CHAPTER XII.
Arrival at New Orleans.—Cursory Reflections.
It is certainly mournful for a traveller to dwell among the monuments of Pompeii, of Herculaneum, and of Rome. There, if he feels at all, he feels among these wrecks of past grandeur, that he is nothing. A totally different sensation possesses the mind on entering an American city. In these man beholds what he can contend with, and what he can accomplish, when his strength is not checked by the arbitrary will of a despot. New Orleans, the wet grave[F], where the hopes of thousands are buried; for eighty years the wretched asylum for the outcasts of France and Spain, who could not venture 100 paces beyond its gates without utterly sinking to the breast in mud, or being attacked by alligators; has become in the space of twenty-three years one of the most beautiful cities of the Union, inhabited by 40,000 persons, who trade with half the world. The view is splendid beyond description, when you pass down the stream, which is here a mile broad, rolls its immense volume of waters in a bed above 200 feet deep, and as if conscious of its strength, appears to look quietly on the bustle of the habitations of man. Both its banks are lined with charming sugar plantations, from the midst of which rises the airy mansion of the wealthy planter, surrounded with orange, banana, lime, and fig trees, the growth of a climate approaching to the torrid zone. In the rear you discover the cabins of the negroes and the sugar-houses, and just at the entrance of the port, groups of smaller houses, as if erected for the purpose of concealing the prospect of the town. As soon as the steam-boats pass these out posts, New Orleans, in the form of a half moon, appears in all its splendour. The river runs for a distance of four or five miles in a southern direction; here it suddenly takes an eastern course, which it pursues for the space of two miles, thus forming a semicircular bend. A single glance exhibits to view the harbour, the vessels at anchor, together with the city, situated as it were at the feet of the passenger. The first object that presents itself is the dirty and uncouth backwoods flat boat. Hams, ears of corn, apples, whiskey barrels, are strewed upon it, or are fixed to poles to direct the attention of the buyers. Close by are the rather more decent keel-boats, with cotton, furs, whiskey, flour; next the elegant steam-boat, which by its hissing and repeated sounds, announces either its arrival or departure, and sends forth immense columns of black smoke, that form into long clouds above the city. Farther on are the smaller merchant vessels, the sloops and schooners from the Havannah, Vera Cruz, Tampico; then the brigs; and lastly, the elegant ships appearing like a forest of masts[G].
What in Philadelphia and even in New York is dispersed in several points, is here offered at once to the eye—a truly enchanting prospect. Most of the steam-boats were kept back by the lowness of the Ohio, at Cincinnati, Louisville, and Nashville; we landed, therefore, close to the shore without encountering any impediment. In a moment our state room was filled with five or six clerks, from the newspaper printing offices, and a dozen negroes; the former to inspect the log-book of the steam-boat, and to lay before their subscribers the names of the goods, and of the passengers arrived; the latter to offer their services in carrying our trunks. After labouring to climb over the mountains of cotton bales which obstructed our passage, we went on shore. The city had increased beyond expectation, within the last four years. More than 700 brick houses had been erected; a new street (the Levee), was already half finished; the houses throughout were solid, and more or less in an elegant style. It was on a Sunday that we arrived; the shops, the stores of the French and creoles, were open as usual, and if there were fewer buyers than on other days, the coffeehouses, grog-shops, and the estaminets, as they are called, of the French and German inhabitants, exhibited a more noisy scene. A kind of music, accompanied with human, or rather inhuman voices, resounded in almost every direction. This little respect paid to the Sabbath is a relic of the French revolution and of Buonaparte, for whom the French and the creoles of Louisiana have an unlimited respect, imitating him as poor minds generally do, as far as they are able, in his bad qualities, his contempt of venerable customs, and his egotism, and leaving his great deeds and the noble traits in his character to the imitation of others better qualified to appreciate them.
