Havanna had no charms for me, and I was therefore glad once more to embark on the fickle ocean in an attempt to reach New Orleans.
Chapter Thirteen.
From Cuba to New Orleans, and hence up the Mississippi on to St. Louis—Our Voyage up the Ohio—Kentucky Shots—Cincinnati—Away to Toronto—The Hudson’s Bay Company’s Territory described.
After we had lost sight of Cuba I could scarcely help expecting to see some rakish-looking craft hearing down on us, and I must own that it was with inward satisfaction that I remembered the fact that the black schooner and most of the scoundrels on board her were blown up, and unable any more to trouble voyagers over the deep sea. Poor Peter was continually on the look-out for an enemy, and if he saw a sail in the horizon he would come up to me and ask if we hadn’t better get ready to fight, lest it should be “another on them cut-throat gentlemen a-coming to look for us.”
Notwithstanding all the lad’s prognostications of evil, we reached, without any misadventure, the Crescent City, as New Orleans is not inappropriately called, on account of the shape it presents, built along the curving shore of the river. I hastened at once on landing, followed by Peter and Ready, to the office of the merchant on whom I had letters of credit, fortunately forwarded originally in duplicate by post, and having obtained a supply of cash, and such necessaries as I required, I was in a few hours on my way up the Mississippi, earnestly hoping that on this voyage I should escape being snagged, and not be blown up, as Aunt Becky had predicted would be my fate.
I have not been complimentary to New Orleans, but I must say that it is a very grand city. It is divided into two parts by Canal Street—the Old and the New—the Old, built by original French and Spanish founders, contains narrow and dirty streets and the worst class of the population, while in the New are numerous fine buildings, broad streets, and wealthy and respectable inhabitants. It is not nearly so unhealthy as is supposed when once a person is acclimatised,—but to be sure a good many die in the process. And so I make my bow to New Orlieens, as the natives call it. Although I had not many fears on the subject, I was glad to get away without being recognised, nor did anyone on board the steamer take especial notice of me, that I could discover. It was curious to go paddling on day after day, and night after night, and still to find oneself floating on the same broad stream, sometimes with rich level land on either side, and at others with light bluffs, or towns, or villages; also to pass the mouths of large rivers, and to be told that one was navigable eight hundred or a thousand miles up, and that five or six tributaries, each also navigable for six hundred miles or so, while others fell into it. Truly the eastern, southern, and northern parts of North America present a wonderful river system, suited for internal navigation.
We had a curious collection of passengers on board—five hundred at least in the main cabin—some of them, I judged by their physiognomies, not the most respectable portion of the human race. A party of them got round me, and in the most insinuating manner invited me to join them in a friendly game of cards, or dice, or dominoes, indeed they were not particular, anything that would enable me to pass the time agreeably. In spite of all their arguments I persevered in declining their polite invitations, and at length, in reply to no very polite remarks on my manners and appearance, and a strong expression of doubt as to whether I had anything to lose—