Land at the Levee--African porters--First impression of
passing travellers--"Natchez under the Hill"--A dizzy road
--A rapid descent--View from the summit--Fine scenery in
the vicinity--Reservoir--A tawny Silenus--A young Apollo
--Warriors "hors du combat"--Indian females--Mississippian
backwoodsmen--Mansion House.
Since the date of my last letter, a period sufficiently long to enable
me to make my observations with correctness has elapsed; and from
memoranda collected during the interval, I shall prepare this and
subsequent letters from this place.
We landed last evening at the Levee, amid the excitement, noise, and
confusion which always attend the arrival or departure of a steamer in
any place. But here the tumult was varied and increased by the incessant
jabbering, hauling, pulling, kicking and thumping, of some score or two
of ebony-cheeked men and urchins, who were tumbling over each other's
heads to get the first trunk.
"Trunk, massa--trunk! I take you baggage".
"You get out, for a nigger!" exclaimed a tall, strapping fellow, as
black as night, to his brother ebony. "I'm the gemman, massa, what care
de trunk." "Dis nigger, him know noffing, massa--I'm what's always
waits on um gentlemans from de boats!" roared another; and stooping to
take one of the handles, the other was instantly grappled by a rival,
and both giving a simultaneous jerk, the subject of the contest flew
violently from their hands, and was instantly caught up by the first
"gemman", and borne off in triumph. This little by-play was acted, with
variations, in every part of the cabin, where there was either a
gentleman or a trunk to form the subject.
On landing, there was yet another trial of the tympanum.
"Carriage, massa--mighty bad hill to walk up!" was vociferated on all
sides; and
"No, no, no!" was no argument with them for a cessation of attack;
denial only made them more obstinate; and, like true soldiers, they
seemed to derive courage from defeat.
Forcing my way through the dingy crowd--for four out of five of them
were black, and, "by the same token", as ragged as Falstaff's regiment,
of shirtless memory--I followed my athletic pioneer; who, with my heavy
baggage poised accurately upon his head, moved as rapidly and carelessly
along the thronged Levee as though he carried no weight but his own
thick cranium. On looking round me for a moment, on landing, I was far
from agreeably impressed with the general appearance of the buildings.
This part of the town is not properly Natchez--and strangers passing up
and down the river, who have had the opportunity of seeing only this
place, have, without dreaming of the beautiful city over their heads,
gone on their way, with impressions very inaccurate and unfavourable.
These impressions, derived only, but justly, from this repulsive spot,
have had a tendency to depreciate the city, and fasten upon it a bad
name, which it is very far from meriting. Like the celebrated "Five
Points," in New-York, "Natchez under the Hill," as it has been aptly
named, has extended its fame throughout the United States, in wretched
rhyme and viler story. For many years it has been the nucleus of vice
upon the Mississippi. But, for two or three years past, the
establishment of respectable mercantile houses, and an excellent hotel,
combined with an efficient police, and a spirit of moral reform among
the citizens, has, in a great measure, redeemed the place--changed its
repulsive character and cancelled its disgraceful name. Though now on
the high way of reform, there is still enough of the cloven-hoof
visible, to enable the stranger to recognise that its former reputation
was well earned.
The principal street, which terminates at the ascent of the hill, runs
parallel with the river, and is lined on either side with a row of old
wooden houses; which are alternately gambling-houses, brothels, and
bar-rooms: a fair assemblage! As we passed through the street--which we
gained with difficulty from the boat, picking our way to it as we could,
through a filthy alley--the low, broken, half-sunken side-walks, were
blocked up with fashionably-dressed young men, smoking or lounging,
tawdrily arrayed, highly rouged females, sailors, Kentucky boatmen,
negroes, negresses, mulattoes, pigs, dogs, and dirty children. The
sounds of profanity and Bacchanalian revels, well harmonizing with the
scene, assailed our ears as we passed hastily along, through an
atmosphere of tobacco smoke and other equally fragrant odours. After a
short walk we emerged into a purer air, and in front of a very neat and
well-conducted hotel. From near this place, extending along the Levee to
the north, commences the mercantile part of the "landing," lined with
stores and extensive warehouses, in which is transacted a very heavy
business. The whole of this lower town is built upon a reclaimed flat,
from one to two hundred yards broad, and half a mile in length; bounded
upon one side by the river, and on the other by the cliff or bluff, upon
which Natchez stands, and which rises abruptly from the _Batture_, to
the height of one hundred and sixty feet. This bluff extends along the
river, more or less varied and broken, for several miles; though at no
point so abrupt and bold as here, where it bears the peculiar
characteristics of the wild scenery of "Dover cliffs." The face of the
cliff at Natchez is not a uniform precipice, but, apparently by the
provident foresight of nature, broken by an oblique shelf or platform,
gradually inclining from the summit to the base. With but a little
excavation, a fine road has been constructed along this way, with an
inclination sufficiently gentle to enable the heaviest teams to ascend
with comparative ease. One side of the road is of course bounded by a
perpendicular cliff; the other by empty air and a dizzy precipice: so
that the unwary foot-traveller, involved amid the ascent and descent of
drays, carriages, horsemen, and porters, enjoys a tolerably fair
alternative of being squeezed uncomfortably close against the bluff, or
pitched, with a summerset, into some of the yawning chimneys on the
flats beneath. For the whole length of this ascent, which is nearly a
quarter of a mile, there is no kind of guard for the protection of the
passengers. Yet, I have been told, no lives have ever been lost here.
