William Barrow came to West Florida about 1795, entered land under a Spanish grant, and developed a fine plantation. His descendants have been prominent citizens of the district.—Ed.
[215] It may be observed here that the steam power used by Mr. Herreis (as I am informed) is on the English principle, which is said to cost much more than the improved steam power by Oliver Evans, of Philadelphia which costs for a thirty horse power about three thousand dollars. It is said that a Mr. Cohoon, of the state of New York, has even simplified Mr. Evans’s steam principle, so much that a thirty horse power will not cost more than twelve hundred dollars for its complete erection.—Cramer.
CHAPTER LIII
Baton Rouge—Gumbo—An Irish-French-Spaniard—The governour—Mrs. O’Brien’s—Journey on return—An American camp—Extensive prospect—Tomlinson’s.
Arriving at Baton Rouge, on enquiry I was informed that Madame Le Gendre’s was the {311} most respectable auberge, I accordingly stopt there, and found a number of genteel men, Frenchmen, Spaniards, English and Americans, with about a dozen of whom I sat down to supper, quite a la Française. The table was well covered with different made dishes, and a variety of vegetables, among which the most conspicuous, was a large dish of gumbo, served by the hostess at the head, which seemed to be a standing dish, and much in repute, as almost every one was helped to it. It is made by boiling ocroc until it is tender, and seasoning it with a little bit of fat bacon. It then becomes so ropy and slimy as to make it difficult with either knife, spoon or fork, to carry it to the mouth, without the plate and mouth being connected by a long string, so that it is a most awkward dish to a stranger, who besides, seldom relishes it, but it is a standing dish among the French creoles, as much as soup and bouilli is in France, or the olla in Spain.
A bed was prepared for me in the front gallery or piazza, where Madame Le Gendre assured me I should be less troubled with musquitoes than in the interior of the house, and that I should also find it more cool and agreeable. I mention this as a trait of French character, particularly the female, to make a virtue of necessity, and to turn even their inconveniences to advantage, for notwithstanding her assertion that it was solely pour l’accommodation de Mons. l’Etranger, had there been any other place for a bed in her small house, one would not have been prepared for me in the gallery. The musquitoes were sufficiently ennuyants to make me rejoice at perceiving the first dawn of day, when I hurried on my clothes, and sallied out to view the seat of government of the western division of West Florida.[216]
About half a dozen tolerably good frame (or wooden) houses scattered on an extensive plain surrounded on three sides by woods at a little distance, first {312} made their appearance, while a dirty little town of 60 cabins crouded together in a narrow street on the river bank, penned in between the Mississippi and a low steep hill descending from the plain, filled up the fourth side. I walked through the village—it is a right French one—almost every other house being a petty shop for the sale of bread, tobacco, pumpkins and taffia (or bad rum) distilled at the sugar plantations a little lower down the river. It is matter of astonishment how so many shops of the same kind find customers. I observed two tolerably well assorted stores, one kept by a Frenchman, the other by Mr. Egan, an Irishman, to whom I carried an introductory letter from Mr. O’Connor, which ensured me a friendly and hospitable welcome.
I breakfasted with him, and then went to view the fort on the plain above the north end of the town. It is a regular square with four small bastions at the angles. The ramparts are composed of earth thrown up out of a small dry ditch or fosse which surrounds it, and are crowned by a stoccade of pickets. A few small guns mounted, point to the different approaches, and also command the river, but it is a work of very little strength, and not capable of much defence against a prepared enemy.
I returned to my friend Egan’s, who accompanied me to the house of Don Gilbert Leonard, the contador (or collector) to whom I had letters of introduction. The affectation of importance which this gentleman attached to his offer of accompanying me to government house, as soon as his excellency the governour should be visible, was matter of amusement to me, who had been accustomed to see less ceremony observed in introductions to men of infinitely greater importance. He excused himself from asking me to dine with him, as he said his family were all indisposed, but any other time that I should be in Baton Rouge, he hoped to have that pleasure. He promised {313} to call on me about eleven o’clock at Mr. Egan’s, as soon as he had made himself up for a visit to the governour, and he begged leave to retire to dress, although the changing of a silk morning or dressing gown for a coat, was all that was necessary, he having evidently bestowed some time on his person just before our arrival.
During the short time we remained at his house, Don Gilbert led the discourse to the politicks of the day, reprobating in most warm terms, the folly of the Spaniards for endeavouring to emancipate themselves from the chains of Napoleon—ascribing it to their being instigated to it by the artifices of that enemy of mankind Britain, to which country he declared himself a sworn enemy. It is worthy of remark, that all this opinionated and ill informed self consequence, proceeded from a son of Irish parents, who had arisen to his present station in a Spanish provincial government, from an obscure situation in life, by a chain of fortuitous circumstances. As he had volunteered himself to be my Ciceroni to the governour, I awaited him at Mr. Egan’s some time later than the appointed hour, which tardiness was of course to give the visit additional consequence. We at last proceeded together, and not finding the governour at home, I told him, I would put him to no farther trouble, but would myself wait upon his excellency on his return from his promenade.—He made his bow, and I was again a free man.