But I have done with the health and moral condition of New-Orleans. I am told it has improved, and is improving. And yet there is room—an ample field for the philanthropist to exercise the utmost stretch of his powers, to improve the physical and moral condition of its citizens.
A particular description of the city is not necessary. Its favorable location for foreign and domestic trade, and vast resources, are well known. One thing was new to me. It contains about half a dozen large cotton presses, entirely occupied in compressing bales of cotton. Those intended for a foreign market, are made to occupy one half of their original space; so that a vessel can carry double the quantity it otherwise might. The large number of bales shipped from this port, makes this an extensive business. The charge for compressing is seventy-five cents a bale. Bales designed for the northern ports, do not undergo this operation, but are shipped as they come from the hands of the planter.
New-Orleans has three extensive markets; two for flesh, and one for vegetables. I walked through them all, and thought the city was abundantly supplied with provisions, and of a good quality. Although it was January, the vegetable market was supplied with melons, green peas, radishes, lettuce, &c. And boats frequently landed, with cart loads of oranges, fresh from the trees. Fish are neither abundant nor of a fine flavor.
On the opposite side of the river, are the shipyards; but they seem to be more occupied in repairs, than in building new vessels. Here is a small village of a dozen houses, a grog shop and a tavern. A steam ferry boat constantly plies across the river, and appears to have a plenty of business.
The city is connected with lake Pontchartrain, by a canal for small vessels, and a railroad. The distance is five miles. Steamboats regularly run from the end of the railroad, to Mobile and other ports. New-Orleans has no wharves. It would be more convenient in loading vessels to have them; but they cannot be built on a foundation sufficiently firm to withstand the strong current of the Mississippi. A few years ago a wharf was built; but it was soon undermined, and sunk in the stream.
After remaining in the city four days, I procured a passage on board a brig bound to Boston, and sailed down the river. In about two miles, we passed the nunnery—a pleasant looking building, surrounded by an extensive grove of orange trees. Five miles from the city, we came to the famous battle ground, where Gen. Jackson, and his brave associates "planted a British colony." But this is a matter of history. All the indications of a battle now remaining, are scars of balls on one or two trees.
The large plantations, on both sides of the river, were all alive with negroes, cutting cane and transporting it to the steam mills to make sugar. It appears to me, that slavery sits lighter on the negro race, than it would on any other human beings.—They are, generally, cheerful, and appear to be inclined to make the best of their situation. Much injustice, and many wrongs have been done to the African race. They were torn from their homes, their friends, and their country—carried to a distant land, and sold to hopeless, irremediable slavery. The original kidnappers have much to answer for.