-street,
lies an extensive tier of shipping, often “six
deep,” discharging and receiving cargo, or waiting
for freight. The next link of the huge chain is
usually occupied by Spanish and French coasting
vessels,—traders to Mexico, Texas, Florida, &c.
These are usually polaccas, schooners, and other
small craft—and particularly black, rakish craft,
some of them are in appearance. It would require
but little exercise of the imagination, while surveying
these truculent looking clippers, to fancy any

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

one of them, clothed in canvass and bounding away
upon the broad sea, the “Black flag” flying aloft,
the now gunless deck bristling with five eighteens
to a side; and her indolent, smoking, dark faced
crew exchanging their jack-knives for sabres and
pistols. There was an instance of recent occurrence,
where a ship was boarded and plundered by
a well-armed and strongly manned schooner, in
company with which, under the peaceful guise of a
merchantman she had been towed down the river
six days previous.

Next to this station (for as you will perceive, the
whole Levée is divided into stations appropriated to
peculiar classes of shipping), commences the range
of steamboats, or steamers, as they are usually
termed here, rivaling in magnitude the extensive
line of ships below. The appearance of so large a
collection of steamboats is truly novel, and must
always strike a stranger with peculiar interest.

The next station, though it presents a more humble
appearance than the others, is not the least interesting.
Here are congregated the primitive navies
of Indiana, Ohio, and the adjoining states,
manned (I have not understood whether they are
officered or not) by “real Kentucks”—“Buck eyes”—
“Hooshers”—and “Snorters.” There were about
two hundred of these craft without masts, consisting
of “flat-boats,” (which resemble, only being
much shorter, the “Down East” gundalow, (gondola)
so common on the rivers of Maine,) and “keelboats,”
which are one remove from the flat-boat,
having some pretensions to a keel; they somewhat

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

resemble freighting canal-boats. Besides these are
“arks,” most appropriately named, their contents
having probably some influence with their good-fathers
in selecting an appellation, and other non-descript-craft.
These are filled with produce of all
kinds, brought from the “Upper country,” (as the north
western states are termed here) by the very farmers
themselves who have raised it;—also, horses, cattle,
hogs, poultry, mules, and every other thing raiseable
and saleable are piled into these huge flats,
which an old farmer and half a dozen Goliahs of
sons can begin and complete in less than a week,
from the felling of the first tree to the driving of the
last pin.

When one of these arks is completed, and “every
beast that is good for food” by sevens and scores,
male and female, and every fowl of the air by sevens
and fifties, are entered into the ark,—then entereth
in the old man with his family by “males” only,
and the boat is committed to the current, and after
the space of many days arriveth and resteth at this
Arrarat of all “Up country” Noahs.

These boats, on arriving here, are taken to pieces
and sold as lumber, while their former owners with
well-lined purses return home as deck passengers
on board steamboats. An immense quantity of
whiskey from Pittsburg and Cincinnati, besides, is
brought down in these boats, and not unfrequently,
they are crowded with slaves for the southern
market.

The late excellent laws relative to the introduction
of slaves, however, have checked, in a great

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

measure, this traffic here, and the Mississippi market
at Natchez has consequently become inundated, by
having poured into it, in addition to its usual stock,
the Louisianian supply. I understand that the
legislature of this rich and enterprising state is
about to pass a law similar to the one above mentioned,
which certainly will be incalculably to her
advantage.

The line of flats may be considered the last link
of the great chain of shipping in front of New-Orleans,
unless we consider as attached to it a kind
of dock adjoining, where ships and steamers often
lie, either worn out or undergoing repairs. From
this place to the first station I have mentioned, runs
along the Levée, fronting the shipping, an uninterrupted
block of stores, (except where they are intersected
by streets,) some of which are lofty and
elegant, while others are clumsy piles of French
and Spanish construction, browned and blackened
by age.

p155-113

First impressions—A hero of the “Three Days”—Children's
ball—Life in New-Orleans—A French supper—Omnibuses—
Chartres street at twilight—Calaboose—Guard-house—The vicinage
of a theatre—French cafés—Scenes in the interior of a café—
Dominos—Tobacco-smokers—New-Orleans society.

