Of public grounds, or places for promenade, there are none in New
Orleans, and yet in no place in this country could beautiful walks
and promenade grounds be made so enchanting as in that city. The
climate and soil are such that every thing necessary to make such
places desirable, and even charming, would come up, as by magic,
if a beginning was only made. But as yet there has scarcely been a
“picayune” devoted for any thing of this purpose. There are, however,
inclosures of considerable extent, which no doubt were designed for
this purpose. One of these is the “_Place d’Armes_,” inclosing about
six acres of ground by a strong and well constructed iron fence.
Although this place has long been noted, yet it is without ornament
of any description, and has no attractions at any time, except on
every _Sabbath_ day, when it is filled with the military of the city,
who assemble here, under their respective officers, for inspection
and review. This is also the place of reception for distinguished
men, on all occasions of public demonstration in their behalf. And
it was here, within this inclosure, four days after the “battle of
New Orleans,” that General Jackson assembled the heroes of the 8th of
January, and bade them farewell. And yet below, and in full view of
this place, which on that memorable day, to all human conception, was a
doomed city, to be given up to rapine and robbery, lay the “Plains of
Chalmetta,” the “Battle ground,” the Waterloo of America, that field of
glory and of arms, and not a stone, or a memento, meets the eye of the
passer by, to tell where our brave soldiers, with their hearts on their
bayonets, fought against such fearful odds, and the deeds of noble
daring of those fathers and brothers, who there faced the cannon’s
mouth, to save their homes, their wives and daughters, their mothers
and sisters, from the grasp of an infuriated and brutal soldiery. But
here, within the “Place d’Armes,” and in the very place, is fixed a
stone, about eighteen inches square, where stood that “iron nerved
old man,” and like an “infant wept,” when he received the warm grasp,
and bade each soldier adieu, as the long line in single file passed
before him. The stone is fixed deep in the ground, and is a “silent and
impressive lecturer” on the records of the past; yet it is here simply
as a memento of the footprints of the savior of his country. And here
too, again and again, has the soldier, the statesman, and the civilian,
met the warm embrace, and received the gratitude of the grey-haired
old man, the mother, the son and daughter, presenting a monument more
splendid and magnificent and enduring, than the lofty structure of
granite or marble.
Of this somewhat interesting place, I cannot present a more graphic
description, than the following, from a New Orleans paper.