One poor fellow, a short time since, having taken a drop too much, and
reeling too near the verge, lost his equilibrium, and over he went. But
it is hard to kill a drunkard, except with the "pure spirit" itself; and
the actor in this "drop scene" being "a gem of sweet Erin," stuck to the
sod, and slid comfortably, though rapidly, to the bottom. The next
moment he was seen gathering himself up out of a sand-heap, with "By St.
Pathrick! but that was a jewel of a lape!--and it's my bright new baiver
castor that's smashed by it to smitherins."
On arriving at the summit of the hill, I delayed a moment, for the
double purpose of taking breath and surveying the scene spread out
around me. Beneath lay the roofs of warehouses, stores, and dwellings,
scattered over a flat, sandy surface, which was bordered, on the water
side, by hundreds of up-country flat-boats, laden with the produce of
the rich farming states bordering the Ohio and "Upper Mississippi."
Lower down, steamers were taking in and discharging freight; while the
mingled sounds of the busy multitude rose like the hum of a hive upon
the ear. Immediately opposite me lay two ships, which, with their
towering masts, gay flags, and dark hulls, agreeably relieved the
otherwise long and unbroken line of boats. To the north the river
spreads its noble bosom till lost in the distance; while the continuous
line of cliffs, extending along its shore like a giant wall, seem to
speak in the language of power, "thus far shalt thou flow and no
farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." To the south, the
view is confined by the near projection of the obtruding cliffs. Yet the
river stretches boldly out many miles on its course toward the sea, till
lost to sight within the bosom of the distant forests which bound the
southern horizon. To the west, the eye travels over the majestic breadth
of the river, here a mile wide, and rests for a moment upon level and
richly cultivated fields beyond, a quiet village and noble forests,
which spread away to the west like a vast sea of waving foliage, till
they blend with the bending sky, forming a level and unbroken horizon.
Turning from this scene of grandeur and beauty to the east, Natchez,
mantled with rich green foliage like a garment, with its handsome
structures and fine avenues, here a dome and there a tower, lies
immediately before me. It is the very contrast to its straggling
namesake below. The city proper consists of six streets, at right angles
with the river, intersected by seven others of the same length, parallel
with the stream. The front, or first parallel street, is laid out about
one hundred yards back from the verge of the bluff, leaving a noble
green esplanade along the front of the city, which not only adds to its
beauty, but is highly useful as a promenade and parade ground. Shade
trees are planted along the border, near the verge of the precipice,
beneath which are placed benches, for the comfort of the lounger. From
this place the eye commands one of the most extensive prospects to be
found on the Mississippi. To a spectator, standing in the centre of this
broad, natural terrace, the symmetrical arrangement of the artificial
scenery around him is highly picturesque and pleasing.
On his right, to the south, a noble colonnaded structure, whose heavy
appearance is gracefully relieved by shrubbery, parterres, and a light
latticed summer-house, crowning a gentle eminence in the rear, and half
suspended over the precipice, strikes his eye with a fine effect. From
this admirable foreground, gently sloping hills, with here and there a
white dwelling, half concealed in foliage, spread away into the country.
Between this edifice and the forest back ground rise the romantic ruins
of Fort Rosalie, now enamelled with a rich coating of verdure. On his
left, at the northern extremity of the esplanade, upon the beautiful
eminence, gradually yet roundly swelling away from the promenade, stands
another private residence, nearly resembling and directly opposite to
the other, its lofty colonnades glancing in the sun--a magnificent
garden spreading out around it, luxuriant with foliage--diversified with
avenues and terraces, and adorned with grottoes and summer-houses.
