The sun was already low when we landed; and before we had entered the suburbs of the city, his disc had disappeared behind the dark belt of cypress forest that bounds the western horizon.
The street lamps were alight, glimmering but dimly, and at long intervals from each other; but a little afterwards a light glistened in our eyes more brilliant and attractive.
Through a large open folding-door was disclosed the interior of one of those magnificent drinking “saloons,” for which the “Crescent City” is so celebrated. The sheen of a thousand sparkling objects—of glasses, bottles, and mirrors ranged around the walls—produced an effect gorgeous and dazzling. To our eyes it appeared the interior of an enchanted palace—a cave of Aladdin.
We were just in the mood to explore it; and, without further ado, we stepped across the threshold; and approaching the “bar,” over a snow-white sanded floor, we demanded a brace of fresh juleps.
What followed I do not pretend to detail, with any degree of exactness. I have a confused remembrance of drinking in the midst of a crowd of men—most of them bearded, and of foreign aspect. The language was that of Babel, in which French predominated; and the varied costumes betokened a miscellaneous convention of different trades and professions. Numbers of them had the “cut” and air of sea-faring men—skippers of merchant vessels—while others were landsmen, traders, or small planters; and not a few were richly and fashionably dressed as gentlemen—real or counterfeit, I could not tell which.
My companion—a jolly young Hibernian—like myself, just escaped from the cloisters of Alma Mater, soon got en rapport with these strangers. Hospitable fellows they appeared; and in the twinkling of an eye we were drinking and clinking glasses, as if we had fallen among a batch of old friends or playmates!
There was one individual who attracted my notice. This may have arisen partly from the fact that he was more assiduous in his attentions to us than any of the rest; but there was also something distinctive in the style of the man.
He was a young man, apparently about twenty years of age, but with all the ton and air of a person of thirty—a precocity to be attributed partly to clime, and partly to the habitudes of New Orleans life. He was of medium size; with regular features, well and sharply outlined; his complexion was brunette, with an olive tinge; and his hair black, luxuriant, and wavy. His moustaches were dark and well defined, slightly curling at the tips. He was handsome, until you met the glance of his eye. In that there was something repellent; though why, it would be difficult to say. The expression was cold and animal. A slight scar along the prominence of his cheek was noticeable; and might have been received in an encounter with rapiers, or from the blade of a knife.
This young man was elegantly attired. His dress consisted of a claret-coloured dress-coat, of finest cloth, with gilt buttons, and satin-lined skirts—a vest of spotless Marseilles—black inexpressibles—white linen bootees—and a Paris hat. A shirt ruffled with finest cambric, both at the bosom and sleeves, completed his costume.
To-day, and in the streets of London, this would appear the costume of a snob. Not so there and then. The dress described, with slight variations as to cut and colour, was the usual morning habit of a New Orleans gentleman—that is, his winter habit. In summer, white linen, or “nankeen” upon his body, and the costly “Panama” on his head.