University of Virginia Library

LETTER XIII.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—I arriv in this city,
all safe and sound, yesterday afternoon about three
o'clock, but to tell you the truth, if I had cum up minus
my coat-tail, or even a leg or arm, after sich a everlastin
racket as I have been in ever sense I left Filladelfy, I
wouldn't been much surprised. As for collectin my
senses and gitin my mind composed so as to know myself
or any thing else certain, I don't never expect to
do it, as long as I'm in this great whirlpool of livin
beins.

A little circumstance happened to me last night, before
I had been here only a few hours, that sot me back a
little the worst. I never was so oudaciously tuck in in
all my born days, and if you had heard me cus about
it, you'd thought I was turned a real Hottentot sure
enuff. But to begin whar I left off in my last letter.

The porter at the United States Hotel waked me up
early in the mornin, and I got to the steamboat jest in
time. It was a butiful bright mornin and the store-keepers
was openin ther stores, while the servant galls
was scrubbin the dore-steps of the houses and washin
off the pavements in front of 'em. I looked at 'em as
I rode along in the hack, and I couldn't help feelin sorry
to see such butiful, rosy-cheeked white galls, down in
the dirt and slop in the streets, doin work that is only
fit for niggers. They say here that they ain nothing
but slewers—but I seed sum that I would tuck for respectable
white galls if I had seed 'em in Georgia.
Slewers or whatever they is, they is my own color, and
a few dollars would make 'em as good as ther mistresses,

in the estimation of them that turns up ther noses at 'em
now.

The Delaware is a noble river, and Filladelfy is a
city worthy to stand on its banks. From the deck of
the steamboat we had a splendid panaramic view of it,
as we passed block after block, the streets runnin up
from the water's edge, strait as a bee line, and affordin
us glimpses of the fine houses and elegant public bildins
that makes Filladelfy one of the handsumest cities in
the world. But, long as it is, we was soon past it, and
in a few minits its numerous steeples and towers and
masts faded away in the distance, and we turned our
eyes on the butiful country on both sides of the river.

Butiful farm houses and bright-lookin little towns was
most all the time in site, till we got to the place what
they call Bristol, whar we tuck the cars to New York.
The railroad runs along on the bank of a canal part of
the way, crosses the river on a splendid bridge, and
passes through Treaton, Princeton, Newark, and a heap
of other towns in New Jersey, til it gits to Jersey City,
what stands on the Hudson river, opposite to the city
of New York.

Well, when we got to Jersey City, we all got out and
scrambled through the crowd as well as we could to
the boat what was thar to take us across the river to
New York. When we got up to the gave what encloses
the wharf we could see the hackmen and porters peepin
at us through the palins, like so many wild varmints in
a big cage, ready and eager to devour us and our baggage
too. I tuck my cane tight in my hand and kep a
sharp eye on 'em, determined to defend myself to the
last. As soon as the gaves was open we rushed for the
boat and they rushed at us. Sich another hellabaloo I
never did see before, and I expected every minit to see
sumbody git spilled overboard in to the river.

I found it wasn't no use to try to keep 'em off without
nockin sum of 'em in the hed, and then I would
only be like the fox in the spellin book, ready to be

worried to deth by a fresh gang. So when they cum
round me with “Have a hack, sir?”—“I'm public
poorter, sir.”—“Shall I take your baggage up, sir?”—
“Will you give me your checks, sir?”—“Take you
up for two shillins, sir, to any part of the city,”—all of
'em handin ther cards to me at once—I jest backed up
agin the side of the boat and tuck evry card they handed
to me, without sayin a word, and when they ax'd me
for my checks I was deaf and dum, and couldn't understand
a word they sed. That sot 'em to pushin and
crowdin one another, and hollerin in my ear, and makin
signs to me, til they found they couldn't make nothing
out of me, and then they started after sum new victim.