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

The last three days I have spent in perambulating
the city, hearing, seeing, and visiting every
thing worthy the notice of a Yankee, (and consequently
an inquisitive) tourist.

As I shall again have occasion to introduce you
among the strange and motley groups, and interesting
scenes of the Levée, I will not now resume
the thread of my narrative, broken by the conclusion
of my last letter, but take you at once into the
“terra incognita” of this city of contrarieties.

The evening of my visit to the market, through
the politeness of Monsieur D., a young Frenchman
who distinguished himself in the great “Three
Days” at Paris, and to whom I had a letter of
introduction, was passed amid the gayety and brilliancy
of a French assembly-room. The building
in which this ball was held, is adjacent to the Theatre
d'Orleans, and devoted, I believe, exclusively
to public parties, which are held here during the
winter months, or more properly, “the season,”

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

almost every night. The occasion on which I
attended, was one of peculiar interest. It was
termed the “Children's ball;” and it is given at
regular intervals throughout the gay months. I
have not learned the precise object of this ball, or
how it is conducted; but these are unimportant. I
merely wish to introduce to you the dazzling crowd
gathered there, so that you may form some conception
of the manner and appearance of the lively
citizens of this lively city, who seem disposed to
remunerate themselves for the funereal and appaling
silence of the long and gloomy season, when
“pestilence walketh abroad at noon-day,” by giving
way to the full current of life and spirits. Adopting,
literally, “Dum vivimus vivamus,” for their
motto and their “rule of faith and practice,” they
manage during the winter not only to make up for
the privations of summer, but to execute about as
much dancing, music, laughing, and dissipation, as
would serve any reasonably disposed, staid, and
sober citizens, for three or four years, giving them
withal from January to January for the perpetration
thereof.

After taking a light supper at home, as I already
call my hotel, which consisted of claret, macaroni,
cranberries, peaches, little plates of fresh grapes,
several kinds of cakes and other bonbons, spread
out upon a long polished mahogany table, resembling
altogether more the display upon a confectioner's
counter than the table d' hote of a hotel, in
company with Monsieur D. I prepared to walk to
the scene of the evening's amusement. But on

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

gaining the street we observed the “omnibus” still
at its stand at the intersection of Canal and Chartres
streets. The driver, already upon his elevated
station, with his bugle at his lips, was sounding his
“signal to make sail,” as we should say of a ship;
and thereupon, being suddenly impressed with the
advantages the sixteen legs of his team had over our
four, in accomplishing the mile before us, we without
farther reflection, sprang forthwith into the
invitingly open door at the end of the vehicle, and
the next instant found ourselves comfortably seated,
with about a dozen others, “in omnibus.”

There are two of these carriages which run from
Canal-street through the whole length of Chartres-street,
by the public square, and along the noble
esplanade between the Levée and the main body of
the city, as far as the rail-road; the whole distance
being about two miles. The two vehicles start
simultaneously from either place, every half-hour,
and consequently change stands with each other
alternately throughout the day. They commence
running early in the morning, and are always on the
move and crowded with passengers till sun-down.
For a “bit” (twelve-and-a-half cents) as it is denominated
here, one can ride the whole distance, or
if he choose, but a hundred yards—it is all the
same to the knight of the whip, who mounted on
the box in front, guides his “four-in-hand” with the
skill of a professor.

As we drove through the long, narrow and dusky
street, the wholesale mercantile houses were “being”
closed, while the retail stores and fancy shops,

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

were “being” brilliantly lighted up. Carriages,
horsemen, and noisy drays, with their noisier draymen,
were rapidly moving in all directions, while
every individual upon the “trottoirs” was hurrying,
as though some important business of the day had
been forgotten, or not yet completed. All around
presented the peculiar noise and bustle which always
prevail throughout the streets of a commercial
city at the close of the day.

