CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER I
Entrance of the Mississippi—Balize
On the 4th of November, 1827, I sailed from London, accompanied by my
son and two daughters; and after a favourable, though somewhat tedious
voyage, arrived on Christmas-day at the mouth of the Mississippi.
The first indication of our approach to land was the appearance of this
mighty river pouring forth its muddy mass of waters, and mingling with
the deep blue of the Mexican Gulf. The shores of this river are so
utterly flat, that no object upon them is perceptible at sea, and we
gazed with pleasure on the muddy ocean that met us, for it told us we
were arrived, and seven weeks of sailing had wearied us; yet it was not
without a feeling like regret that we passed from the bright blue
waves, whose varying aspect had so long furnished our chief amusement,
into the murky stream which now received us.
Large flights of pelicans were seen standing upon the long masses of
mud which rose above the surface of the waters, and a pilot came to
guide us over the bar, long before any other indication of land was
visible.
I never beheld a scene so utterly desolate as this entrance of the
Mississippi. Had Dante seen it, he might have drawn images of another
Bolgia from its horrors. One only object rears itself above the eddying
waters; this is the mast of a vessel long since wrecked in attempting
to cross the bar, and it still stands, a dismal witness of the
destruction that has been, and a boding prophet of that which is to
come.
By degrees bulrushes of enormous growth become visible, and a few more
miles of mud brought us within sight of a cluster of huts called the
Balize, by far the most miserable station that I ever saw made the
dwelling of man, but I was told that many families of pilots and
fishermen lived there.
For several miles above its mouth, the Mississippi presents no objects
more interesting than mud banks, monstrous bulrushes, and now and then
a huge crocodile luxuriating in the slime. Another circumstance that
gives to this dreary scene an aspect of desolation, is the incessant
appearance of vast quantities of drift wood, which is ever finding its
way to the different mouths of the Mississippi. Trees of enormous
length, sometimes still bearing their branches, and still oftener their
uptorn roots entire, the victims of the frequent hurricane, come
floating down the stream. Sometimes several of these, entangled
together, collect among their boughs a quantity of floating rubbish,
that gives the mass the appearance of a moving island, bearing a
forest, with its roots mocking the heavens; while the dishonoured
branches lash the tide in idle vengeance: this, as it approaches the
vessel, and glides swiftly past, looks like the fragment of a world in
ruins.
As we advanced, however, we were cheered, notwithstanding the season,
by the bright tints of southern vegetation. The banks continue
invariably flat, but a succession of planless villas, sometimes merely
a residence, and sometimes surrounded by their sugar grounds and negro
huts, varied the scene. At no one point was there an inch of what
painters call a second distance; and for the length of one hundred and
twenty miles, from the Balize to New Orleans, and one hundred miles
above the town, the land is defended from the encroachments of the
river by a high embankment which is called the Levee; without which the
dwellings would speedily disappear, as the river is evidently higher
than the banks would be without it. When we arrived, there had been
constant rains, and of long continuance, and this appearance was,
therefore, unusually striking, giving to “this great natural feature”
the most unnatural appearance imaginable; and making evident, not only
that man had been busy there, but that even the mightiest works of
nature might be made to bear his impress; it recalled, literally,
Swift’s mock heroic,
“Nature must give way to art;”
yet, she was looking so mighty, and so unsubdued all the time, that I
could not help fancying she would some day take the matter into her own
hands again, and if so, farewell to New Orleans.
It is easy to imagine the total want of beauty in such a landscape; but
yet the form and hue of the trees and plants, so new to us, added to
the long privation we had endured of all sights and sounds of land,
made even these swampy shores seem beautiful. We were, however,
impatient to touch as well as see the land; but the navigation from the
Balize to New Orleans is difficult and tedious, and the two days that
it occupied appeared longer than any we had passed on board.
In truth, to those who have pleasure in contemplating the phenomena of
nature, a sea voyage may endure many weeks without wearying. Perhaps
some may think that the first glance of ocean and of sky shew all they
have to offer; nay, even that that first glance may suggest more of
dreariness than sublimity; but to me, their variety appeared endless,
and their beauty unfailing. The attempt to describe scenery, even where
the objects are prominent and tangible, is very rarely successful; but
where the effect is so subtile and so varying, it must be vain. The
impression, nevertheless, is perhaps deeper than any other; I think it
possible I may forget the sensations with which I watched the long
course of the gigantic Mississippi; the Ohio and the Potomac may mingle
and be confounded with other streams in my memory, I may even recall
with difficulty the blue outline of the Alleghany mountains, but never,
while I remember any thing, can I forget the first and last hour of
light on the Atlantic.
The ocean, however, and all its indescribable charm, no longer
surrounded us; we began to feel that our walk on the quarter-deck was
very like the exercise of an ass in a mill; that our books had lost
half their pages, and that the other half were known by rote; that our
beef was very salt, and our biscuits very hard; in short, that having
studied the good ship, Edward, from stem to stern till we knew the name
of every sail, and the use of every pulley, we had had enough of her,
and as we laid down, head to head, in our tiny beds for the last time,
I exclaimed with no small pleasure,
“Tomorrow to fresh fields and pastures new.”