University of Virginia Library

7. VII.

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

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,

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

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

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,” 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

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, 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

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.”[2] 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

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

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

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.