Leaving our omniferous vehicle with its omnifarious
cargo—among whom, fore and aft, the chattering
of half a dozen languages had all at once, as
we rode along, unceasingly assailed our ears—at the
head of Rue St. Pierre, we proceeded toward Orleans-street.
Directly on quitting the omnibus we
passed the famous Calaboos, or Calabozo, the city
prison, so celebrated by all seamen who have made
the voyage to New-Orleans, and who, in their
“long yarns” upon the forecastle, in their weary
watches, fail not to clothe it with every horror of
which the Calcutta black hole, or the Dartmoor
prison—two horrible bugbears to sailors—could
boast. Its external appearance, however, did not
strike me as very appaling. It is a long, plain,
plastered, blackened building, with grated windows,
looking gloomy enough, but not more so than a
common country jail. It is built close upon the
street, and had not my companion observed as we
passed along, “That is the Calaboos,” I should not
probably have remarked it. On the corner above,
and fronting the “square,” is the guard-house, or
quarters of the gens d'armes. Several of them in

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

their plain blue uniforms and side arms, were lounging
about the corner as we passed, mingling and
conversing with persons in citizens' dress. A glance
en passant through an open door, disclosed an apparently
well-filled armory. A few minutes walk
through an obscure and miserably lighted part of
Rues St. Pierre and Royale, brought us into Orleans-street,
immediately in the vicinity of its theatre.
This street for some distance on either side of
the assembly-room, was lighted with the brightness
of noonday; not, indeed, by the solitary lamps which,
“few and far between,” were suspended across the
streets, but by the glare of reflectors and chandeliers
from coffee-houses, restaurateurs, confectionaries
and fancy stores, which were clustered around that
nucleus of pleasure, the French theatre.

We were in the French part of the city; but
there was no apparent indication that we were not
really in France. Not an American (“Anglo”)
building was to be seen, in the vicinity, nor scarcely
an American face or voice discoverable among the
numerous, loud-talking, chattering crowd of every
grade and colour, congregated before the doors of
the ball-room and cafés adjoining. Before ascending
to the magnificent hall where the gay dancers
were assembled, we repaired to an adjoining café,
à la mode New-Orleans, with a pair of Monsieur
D.'s friends—whom we encountered in the lobby
while negociating for tickets—to overhaul the evening
papers, and if need there should be, recruit our
spirits. A French coffee-house is a place well
worth visiting by a stranger, more especially a

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

Yankee stranger. I will therefore detain you a
little longer from the brilliant congregation of beauty
and gallantry in the assembly room, and introduce
you for a moment into this cafe and to its inmates.
As the coffee houses here do not differ materially
from each other except in size and richness of decoration,
though some of them certainly are more
fashionable resorts than others, the description of
one of them will enable you perhaps to form some
idea of other similar establishments in this city.
Though their usual denomination is “coffee-house,”
they have no earthly, whatever may be their spiritual,
right to such a distinction; it is merely a
“nomme de profession,” assumed, I know not for
what object. We entered from the street, after
passing round a large Venetian screen within the
door, into a spacious room, lighted by numerous
lamps, at the extremity of which stood an extensive
bar, arranged, in addition to the usual array of
glass ware, with innumerable French decorations.
There were several attendants, some of whom
spoke English, as one of the requirements of their
station. This is the case of all employés throughout
New-Orleans; nearly every store and place of
public resort being provided with individuals in attendance
who speak both languages. Around the
room were suspended splendid engravings and fine
paintings, most of them of the most licentious description,
and though many of their subjects were
classical, of a voluptuous and luxurious character.
This is French taste however. There are suspended
in the Exchange in Chartres-street—one of

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

the most magnificent and public rooms in the city—
paintings which, did they occupy an equally conspicuous
situation in Merchant's Hall, in Boston,
would be instantly defaced by the populace.

