 | IX. The South-west |  |
9. IX.
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,”
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
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
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
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 Levée-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,
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 orthography,
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
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
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
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 “keel-boats,”
which are one remove from the flat-boat,
having some pretensions to a keel; they somewhat
“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 measure,
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.
| IX. The South-west | |