Among the passengers ther was a old sun-burnt lookin
feller, with green spectacles on, what put me in mind
of a Georgia steam doctor, and who seemed to think
he know'd more than anybody else 'bout evrything.
He was gabbin and talkin to evrybody all the way on
the steamboat, and in the cars, and tryin his best to git
up a argyment 'bout religion with sumbody. One would
supposed he owned half the baggage aboard, to hear
him talk about it, and when we got on the ferry boat he
was the bissyest man in the crowd, rearin and pitchin
among the hackmen and porters like a blind dog in a
meat house, and tryin to git into the crowd what was
gathered all round the baggage like flies round a fat
gourd. Bimeby a honest lookin Irishman cum up to me,
and ses he, handin his card, “Shall I take your baggage,
sir?” Ther was sumthing like honest independence
in the feller's face, and I gin him my checks, and
in he went for my trunks. In a minit he cum out safe
and sound with one of 'em. “Stand by it, sir,” ses
he, “til I git the other.” I tuck my stand, and it was
jest as much as I could do to keep the devils from carryin
it off with me on top of it. Ther was sich a everlastin
rumpus I couldn't hear myself think. The clerks was
callin out the numbers—evrybody was runnin about and
lookin after ther baggage, children was cryin, wimmin

was callin for ther husbands to look out for ther band-boxes—hackmen
and porters was hollerin and shoutin at
the people and at one another—whips was stickin in
your eyes evry way you turned—and trunks, and carpet
bags and boxes was tumblin and rollin in every direction,
rakin your shins and mashin your toes in spite of all you
could do. In the middle of the fuss thar was old
Pepperpod, with his old cotton umbereller in his hand,
elbowin his way into the crowd and whoopin and hollerin
over evrybody else til he disappeared in the middle of
'em. In about a minit here he cum agin, cusin and
cavortin enuff to sink the boat, with a pair of old saddle
bags in one hand, sum pieces of whalebone and part
of the handle of his umbreller in the other, his hat gone,
and his coat-tail split clear up to the collar. He was
mad as a hornit, and swore he would prosecute the company
for five thousand dollars damages for salt and battery
and manslaughter in the second degree. He cut a
terrible figer, but evrybody was too bissy to laugh at
him. I thought to myself that his perseverance was
porely rewarded that time.

I sot thar and waited til nearly everybody was gone
from the boat, and til my Irishman had picked up all
the other customers he could git, before he come and
tuck my trunk and told me to foller him to his hack.
After cumin in a ace of gettin run over three or four
times, I got to the hack, what was standin in the middle
of 'bout five hundred more hacks and drays, all mixed up
with the bowsprits and yards of ships that was stickin
out over the edge of the wharves and pokin ther eends
almost into the winders of the stores. The hackman
ax'd me what hotel I wanted to go to. I told him to
take me whar the southern travel stopped. “That's the
American,” ses he, and after waitin til the way opened
so we could git out, we druv to the American Hotel on
Broadway, rite opposite to the Park.

It was 'bout three o'clock when I got to the Hotel,
and after brushin and scrubbin a little of the dust off,

and gittin my dinner, I tuck a turn out into the great
Broadway, what I've heard so much about, ever sense
I was big enuff to read the newspapers, to see if it was
what it's cracked up to be. Well, when I got to the
door of the Hotel I thought ther must be a funeral or
something else gwine by, and I waited some time,
thinkin they would all git past; but they only seemed
to git thicker and faster and more of 'em the longer I
waited, til bimeby I begun to discover that they was
gwine both ways, and that it was no procession at all,
but jest one everlastin stream of peeple passin up and
down the street, cumin from all parts of creation, and
gwine Lord only knows whar.

I mix'd in with 'em, but I tell you what, I found it
monstrous rough travellin. The fact is a chicken-coop
mought as well expect to float down the Savannah river
in a freshet and not git nocked to pieces by the driftwood,
as for a person what aint used to it to expect to
git along in Broadway without gettin jostled from one
side to tother at every step, and pushed into the street
about three times a minit. A body must watch the
currents and eddies, and foller 'em and keep up with 'em,
if they don't want to git run over by the crowd or nocked
off the sidewalk, to be ground into mince-meat by the
everlastin ominybusses. In the fust place, I undertuck
to go up Broadway on the left hand side of the pavement,
but I mought jest as well tried to paddle a canoe
up the falls of Tallula. In spite of all the dodgin I
could do, sumbody was all the time bumpin up agin
me, so that with the bumps I got from the men and
givin back for the wimmin, I found I was loosin ground
instead of gwine ahed. Then I kep “to the right as
the law directs,” but here I like to got run over by the
crowd of men and wimmin and children and niggers,
what was all gwine as fast as if ther houses was afire,
or they was runnin for the doctor. And if I happened
to stop to look at any thing, the fust thing I knowed I
was jammed out among the ominybusses, what was

