Arrival at New Orleans.--Cursory Reflections.
It is certainly mournful for a traveller to dwell among the monuments of
Pompeii, of Herculaneum, and of Rome. There, if he feels at all, he
feels among these wrecks of past grandeur, that he is nothing. A totally
different sensation possesses the mind on entering an American city. In
these man beholds what he can contend with, and what he can accomplish,
when his strength is not checked by the arbitrary will of a despot. New
Orleans, the wet grave[F], where the hopes of thousands are buried; for
eighty years the wretched asylum for the outcasts of France and Spain,
who could not venture 100 paces beyond its gates without utterly sinking
to the breast in mud, or being attacked by alligators; has become in the
space of twenty-three years one of the most beautiful cities of the
Union, inhabited by 40,000 persons, who trade with half the world. The
view is splendid beyond description, when you pass down the stream,
which is here a mile broad, rolls its immense volume of waters in a bed
above 200 feet deep, and as if conscious of its strength, appears to
look quietly on the bustle of the habitations of man. Both its banks are
lined with charming sugar plantations, from the midst of which rises the
airy mansion of the wealthy planter, surrounded with orange, banana,
lime, and fig trees, the growth of a climate approaching to the torrid
zone. In the rear you discover the cabins of the negroes and the
sugar-houses, and just at the entrance of the port, groups of smaller
houses, as if erected for the purpose of concealing the prospect of the
town. As soon as the steam-boats pass these out posts, New Orleans, in
the form of a half moon, appears in all its splendour. The river runs
for a distance of four or five miles in a southern direction; here it
suddenly takes an eastern course, which it pursues for the space of two
miles, thus forming a semicircular bend. A single glance exhibits to
view the harbour, the vessels at anchor, together with the city,
situated as it were at the feet of the passenger. The first object that
presents itself is the dirty and uncouth backwoods flat boat. Hams, ears
of corn, apples, whiskey barrels, are strewed upon it, or are fixed to
poles to direct the attention of the buyers. Close by are the rather
more decent keel-boats, with cotton, furs, whiskey, flour; next the
elegant steam-boat, which by its hissing and repeated sounds, announces
either its arrival or departure, and sends forth immense columns of
black smoke, that form into long clouds above the city. Farther on are
the smaller merchant vessels, the sloops and schooners from the
Havannah, Vera Cruz, Tampico; then the brigs; and lastly, the elegant
ships appearing like a forest of masts[G].
[F] In New Orleans, water is found two feet below the surface. Those who
cannot afford to procure a vault for their dead, are literally compelled
to deposit them in the water.
[G] The whole number of vessels then in port was 100 schooners, brigs,
and ships.
What in Philadelphia and even in New York is dispersed in several
points, is here offered at once to the eye--a truly enchanting prospect.
Most of the steam-boats were kept back by the lowness of the Ohio, at
Cincinnati, Louisville, and Nashville; we landed, therefore, close to
the shore without encountering any impediment. In a moment our state
room was filled with five or six clerks, from the newspaper printing
offices, and a dozen negroes; the former to inspect the log-book of the
steam-boat, and to lay before their subscribers the names of the goods,
and of the passengers arrived; the latter to offer their services in
carrying our trunks. After labouring to climb over the mountains of
cotton bales which obstructed our passage, we went on shore. The city
had increased beyond expectation, within the last four years. More than
700 brick houses had been erected; a new street (the Levee), was already
half finished; the houses throughout were solid, and more or less in an
elegant style. It was on a Sunday that we arrived; the shops, the stores
of the French and creoles, were open as usual, and if there were fewer
buyers than on other days, the coffeehouses, grog-shops, and the
_estaminets_, as they are called, of the French and German inhabitants,
exhibited a more noisy scene. A kind of music, accompanied with human,
or rather inhuman voices, resounded in almost every direction. This
little respect paid to the Sabbath is a relic of the French revolution
and of Buonaparte, for whom the French and the creoles of Louisiana have
an unlimited respect, imitating him as poor minds generally do, as far
as they are able, in his bad qualities, his contempt of venerable
customs, and his egotism, and leaving his great deeds and the noble
traits in his character to the imitation of others better qualified to
appreciate them.
To a new comer, accustomed in the north to the dignified and quiet
keeping of the Sabbath, this appears very shocking. The Anglo-Americans,
with few exceptions, remain even here faithful to their ancient custom
of keeping the Sabbath holy. I had many opportunities of appreciating
the importance of the keeping of the Sabbath, particularly in new
states. A well regulated observance of this day is productive of
incalculable benefits, and though it is sometimes carried too far in the
northern states, as is certainly the case in Pennsylvania and New
England, still the public ought firmly to maintain this institution in
full force. The man who provides in six days for his personal wants, may
dedicate the seventh to the improvement of his mind; and this he can
only accomplish by abstaining from all trifling amusements. In a
despotic monarchy the case is different; there the government has no
doubt every reason for allowing its slaves, after six toilsome days of
labour, the indulgence of twenty-four hours of amusement, that they may
forget themselves and their fate in the dissipation of dancing, smoking,
and drinking. The case ought to be otherwise in a republic, where even
the poor constitute, or are about to constitute, part of the sovereign
body. These ought to remember to what purposes they are destined, and
not to allow themselves, under any circumstances, to be the dupes of
others. The keeping of the Sabbath is their surest safeguard. If there
were no opportunities offered for dancing, their sons and their
daughters would stay at home, either reading their Bible, or attending
to other appropriate intellectual occupations, and learning in this
manner their rights and duties, and those of other people. The American
has not deviated in this respect from his English kinsman. If you enter
his dwelling on the Sabbath, you will find the family, old and young,
quietly sitting down, the Bible in hand, thus preparing themselves for
the toils and hardships to come, and acquiring the firmness and
confidence so necessary in human life; a confidence, which we so justly
admire in the British nation; as far distant from the bravado of the
French, as the unfeeling and base stupidity of the Russians; and which
never displays itself in brighter colours than in the hour of danger. We
are in this manner enabled to account for those high traits of character
in moments full of peril--traits not surpassed in the most brilliant and
the most virtuous epochs of Greece or of Rome. A single fact will speak
volumes--the Kent East Indiaman, burning and going down in the bay of
Biscay, in 1825. Ladies, gentlemen, officers, and soldiers, all on board
exhibited a magnanimity of heart, and a truly Christian heroism, which
must fill even the most rancorous enemies of the British people with
admiration and regard. What a different picture would have been
presented to us, if half a regiment of Bonaparte's soldiers had been on
board the ship!