Like other striplings escaped from college, I was no longer happy _at
home_. The yearning for travel was upon me; and I longed to make
acquaintance with that world, as yet only known to me through the medium
of books.
My longing was soon to be gratified; and without a sigh I beheld the
hills of my native land sink behind the black waves--not much caring
whether I should ever see them again.
Though emerging from the walls of a classic college, I was far from
being tinctured with classic sympathies. Ten years spent in pondering
over the wild hyperbole of Homer, the mechanical verse-work of Virgil,
and the dry indelicacies of Horatius Flaccus, had failed to imbue me
with a perception of that classic beauty felt, or pretended to be felt,
by the spectacled _savant_. My mind was not formed to live on the
ideal, or dream over the past. I delight rather in the real, the
positive, and the present. Don Quixotes may play the troubadour among
ruined castles, and mincing misses cover the ground of the guide-books.
For my part I have no belief in the romance of old-world life. In the
modern Tell I behold a hireling, ready to barter his brawny limbs to the
use of whatever tyrant; and the picturesque Mazzaroni, upon closer
acquaintance, dwindles down to the standard of a hen-roost thief. Amid
the crumbling walls of Athens and the ruins of Rome I encounter
inhospitality and hunger. I am not a believer in the picturesqueness of
poverty. I have no relish for the romance of rags.
And yet it was a yearning for the romantic that called me from home. I
longed for the poetic and picturesque, for I was just at that age when
the mind is imbued with its strongest faith in their reality. Ha! mine
is not yet disabused of this belief. I am older now, but the hour of
disenchantment has not yet come upon me--nor ever will. There is a
romance in life, that is no illusion. It lives not in the effete forms
and childish ceremonies of the fashionable drawing-room--it has no
illustration in the tinsel trappings and gaudy puerilities of a Court.
Stars, garters, and titles are its antidotes; red cloth and plush the
upas-trees of its existence.
Its home is elsewhere, amid the grand and sublime scenes of Nature--
though these are not necessary accompaniments. It is no more incidental
to field and forest, rock, river, and mountain, than to the well-trodden
ways of the trading-town. Its home is in human hearts--hearts that
throb with high aspirations--bosoms that burn with the noble passions of
Liberty and Love!
My steps then were not directed towards classic shores, but to lands of
newer and more vigorous life. Westward went I in search of romance. I
found it in its most attractive form under the glowing skies of
Louisiana.
In the month of January, 18--, I set foot upon the soil of the
New-World--upon a spot stained with English blood. The polite skipper,
who had carried me across the Atlantic, landed me in his gig. I was
curious to examine the field of this decisive action; for at that period
of my life I had an inclination for martial affairs. But something more
than mere curiosity prompted me to visit the battle-ground of New
Orleans. I then held an opinion deemed heterodox--namely, that the
_improvised_ soldier is under certain circumstances quite equal to the
professional hireling, and that long military drill is not essential to
victory. The story of war, superficially studied, would seem to
antagonise this theory, which conflicts also with the testimony of all
military men. But the testimony of mere military men on such a matter
is without value. Who ever heard of a military man who did not desire
to have his art considered as mythical as possible? Moreover, the
rulers of the world have spared no pains to imbue their people with
false ideas upon this point. It is necessary to put forward some excuse
for that terrible incubus upon the nations, the "standing army."
My desire to view the battle-ground upon the banks of the Mississippi
had chiefly reference to this question. The action itself had been one
of my strong arguments in favour of my belief; for upon this spot some
six thousand men--who had never heard the absurd command, "Eyes
right!"--out-generalled, "whipped," in fact nearly annihilated, a
well-equipped and veteran army of twice their number!
Since standing upon that battle-ground I have carried a sword in more
than one field of action. What I then held only as a theory, I have
since proved as an experience. The "drill" is a delusion. The standing
army a cheat.
In another hour I was wandering through the streets of the Crescent
City, no longer thinking of military affairs. My reflections were
turned into a far different channel. The social life of the New-World,
with all its freshness and vigour, was moving before my eyes, like a
panorama; and despite of my assumption of the _nil admirari_, I could
not help _wondering as I went_.
And one of my earliest surprises--one that met me on the very threshold
of Transatlantic existence--was the discovery of my own utter
uselessness. I could point to my desk and say, "There lie the proofs of
my erudition--the highest prizes of my college class." But of what use
they? The dry theories I had been taught had no application to the
purposes of real life. My logic was the prattle of the parrot. My
classic lore lay upon my mind like lumber; and I was altogether about as
well prepared to struggle with life--to benefit either my fellow-man or
myself--as if I had graduated in Chinese mnemonics.
And oh! ye pale professors, who drilled me in syntax and scansion, ye
would deem me ungrateful indeed were I to give utterance to the contempt
and indignation which I then felt for ye--then, when I looked back upon
ten years of wasted existence spent under your tutelage--then, when,
after believing myself an educated man, the illusion vanished, and I
awoke to the knowledge that I _knew nothing_!
With some money in my purse, and very little knowledge in my head, I
wandered through the Streets of New Orleans, wondering as I went.
Six months later, and I was traversing the same streets, with very
little money in my purse, but with my stock of knowledge vastly
augmented. During this six months I had acquired an experience of the
world more extensive, than in any six years of my previous life.
I had paid somewhat dearly for this experience. My travelling fund had
melted away in the alembic of cafes, theatres, masquerades, and
"quadroon" balls. Some of it had been deposited in that bank (faro)
which returns neither principal nor interest!
I was almost afraid to "take stock" of my affairs. At length with an
effort I did so; and found, after paying my hotel bills, a balance in my
favour of exactly twenty-five dollars! Twenty-five dollars to live upon
until I could write home, and receive an answer--a period of three
months at the least--for I am talking of a time antecedent to the
introduction of Atlantic steamers.
For six months I had been sinning bravely. I was now all repentance,
and desirous of making amends. I was even willing to engage in some
employment. But my cold classic training, that had not enabled me to
protect my purse, was not likely to aid me in replenishing it; and in
all that busy city I could find no office that I was fitted to fill!
Friendless--dispirited--a little disgusted--not a little anxious in
regard to my immediate future, I sauntered about the streets. My
acquaintances were becoming scarcer every day. I missed them from their
usual haunts--the haunts of pleasure. "Whither had they gone?"
There was no mystery in their disappearance. It was now mid-June. The
weather had become intensely hot, and every day the mercury mounted
higher upon the scale. It was already dancing in the neighbourhood of
100 degrees of Fahrenheit. In a week or two might be expected that
annual but unwelcome visitor known by the soubriquet of "Yellow Jack,"
whose presence is alike dreaded by young and old; and it was the terror
inspired by him that was driving the fashionable world of New Orleans,
like birds of passage, to a northern clime.