dashin and whirlin along over the stones like one eternal
train of railroad cars, makin a noise like heaven and
yeath was cumin together. Then ther was the carriages
and hacks and market wagons and milk carts, rippin and
tearin along in every direction—the drivers hollerin and
poppin ther whips—the peeple talkin to one another as
if ther lungs was made out of sole leather—soldiers
marchin with bands of music, beatin ther drums, and
blowin and slidin ther tromboons and trumpets with all
ther might—all together makin noise enuff to drive the
very old Nick himself out of his senses. It was more
than I could stand—my dander begun to git up, and I
rushed out into the fust street I cum to, to try to git out
of the racket before it sot me crazy sure enuff, when
what should I meet but a dratted grate big nigger with a
bell in his hand, ringing it rite in my face as hard as he
could, and hollerin sumthing loud enuff to split the hed
of a lamp post. That was too much, and I made a lick
at the feller with my cane that would lowered his key
if it had hit him, at the same time that I grabbed him
by the collar, and ax'd him what in the name of thunder
he meant by sich imperence. The feller drapped his
bell and shut his catfish mouth, and rollin up the whites
of his eyes, 'thout sayin a word, he broke away from
me as hard as he could tear, and I hastened on to find
some place less like bedlam than Broadway.

By this time it was most dark, and after walkin down
one street til I cum to a grate big gardin with trees in it,
whar it was so still that noises begun to sound natural
to me agin, I sot down on the railins and rested myself
awhile, and then sot out for my hotel. I walked and
walked for some time, but somehow or other I couldn't
find the way. I inquired for the American Hotel two
or three times and got the direction, but the streets
twisted about so that it was out of the question for me
to foller 'em when they told me, and I begun to think
I'd have to take up my lodgins somewhar else for that
night, I was so tired. Bimeby I cum to a street that

was very still and quiet, what they called Chambers street,
and while I was standin on the corner, thinkin which
way I should go, 'long cum a pore woman with a bundle
under her arm, creepin along as if she wasn't hardly able
to walk. When she seed me she cum up to me and put
her hankerchef to her eyes, and ses she:

“Mister, I'm a pore woman, and my husban's so sick
he ain't able to do any work, and me and my pore little
children is almost starvin for bred. Won't you be good
enuff to give me two shillins?”

I looked at her a bit, and thought of the way the
match-boy served me in Baltimore, and ses I—

“Hain't you got no relations nor neighbors that can
help you?”

“Oh no, sir; I'm too pore to have relations or neighbors.
I was better off once, and then I had plenty of
frends.”

That's the way of the world, think's I; we always
have frends til we need 'em.

“Oh, sir, if you only know'd how hard I have to
work, you'd pity me—I know you would.”

“What do you do for a livin?” ses I; for she looked
too delicate to do much.

“I do fine washin and ironin,” ses she; “but I'm
sick so much that I can't make enuff to support us;”
and then she coffed a real graveyard coff.

“Why don't you git sum of Schenck's Pulmonic
Syrup?” ses I.

“O, sir,” ses she, “I'm too pore to buy medicin,
when my pore little children is dyin for bred.”

That touched me—to think sich a delicate young cretur
as her should have to struggle so hard, and I tuck
out my purse and gin her a dollar.

“Thar,” ses I, “that will help you a little.”

“Oh, bless you, sir; you're so kind. Now I'll buy
sum medicin for my pore husband. Will you be good
enuff to hold this bundle for me til I step back to that

drug-store on the corner? It's so heavy—I'll be back
in a minit,” ses she.

I felt so sorry for the pore woman that I couldn't refuse
her sich a little favor, so I tuck her bundle to hold
it for her. She sed she was 'fraid the fine dresses
mought git rumpled, and then her customers wouldn't
pay her; so I tuck 'em in my arms very careful, and
she went to the store after the medicin.