Around the room, beneath the paintings, were arranged
many small tables, at most of which three
or four individuals were seated, some alternately
sipping negus and puffing their segars, which are
as indispensable necessaries to a Creole at all times,
as his right hand, eye-brows, and left shoulder in
conversation. Others were reading newspapers,
and occasionally assisting their comprehension of
abstruse paragraphs, by hot “coffee,” alias warm
punch and slings, with which, on little japanned salvers,
the active attendants were flying in all directions
through the spacious room, at the beck and
call of customers. The large circular bar was surrounded
by a score of noisy applicants for the liquid
treasures which held out to them such strong temptations.
Trios, couples and units of gentlemen
were promenading the well sanded floor, talking in
loud tones, and gesticulating with the peculiar vehemence
and rapidity of Frenchmen. Others, and by
far the majority, were gathered by twos and by fours
around the little tables, deeply engaged in playing
that most intricate, scientific, and mathematical of
games termed “Domino.” This is the most common
game resorted to by the Creoles. In every café
and cabaret, from early in the morning, when the
luxurious mint-julep has thawed out their intellects
and expanded their organ of combativeness, till late
at night, devotees to this childish amusement will

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

be found clustered around the tables, with a tonic,
often renewed and properly sangareed, at their
elbows. Enveloped in dense clouds of tobacco-smoke
issuing from their eternal segars—those inspirers
of pleasant thoughts,—to whose density,
with commendable perseverance and apparent good
will, all in the café contribute,—they manœuvre
their little dotted, black and white parallelograms
with wonderful pertinacity and skill. The whole
scene forcibly reminds one, if perchance their fame
hath reached him, of a brace of couplets from a
celebrated poem (a choral ode I believe) composed
upon the shipwreck of its author. The lines are
strikingly applicable to the present subject by
merely substituting “cafe” for “cabin,” and negusdrinkers
for “hogsheads and barrels.”

There are certainly one hundred coffee-houses in
this city—how many more, I know not,—and they
have, throughout the day, a constant ingress and
egress of thirsty, time-killing, news-seeking visiters.
As custom authorises this frequenting of these popular
places of resort, the citizens of New-Orleans
do not, like those of Boston, attach any disapprobation
to the houses or their visiters. And as there
is, in New-Orleans, from the renewal of one half of
its inhabitants every few years, and the constant
influx of strangers, strictly speaking no exclusive
clique or aristocracy, to give a tone to society and

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

establish a standard of propriety and respectability,
as among the worthy Bostonians, one cannot say to
another, “It is not genteel to resort here—it will
injure your reputation to be seen entering this or
that café.” The inhabitants have no fixed criterion
of what is and what is not “respectable,” in the
northern acceptation of the term. They are neither
guided nor restrained from following their own inclinations,
by any laws of long established society,
regulating their movements, and saying “thus far
shalt thou go, and no farther.” Consequently, every
man minds his own affairs, pursues his own business
or amusement, and lets his neighbours and
fellow-citizens do the same; without the fear of the
moral lash (not law) before his eyes, or expulsion
from “caste” for doing that “in which his soul delighteth.”

Thus you see that society here is a perfect democracy,
presenting variety and novelty enough to
a stranger, who chooses to mingle in it freely, and
feels a disposition impartially to study character.
But a truce to this subject for the present, as I wish
to introduce you into the presence of the fair democrats,
whose fame for beauty is so well established.

Forcing our way through the press around the
door, we entered the lobby, from which a broad
flight of steps conducted us to a first, and then a second
platform, through piles of black servants in attendance
upon their masters and mistresses in the ball-room.
At the second landing our tickets were received,
and we toiled on with difficulty toward the
hall door, with our hats (which the regulations

p155-122 [figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

forbid our wearing even in the entrance) elevated in
the air, for if placed under the arm they would have
been flattened in the squeeze to the very respectable
similitude of a platter, as one unlucky gentleman
near me had an opportunity of testing, to his
full conviction. We were soon drawn within
the current setting into the ball-room, and were
borne onward by the human stream over which a
score or two of chapeaux waved aloft like signals
of distress.—But I have already spun out my letter
to a sufficient length, and lest you should cry “hold,
Macduff,” I will defer your introduction to the beau
monde of New-Orleans till my next.

