We passed plantations of sugar-cane, and admired the houses in which
their owners dwelt--handsome villas, embowered amid orange groves, and
shaded with Persian lilacs and magnolias.
We might have entertained the desire to enter one or other of these
luxuriant retreats, but, under the circumstances, there was neither hope
nor prospect, and we continued on.
As we advanced up the road, other houses were encountered--some of a
less inhospitable character. These were _cabarets_ and _cafes_, that,
with their coloured bottles and sparkling glasses, their open fronts and
cool shaded corridors, were too tempting to be passed.
There was a sweetness about these novel potations of "claret sangarees"
and "juleps," fragrant with the smell of mint and pines--an attractive
aroma--that could not be repelled, especially by one escaping from the
stench of raw rum and ship's bilge water.
Neither my companion nor I had the strength to resist their seductive
influence; and, giving way to it, we called at more than one _cabaret_,
and tasted of more than one strange mixture. In fine, we became merry.
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.
I have been particular in describing this young fellow, as I afterwards
ascertained that he was the type of a class which at that time abounded
in New Orleans--most of them of French or Spanish origin--the
descendants of the ruined planters of Haiti; or a later importation--the
sons of the refugees whom revolution had expelled from Mexico and South
America.
Of these the "Crescent City" contained a legion--most of them being
without visible means--too lazy to work, too proud to beg--dashing
adventurers, who, in elegant attire, appeared around the tables of
"Craps" and "Kino;" in the grand hotels and exchanges; at the public
balls; and not unfrequently in the best private company--for, at this
time, the "society" of the "Crescent City" was far from being scrupulous
or exacting. So long as a gentleman's cloth and cambric were _en
regle_, no one speculated as to whether his tailor was contented, or his
_blanchisseuse_ had given him a discharge for her little account.
The New Orleanois pride themselves on minding their own affairs; and
indeed there is some justice in their claim. Moreover, the role of the
meddler is not without danger among these people; and even the
half-proscribed adventurers of whom I have spoken, though not disdaining
to live by _cards_, were ever ready to exchange one with the man who
would cast the slightest slur upon their respectability.
Of just such a "kidney" was the individual we had met; though, of
course, at that first interview, I was not aware of it. I was then
little skilled in reading character from the physiognomy, and yet I
remember that the glance of this young fellow, notwithstanding his
polite attentions, produced an unpleasant impression upon me; and some
instinct whispered to me that, despite his elegant attire and fine
bearing, our new acquaintance _was not exactly a gentleman_.
My companion seemed more pleased with him than I was. I confess,
however, that he had drunk deeper, and was far less capable of forming a
judgment. As I turned away to converse with another of the strangers, I
noticed the two--the Hibernian and the Frenchman--standing close
together, champagne glasses in hand, and _hobnobbing_ in the most
fraternal manner.
Ten minutes might have elapsed before I faced round again. When I did
so, it was in consequence of some loud words that were uttered behind
me, and in which I recognised the voice of my friend, speaking in an
angry and excited tone. The words were:--
"Yes, sir! it's gone--and, by Jaysus, _you_ took it!"
"Pardon, Monsieur!"
"Pardon, indeed!--you've got my watch--you've _stolen it_, sir!"
Almost simultaneously with this unexpected accusation, I heard a loud,
fierce "_sacr-r-re_" from the Frenchman, followed instantly by a sharp
metallic click, as of a pistol being cocked; and as soon as I could get
my eyes fairly upon the disputing parties, I beheld a somewhat frightful
_tableau_.
My friend was standing close to the bar, pointing with one hand to the
broken guard of his watch, which dangled loosely over the lapels of his
waistcoat. His face was towards me, and from his gestures, as well as
from the words he had uttered, I could see that some one had made free
with his chronometer, and that he believed the thief to be the _elegant_
already described.
The latter was between me and the Hibernian, and, as he stood facing his
accuser, I could as yet see only his back.
But the suspicious "click" I had heard, caused me to step hastily to one
side; and this brought me in sight of the ugly weapon poised in the
fellow's hand, with its muzzle pointed directly at the head of my
fellow-voyager, who, seemingly taken by surprise, was making no effort
to get out of the way!
All this had passed within a second of time.
Impelled by a sort of instinct, I sprang forward and clutched the pistol
around the lock.
Whether I saved the life of my friend by so doing, I cannot say; but the
shot was not delivered; and in the subsequent struggle between myself
and the stranger, for possession of the pistol, the cap was wrenched
off, and the weapon remained in my hands.
Seeing it was harmless, I returned it to its owner, with a word of
caution to him not to be so ready in drawing such dangerous weapons in
the middle of a crowd.
"_Sacre_!" shouted he, addressing himself more particularly to my
fellow-voyager; "you shall repent this insult--_sacr-r-re_!"
"Insult, indeed!" stammered out the Hibernian--whom, as he would not
desire his real name to be known, I shall call Casey. "I repeat it,
then, my fine fellow! My watch is gone--it was taken from my fob here:
you see _this_, gentlemen?" and Casey exhibited to the crowd the
wrenched swivel. "It was he who did it: I repeat that he is the thief!"
The Frenchman fairly foamed with rage at this fresh accusation; while,
by his gestures, he appeared as if desirous of recapping the pistol.
I watched him closely, however, to prevent such a movement, as I knew
that Casey was in no condition to defend himself.
At the same time I endeavoured, along with several others, to bring the
affair to an explanation, and, if possible, to a pacific termination.
Story 2, Chapter III.