“Yes, certainly, give him the money and let us cross.”
As I have said, I generally traveled by special train. This one was made up of only three carriages and the engine. I never doubted for a moment as to the success of this foolish and criminal attempt, and I did not tell anyone about it except my sister, my beloved Guérard, and my faithful Félicie and her husband Claude. The comedian, Angelo, who was sleeping in Jarrett’s berth on this journey, knew of it, but he was courageous and had faith in his star. The money was handed over to the engine driver who sent it off to Mobile. It was only just as we were actually starting that I had the vision of the responsibility I had taken upon myself, for it was risking without their consent the lives of twenty-seven persons. It was too late then to do anything, the train had started and at a terrific speed it touched the bridge. I had taken my seat on the platform and the bridge bent and swayed like a hammock under the dizzy speed of our wild course. When we were half way across it gave way so much that my sister grasped my arm and whispered: “Ah, we are drowning!” I certainly thought as she did that the supreme moment had arrived.
My last minute was not inscribed, though, for that day in the Book of Destiny. The train pulled itself together and we arrived on the other side of the water. Behind us we heard a terrible noise. The bridge had given way. For more than a week the trains from the East and the North could not enter the city.
I left the money to our brave engine driver but my conscience was by no means tranquil and for a long time my sleep was disturbed by the most frightful nightmares.
When getting out of the train I was more dead than alive. I had to submit to receiving the friendly but fatiguing deputation of my compatriots. Then, loaded with flowers, I climbed into the carriage that was to take me to the hotel. The roads were rivers and we were on an elevated spot. The lower part of the city, the coachman explained to us in Marseilles French, was inundated up to the tops of the houses. The negroes had been drowned by hundreds. “Ah, hussy!” he cried as he whipped up his horses. At that period the hotels in New Orleans were squalid—dirty, uncomfortable, black with cockroaches, and as soon as the candles were lighted, the bedrooms became filled with large mosquitoes that buzzed around and fell on one’s shoulders, sticking in one’s hair. Oh, I shudder still when I think of it!
At the same time there was an opera company in the city, the “star” of which was a charming woman, Emilie Ambre, who at one time came very near being Queen of Holland. The country was poor, like all the other American districts where the French were to be found preponderating. Ah, we are hardly good colonists!
The opera did a very poor business and we did not do excellently, either. Six performances would have been ample in that city; we gave eight.
Nevertheless, my sojourn pleased me immensely. An infinite charm was evolved from it. All these people, so different, black and white, had smiling faces. All the women were graceful. The shops were attractive from the cheerfulness of their windows. The open-air traders under the arcades challenged one another with joyful flashes of wit. The sun, however, did not show itself once. But these people had the sun within themselves.
I could not understand why boats were not used. The horses had water up to their hams, and it would have been impossible even to get into a carriage if the pavements had not been a meter or more high.
Floods being as frequent as the years, it would be of no use thinking of banking up the river or arm of the sea. But walking was made easy by the high pavements and small, movable bridges. The dark children amused themselves catching crayfish in the streams. Where did they come from? And they sold them to passersby. Now and again, we would see a whole family of water serpents speed by. They swept along with raised head and undulating body like long, starry sapphires.