To a new comer, accustomed in the north to the dignified and quiet keeping of the Sabbath, this appears very shocking. The Anglo-Americans, with few exceptions, remain even here faithful to their ancient custom of keeping the Sabbath holy. I had many opportunities of appreciating the importance of the keeping of the Sabbath, particularly in new states. A well regulated observance of this day is productive of incalculable benefits, and though it is sometimes carried too far in the northern states, as is certainly the case in Pennsylvania and New England, still the public ought firmly to maintain this institution in full force. The man who provides in six days for his personal wants, may dedicate the seventh to the improvement of his mind; and this he can only accomplish by abstaining from all trifling amusements. In a despotic monarchy the case is different; there the government has no doubt every reason for allowing its slaves, after six toilsome days of labour, the indulgence of twenty-four hours of amusement, that they may forget themselves and their fate in the dissipation of dancing, smoking, and drinking. The case ought to be otherwise in a republic, where even the poor constitute, or are about to constitute, part of the sovereign body. These ought to remember to what purposes they are destined, and not to allow themselves, under any circumstances, to be the dupes of others. The keeping of the Sabbath is their surest safeguard. If there were no opportunities offered for dancing, their sons and their daughters would stay at home, either reading their Bible, or attending to other appropriate intellectual occupations, and learning in this manner their rights and duties, and those of other people. The American has not deviated in this respect from his English kinsman. If you enter his dwelling on the Sabbath, you will find the family, old and young, quietly sitting down, the Bible in hand, thus preparing themselves for the toils and hardships to come, and acquiring the firmness and confidence so necessary in human life; a confidence, which we so justly admire in the British nation; as far distant from the bravado of the French, as the unfeeling and base stupidity of the Russians; and which never displays itself in brighter colours than in the hour of danger. We are in this manner enabled to account for those high traits of character in moments full of peril—traits not surpassed in the most brilliant and the most virtuous epochs of Greece or of Rome. A single fact will speak volumes—the Kent East Indiaman, burning and going down in the bay of Biscay, in 1825. Ladies, gentlemen, officers, and soldiers, all on board exhibited a magnanimity of heart, and a truly Christian heroism, which must fill even the most rancorous enemies of the British people with admiration and regard. What a different picture would have been presented to us, if half a regiment of Bonaparte’s soldiers had been on board the ship!
CHAPTER XIII.
Topographical Sketch of the City of New Orleans.
The city of New Orleans occupies an oblong area, extending 3960 feet along the eastern bank of Mississippi, embracing six squares, 319 feet in length, and of equal breadth. Above and below this parallelogram are the suburbs. Higher up is the suburb of St. Mary, still belonging to the city corporation; farther up, the suburbs Duplantier, Soulel, La Course, L’Annunciation, and Religieuses; below, the suburbs of Marigny, Daunois, and Clouet; in the rear, St. Claude and Johnsburgh. The seven streets, named Levee, Chartres-street, Royal-street, Bourbon, Burgundy, Toulouse, and Rampart, run parallel with the river, and are intersected at right angles by twelve others, running from the banks of the Mississippi, called the Levee, in the direction of the swamps, the Custom-house-street, Brenville, Conti, St. Louis, and Toulouse. The city, with the exception of Levee and Rampart-streets, is paved, an improvement which occasions great expense to the corporation, as the stones are imported; flags, however, are not wanting even in the most distant suburbs. The ground on which New Orleans is built, is a plain, descending about seven feet from the banks of the river, towards the swamps; and it is lower than the level of the Mississippi. It is secured by a levee, which would afford very little resistance 400 miles higher up; but here, where numerous bayons and natural channels have carried off part of the waters to the gulf of Mexico, it answers every purpose. About the city, the breadth of this plain is half a mile, and above it three-quarters of a mile, terminating in the back-ground in impenetrable swamps. The city and suburbs are lighted with reflecting lamps, suspended in the middle of the streets. Between the pavement and the road, gutters are made for the purpose of carrying off the filth into the swamps, of refreshing the air with the water of the Mississippi, with which these gutters communicate, and of allaying the dust during the hot season. There are now about 6000 buildings, large and small, in New Orleans. In the first mentioned three streets, and the greater part of the upper suburb, the houses are throughout of brick; some are plastered over to preserve them from the influence of the sultry climate. Though building materials of every kind are imported, and consequently very dear, yet the houses are rapidly changing from the uncouth Spanish style, to more elegant forms. The new houses are mostly three stories high, with balconies, and a summer-room with blinds. In the lower suburbs, frame houses, with Spanish roofs, are still prevalent. Two-thirds of the private buildings may at present be said to rival those of northern cities, of an equal population. The public edifices, however, are far inferior to those of the former, both in style and execution. The most prominent is the cathedral, in the middle of the town, separated from the bank of the Mississippi, by the parade ground. It is of Spanish architecture, with a façade of seventy feet, and a depth of 120, having on each side a steeple, and a small cupola in the centre, which gives an air of dignity to a heavy and ill-proportioned structure. All illusion, however, is dispelled on entering the church. The Catholics had the strange notion of painting the interior, taking for this purpose the most glaring colours that can be found—green and purple. The church is painted over in fresco, with these colours, and presents at one view a curious taste of the creoles. The interior is not overloaded with decorations, as Catholic churches generally are. The high altar, and two side ones, are, with an organ, its only ornaments. Two tombs contain the remains of Baron Carondolet and Mr. Marigny. On one side of the cathedral is the city-hall, and on the other, the Presbytire. The former, erected in 1795, presents a façade of 108 feet, in which the meetings of the city council are held. The Presbytire, 114 in front, was built in 1813, and is the seat of the supreme District Court, and of the Criminal Court of New Orleans. These two edifices, and the cathedral between them, form together a dignified whole. The government-house, at the corner of Toulouse and Levee-streets, is an old and decaying edifice, where the legislature of the state holds its meetings. In point of situation, (among grog shops), and of style, it may be considered the poorest state-house in the Union.