I had heard in the North much said about the great danger incurred by a night-stroll in New Orleans, and so will the stranger who next follows after me: but do not let these bug-a-boo tales deter him from a walk upon the Levee after ten P.M. It is not amongst these sons of industry, however rude, that he will encounter either insult or danger: I have traversed it often on foot and on horseback, and never met with the first, or had the slightest cause to apprehend the latter.
In a city like this, amongst a concourse of strangers, the worst sort of men are doubtless to be met with, as in all large cities; but surely not in greater numbers. I question whether London or Paris can boast of less crime in proportion; certainly, not fewer felonies. Here, it is too true, a quarrel in hot blood is often followed by a shot or a stroke with the ready poniard; but for this both parties are equally prepared, and resolute to abide the issue: and for the stranger, all he has to do is to keep out of low places of gambling and dissipation, and, if in a large hotel, to keep his door locked; a precaution which would be as much called for at Cheltenham or Spa, were the congregated numbers equally great; although, in the latter places, I admit, the thieves might be nicer men, better dressed, and not chewers of 'baccy.
The streets, after nightfall, are the very quietest I ever saw in any place possessing one-third of the population. The theatres, I repeat, as far as my observation goes, might serve as models to cities boasting greater claims to refinement.
As a set-off, however, let the stranger visit the gambling tables, which are numerous; the low balls, masked or other, occurring every night, for whites or quadroons, or both; let him visit the low bar-rooms, or even look into that of the first hotel, which bar forms a half-circle of forty feet, yet is, during ten hours of the twenty-four, only to be approached in turn, and whose daily receipt is said to exceed three hundred dollars for drams; and he will, if such be his only sources of information, naturally come to conclusions anything but favourable to the moral condition of New Orleans.
The crowd so occupied, however, be it remembered, is composed of strangers, or what is here called the transient population, at this season counting at least forty thousand persons, the greatest proportion of whom are here without a home except the bar-room of a public-house, or a shelter save the bedchamber which they have in common with from three to twenty companions, as luck or favour may preside over their billet.
This assemblage is compounded of men from every section of the Union,—the quiet Yankee, cautiously picking his way to fortune, with small means and large designs; the gay Virginian, seeking a new location on the rich land of Mississippi or Alabama; the suddenly enriched planter of Louisiana, full of spare cash, which can only be got rid of in a frolic, having settled with his merchant and purchased the contemplated addition to his slave stock, and resolute to enjoy his holiday after his own fashion; the half-civilized borderers from the banks of the Gazoo, or the prairies of Texas, come hither with the first produce ever won by industry from the swamp or the forest, to see New Orleans, form connexions, and arrange credit for future operations.
Numerous as are these classes, they are yet readily distinguished by one who has seen and observed them in turns, and noted their characteristics, which are indeed sufficiently distinct.
The Yankee, slow, observant, concentrated, with thin, close-compressed lips, bilious complexion, and anxious countenance, may be picked out amidst a hundred other men, edging cautiously from place to place, scanning every group, and having, as it were, eyes and ears for all present.
The Virginian, tall of stature, thin and flexile of form, of an easy carriage, with an open up-look, and an expression at once reckless and humorous, talking rapidly and swearing loudly, frank in his abord, of engaging deportment, and assuming as though there were no country so good as the "Old Dominion," and no better man than her son.
The Kentuck farmer—whose marked characteristics are pervading all the States bordering on the Mississippi, and who, together with the Buck-eye of Ohio, will ultimately give tone and manner to the dwellers on its thousand streams—of a stronger outline and coarser stamp, as is fitted to and well-becoming the pioneer of the grandest portion of the continent, and of one who is putting forth the thew and sinew of a giant, to benefit posterity; his only present recompense the possession of a rude independence, and the consciousness of increasing wealth, to add to which his energies are unceasingly devoted; his relaxation, meantime, an occasional frolic or debauch, which he grapples with, as his father did with fortune and the forest, closely and constantly, only pausing for breath through sheer exhaustion, or prostration rather. His person is square, and better knit together than most men's; his complexion clear, though bronzed by exposure to sun and storm; his manner rustic, but not rude; with a self-possession that is evident at a glance, and which makes him at all times equal to any chance or change that may cross him. Good-humoured, sociable, and very observant, his confidence is quickly won, or lost, according to a first impression. Proffering largely, yet ever ready to more than make his words good; full of kindliness to those he loves or esteems; boisterous, rude, and ill to deal with, where he dislikes; capable withal of rapid refinement, and having a ready perception of its advantages.