Ther was a good many peeple passin by, and I
walked up from the corner a little ways, so they
shouldn't see me standin thar with the bundle in my
arms. I begun to think it was time for the woman to
cum back, and the bundle was beginnin to git pretty
heavy, when I thought I felt sumthing movin in it. I
stopped rite still, and held my breth to hear if it was
any thing, when it begun to squirm about more and
more, and I heard a noise jest like a tom-cat in the bundle.
I never was so supprised in my life, and I cum in a ace
of lettin it drap rite on the pavement. Thinks I, in the
name of creation what is it? I walked down to the
lamp-post to see what it was, and Mr. Thompson, would
you believe me, IT WAS A LIVE BABY! I was so cumpletely
tuck aback that I staggered up agin the lamp-post,
and held on to it, while it kicked and squalled
like a young panter, and the sweat jest poured out of
me in a stream. What upon yeath to do I didn't know.
Thar I was in a strange city, whar nobody didn't know
me, out in the street with a little young baby in my
arms. I never was so mad at a female woman before
in all my life, and I never felt so much like a dratted
fool as I did that minit.

I started for the drug-store with the baby squallin like
rath, and the more I tried to hush it the louder it squalled.
The man what kep the store sed he hadn't seed no such
woman, and I musn't bring no babys in thar.

By this time a everlastin crowd of peeple—men and
wimmin—was gathered round, so I couldn't go no whar,

all gabblin and talkin so I couldn't hardly hear the baby
squall.

I told 'em how it was, and told 'em I was a stranger
in New York, and ax'd 'em what I should do with the
baby. But ther was no gettin any sense out of 'em,
and none of 'em wouldn't touch it no more'n if it had
been so much pisen.

“That won't do,” ses one feller.—“You can't cum
that game over this crowd.”

“No, indeed,” ses another little runty-lookin feller—
“we've got enuff to do to take care of our own babys
in these diggins.”

“Take your baby home to its ma,” ses another, “and
support it like a onest man.”

I tried to git a chance to explain the bisness to 'em,
but drat the word could I git in edgeways.

“Take 'em both to the Tooms,” ses one, “and make
'em giv a account of themselves.”

With that two or three of 'em cum towards me, and
I grabbed my cane in one hand, while I held on to the
bundle with the other.

“Gentlemen,” ses I—the baby squeelin all the time
like forty cats in a bag—“Gentlemen, I'm not gwine
to be used in no sich way—I'll let you know that I'm
not gwine to be tuck to no Tooms. I'm a stranger in
your city, and I'm not gwine to support none of your
babys. My name is Joseph Jones, of Pineville,
Georgia, and anybody what want's to know who I am,
can find me at the American—”

“Majer Jones! Majer Jones, of Pineville!” ses a
dozen of 'em at the same time.

“Majer Jones,” ses a clever-lookin young man, what
pushed his way into the crowd when he heard my name.
“Majer, don't be disturbed in the least,” ses he, “I'll
soon have this matter fixed.”

With that he spoke to a man with a lether ribbon on
his hat, who tuck the baby, bundle and all, and carried

it off to the place what they've got made in New York
a purpose to keep sich pore little orfans in.

By this time my frend, Mr. Jacob Littlehigh, who is
a Georgian, livin in New York, had interduced himself
to me and 'bout twenty other gentlemen, and I begun
to find myself 'bout as much of a object of attraction
after the baby was gone, as I was before. I never seed
one of 'em before in my life, but they all sed they had
red my book, and they didn't know nobody else. So
much for bein a author.

They was all monstrous glad to see me, and wanted
to know how Mary and the baby was at home; and
'fore they let me off, they made me go down to Bardotte
& Shelly's Caffé Tortoni, and eat one of the biggest kind
of oyster suppers, and drink sum sherry coblers what
would develop the intellect of a barber's block, and expand
the heart of a Florida live-oak. They was the
cleverest set of fellers I ever seed out of Georgia, and
after spendin a pleasant hour with 'em, laughin over the
incidents of the evenin, they showed me home to my
hotel, whar I soon went to bed to dream of bundles full
of babys and oceans of sherry coblers.

You must excuse this long letter, under the circumstances.
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