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This lovely Southern metropolis has been our sojourn
for a week past, and has presented so many attractions
both to me and my husband, that, were we not desirous
of being in New York early in June, we should yield to
the solicitation of many kind friends and our own wishes,
and enjoy its refined hospitality for some days longer.

The Mobileans are genuine Southerners by birth and
feeling; that is, this city is not made up, like New Orleans,
of strangers, but mainly of those who are “to the manor
born.” It reminds me more of Charleston, South
Carolina, in this respect; and gives, like that elegant
city, a true representation of Southern manners.

We left the delightful watering place, Pass Christian,
and by a reverse course towards New Orleans met and
boarded another steamer, the Oregon, at the Lake wharf,
and so came hither, running across the lakes by moon
and star-light. We passed late at night Round Island,
celebrated as the rendezvous of the Filibusteros three
years ago. It now lay huge and black upon the horizon,
a league off, looking like Behemoth asleep. Around us
gleamed three or four light-houses, penciling the water's
rippling face with slender lines of golden threads. Over
us glittered the thousand worlds of glory, which we call
stars. In the west, Orion had just sheathed in the wave

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his bright, star-gemmed sword. The moon walked in
brightness high above the horizon, and seemed to glory
in her beauty and purity.

My husband and I walked the deck till late, enjoying
the sea-wind, for one never takes cold at sea. Such a fresh
breeze on land would have chilled me to the heart. But
bonnetless and shawlless, I continued on deck till mid-night.
As we were about to go to our room, a dark
object, over which seemed to hover a cloud of snow, was
visible ahead. As we came nearer, I made out the shape
of a schooner, her white sails shining in the moon, while
her black hull was in shadow.

“Helm-a-port!” was the quick order from some one
on deck.

The steamer abruptly changed her straightforward
course, and steered round the vessel, but so near as to
create no little commotion on board of her. We passed
so near that I could have tossed my fan upon her quarter
deck, where stood a man with a pipe, uttering strange
oaths, instead of blessings at his escape. In a few
minutes, the little vessel was mingling with the obscurity
of night in the distance, and soon disappeared
altogether.

At four o'clock in the morning I was aroused by persons
talking on the “guard,” near our window; and on
looking out found we were moving through a narrow
pass, and close to us was a dwelling house, built on a
small island of sand. The cocks were crowing, (among
them a horrid, hoarse, bellowing Shanghai,) dogs barking,
men shouting, and the water dashing and splashing against
the little island as we slowly shoved our way through.
The chambermaid told me that this picturesque place, this

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“Half-way House,” in the Gulf, was called “Grass
Patch.” I wondered at the appellation, since blade of
grass on this sand-bank there was not one! But the
captain the next morning enlightened us, by calling it
“Grant's Pass,” so named from the proprietor. We had
a pleasant laugh, of course, at the transmogrification of
the name in the mouth of our kind and very civil chambermaid.

Just at sunrise we came in sight of the shipping in
the “Lower bay”—for you must know that Mobile city is
thirty-five miles up from the Gulf, on a narrow “Delaware-sort-of-a-bay”
of its own. This bay being too
shallow for large cotton ships, they anchor below here in
the “Roads,” and their freight is brought down to them
in tug steamers, or Bay boats. This fleet consisted of
nearly a hundred ships and barks, and had a fine appearance,
extending for a mile or two in length. To and
from its anchorage plied the smoking Bay steamers, and
among them sailed a graceful cutter, the vigilant watcher
of the coast. We subsequently met the captain of the
latter, Douglas Ottinger, in the city, where his charming
family reside. He is a remarkably “fine appearance
of a man,” and an accomplished gentleman and sailor.
He is well known to the world by his humane invention
of the Life Car, commonly called “Francis's,” which has
saved so many hundreds of the lives of the shipwrecked.
To have invented and left this “car of life” to the world
is honor enough for any man to achieve. Francis was
only its builder. It should be called “The Ottinger
Car;” for Congress has formally recognized his right as
inventor.

Our trip up the Bay of Mobile was truly delightful.

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The morning was cloudless, the wind cool from the south,
the shores green, and dotted here and there with villas;
the water lively with vessels of all kinds, moving on
every possible course, and our steamer fleet, and passing
everything with a sort of quiet indifference, that made
us feel like conquerors.

These lake boats from Mobile to New Orleans are superior
to any I have sailed on, either in Europe or this
country. The two I have been on, the Cuba and Oregon,
are elegant and commodious, with attentive servants,
“excellently good living,” that would gratify Mons.
Ude. The captain's civil courtesy to us all most favorably
impressed me, and led me to reflect how little civility,
and smiles, and courtesy cost, and how long they remain
upon the memory, and make a boat popular; while the
absence of these has a contrary effect.

The captain is a Maine man—one of those enterprising
Portland seamen who have carried the star-spangled
banner into the farthest corners of the globe. His fine
face, his respectable gray hairs, and affable manner, presented
as fine a portrait of an experienced captain (sailor
and gentleman in one) as we ever encounter.

After breakfast we came in sight of Mobile. The
captain, as we sailed up, was kind enough to point out
to my husband the several watering places in the shores,
such as “Point Clear,” the Cape May of the South;
kept by Chamberlain, formerly of the Revere House,
Boston, and a resort of the ELITE of Mobile; Hollywood,
a charming looking retreat, crowded in summer; besides
others equally beautiful. I marvel, with such delightful
retreats so near their city, that the Mobileans should
ever go North! It is an homage the South pays the

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North uselessly; and this year few will proceed North,
I am told, as hard times have rendered Lilliputian purses
indispensable, jingling with gold dollars instead of eagles.

The appearance of Mobile from the steamer did not
strike me as interesting. Its approach is disfigured by
marshy land, covered with old logs, and the forests crowd
close upon the city. But, as we drew nearer, the towers
and spires had a pretty effect; though the outward aspect
of the city, from its level site, is far from giving a
stranger a just idea of its real elegance and many attractions.
There was a good display of shipping at the
wharves, vessels of light draughts, and a fine view of
steamers, taking in and discharging cotton, the great
staple—the mighty pivot upon which the business of this
city of 30,000 inhabitants revolves.

We took lodgings at the Battle House, which a week's
experience assures me equals the favorite “New York”
or the Revere House. In a word, it is a first rank
American hotel. The only drawback is Irish servants.
I can never understand them, nor they me, and this irritates
their natural quickness, and they sometimes become
exceedingly disagreeable. Southerners do not know exactly
how to address servants of their own color; and
being unaccustomed to them, prefer hotels where they
are not. But here they are better drilled and more civil
than I ever knew them to be. The price of the hire of
colored servants here is so great that, probably, white
servants are employed from motives of economy. The
proprietors have been very assiduous and polite to make
us comfortable, and we feel as much at home as if we
were prince and princess in our own palace.

p613-510

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