Imagine these handsome residences, flanking the city, and forming the
extreme northern and southern terminations of the broad terrace before
the town, with the mighty flood of the Mississippi rolling some hundred
feet beneath you--the dark forests of Louisiana stretching away to
infinity in the west, with Natchez--its streets alive with promenaders,
gay equipages and horsemen--immediately before you, and you will form
some idea of this beautiful city and its environs from this point. But
as the spot upon which the town is built, originally a cluster of green
hills, has been, by levelling and filling, converted into a smooth
surface, with a very slight inclination to the verge of the cliff, a
small portion only of the city is visible. The buildings on the front
street face the river, and, with the exception of one or two private
houses, with galleries and shrubbery, reminding one of the neat and
beautiful residences on the "coast,"[1] possess no peculiar interest.
The town is entered from the parade by rude bridges at the termination
of each street, spanning a dry, dilapidated brick aqueduct of large
dimensions, which has been constructed along the whole front of the
city, but is now, from some unknown cause, suffered to fall to ruin. It
was probably intended as a reservoir and conductor of the water which,
after heavy rains, rushes violently down the several streets of the
city.
As I was crossing from the bluff to the entrance of one of the principal
streets--a beautiful avenue bordered with the luxuriant China tree,
whose dark rich foliage, nearly meeting above, formed a continued arcade
as far as the eye could penetrate--my attention was arrested by an
extraordinary group, reclining in various attitudes under the grateful
shade of the ornamental trees which lined the way. With his back firmly
planted against a tree, as though there existed a sympathetic affinity
between the two, sat an athletic Indian with the neck of a black bottle
thrust down his throat, while the opposite extremity pointed to the
heavens. Between his left forefinger and thumb he held a corncob, as a
substitute for a stopper. By his side, his blanket hanging in easy folds
from his shoulders, stood a tall, fine-looking youth, probably his son,
his raven hair falling in masses over his back, with his black eyes
fixed upon the elder Indian, as a faithful dog will watch each movement
of his intemperate master. One hand supported a rifle, while another was
carelessly suspended over his shoulder. There was no change in this
group while I remained in sight; they were as immoveable as statues. A
little in the rear, lay several "warriors" fast locked in the arms of
Bacchus or Somnus, (probably both,) their rifles lying beside them. Near
them a knot of embryo chiefs were gamboling in all the glorious freedom
of "_sans culottes_". At a little distance, half concealed by huge
baskets apparently just unstrapped from their backs, filled with the
motley paraphernalia of an Indian lady's wardrobe, sat, cross-legged, a
score of dark-eyed, brown-skinned girls and women, laughing and talking
in their soft, childish language, as merrily as any ladies would have
done, whose "lords" lay thus supine at their feet. Half a score of
miserable, starved wretches, "mongrel, whelp and hound," which it were
an insult to the noble species to term dogs, wandering about like
unburied ghosts "seeking what they might devour," completed the novel
and picturesque _ensemble_ of the scene.
On the opposite side of the way was another of a different character,
but not less interesting. Seated in a circle around their bread and
cheese, were half a dozen as rough, rude, honest-looking countrymen from
the back part of the state, as you could find in the nursery of
New-England's yeomanry. They are small farmers--own a few
negroes--cultivate a small tract of land, and raise a few bales of
cotton, which they bring to market themselves. Their carts are drawn
around them forming a barricade to their camp, for here, as is customary
among them, instead of putting up at taverns, they have encamped since
their arrival. Between them and their carts are their negroes, who
assume a "cheek by jowl" familiarity with their masters, while jokes, to
season their homely fare, accompanied by astounding horse-laughs, from
ivory-lined mouths that might convey a very tolerable idea of the crater
of Etna, pass from one group to the other, with perfect good will and a
mutual contempt for the nicer distinctions of colour.
Crossing the narrow bridge, I entered at once into the body of the city,
which is built as compactly within itself and aloof from the suburbs as
though it were separated from them by a wall; and in a few moments,
after traversing two sides of a well-built square on fine side walks, I
arrived at the "Mansion house," an extensive and commodious brick
edifice said to be one of the best hotels in the south west--except
Bishop's--agreeably impressed with this, my first _coup d'oeil_ of a
city, so extensively celebrated for the opulence, taste and hospitality
of its inhabitants.