"An affray occurred last night in the vicinity of Bienville-street, in which one young gentleman was severely wounded by the discharge of a pistol, and another slightly injured by a dirk. An "affaire d'honneur" originated from this, and the parties met this morning. Dr. —— of New-York, one of the principals, was mortally wounded by his antagonist M. Le—— of this city."
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," (what a charm to a country lad in the appellation) 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 poured into the dock by the disguised citizens, 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 kind of "House of Representatives" of the city to 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 hundred of their drowsy brethren were at the same 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.