Interior of a ball-room—Creole ladies—Infantile dancers—French
children—American children—A singular division—New-Orleans
ladies—Northern and southern beauty—An agreeable custom—
Leave the assembly-room—An olio of languages—The Exchange—
Confusion of tongues—Temples of Fortune.

I have endeavoured to give you, in my hastily
written letters, some notion of this city—its streets,
buildings, inhabitants and various novelties, as they
first struck my eye; and I apprehend that I have
expanded my descriptions, by minuteness of detail,
to a greater length than was necessary or desirable.
But the scenes, individuals, and circumstances I

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

meet with in my erranting expeditions through the
city, are such as would attract, from their novelty,
the attention of a traveller from the North, and,
consequently, a description of them is neither unworthy
a place in his letters, nor too inconsiderable
to detain the attention of an inquisitive northern
reader, vegetating “at home.”

On entering, from the dimly lighted lobby, the
spacious and brilliant hall, illuminated with glittering
chandeliers, where the beauty, and fashion, and
gallantry of this merry city were assembled, I was
struck with the spirit, life, and splendour of the
scene. From alcoves on every side of the vast
hall, raised a few steps from the floor, and separated
from the area for dancing by an estrade of
slender columns which formed a broad promenade
quite around the room, bright eyes were glancing
over the lively scene, rivalling in brilliancy the
glittering gems that sparkled on brow and bosom.

There were at least five hundred persons in the
hall, two-thirds of whom were spectators. On
double rows of settees arranged around the room,
and bordering the area, were about one hundred
ladies, exclusive of half as many, seated in the
alcoves. In addition to an almost impenetrable
body of gentlemen standing in the vicinity of the
grand entrance, the promenade above alluded to
was filled with them, as they lounged along, gazing
and remarking upon the beautiful faces of the
dark-eyed Creoles,[4] as their expressive and lovely

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

features were lighted up and instinct with the animation
of the moment; while others, more enviable,
were clustered around the alcoves—most of which
were literally and truly “bowers of beauty,”—gayly
conversing with their fair occupants, as they gracefully
leaned over the balustrade. There were
several cotillions upon the floor, and the dancers
were young masters and misses—I beg their pardon—
young gentlemen and ladies, from four years
old and upward—who were bounding away to the
lively music, as completely happy as innocence

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

and enjoyment could make them. I never beheld
a more pleasing sight. The carriage of the infantile
gentlemen was graceful and easy: and they
wound through the mazes of the dance with an air
of manliness and elegance truly French. But the
tiny demoiselles moved with the lightness and
grace of fairies. Their diminutive feet, as they
glided through the figure, scarcely touched the
floor, and as they sprang flying away to the livelier
measures of the band, they were scarcely visible,
fluttering indistinctly like humming birds' wings.
They were dressed with great taste in white frocks,
but their hair was so arranged as completely to
disfigure their heads. Some of them, not more
than eight years of age, had it dressed in the extreme
Parisian fashion; and the little martyrs'
natural deficiency of long hair was amply remedied
by that sovereign mender of the defects of nature,
Monsieur le friseur. The young gentlemen were
dressed also in the French mode; that is, in elaborately
embroidered coatees, and richly wrought
frills. Their hair, however, was suffered to grow
long, and fall in graceful waves or ringlets (French
children always have beautiful hair) upon their
shoulders; very much as boys are represented in
old fashioned prints. This is certainly more becoming
than the uncouth round-head custom now
prevalent in the United States, of clipping the hair
short, as though boys, like sheep, needed a periodical
sheering; and it cannot be denied that they
both—sheep and boys—are equally improved in
appearance by the operation.

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]