The South-West (Vol. 1&2). J. H. Ingraham
states, manned (I have not understood whether they are officered or not) by "real Kentucks"—"Buck eyes"—"Hooshers"—and "Snorters." There were about two hundred of these craft without masts, consisting of "flat-boats," (which resemble, only being much shorter, the "Down East" gundalow, (gondola) so common on the rivers of Maine,) and "keel-boats," which are one remove from the flat-boat, having some pretensions to a keel; they somewhat resemble freighting canal-boats. Besides these are "arks," most appropriately named, their contents having probably some influence with their god-fathers in selecting an appellation, and other non-descript-craft. These are filled with produce of all kinds, brought from the "Upper country," (as the north western states are termed here) by the very farmers themselves who have raised it;—also, horses, cattle, hogs, poultry, mules, and every other thing raiseable and saleable are piled into these huge flats, which an old farmer and half a dozen Goliaths of sons can begin and complete in less than a week, from the felling of the first tree to the driving of the last pin.
When one of these arks is completed, and "every beast that is good for food" by sevens and scores, male and female, and every fowl of the air by sevens and fifties, are entered into the ark,—then entereth in the old man with his family by "males" only, and the boat is committed to the current, and after the space of many days arriveth and resteth at this Ararat of all "Up country" Noahs.
These boats, on arriving here, are taken to pieces and sold as lumber, while their former owners with well-lined purses return home as deck passengers on board steamboats. An immense quantity of whiskey from Pittsburg and Cincinnati, besides, is brought down in these boats, and not unfrequently, they are crowded with slaves for the southern market.
The late excellent laws relative to the introduction of slaves, however, have checked, in a great measure, this traffic here, and the Mississippi market at Natchez has consequently become inundated, by having poured into it, in addition to its usual stock, the Louisianian supply. I understand that the legislature of this rich and enterprising state is about to pass a law similar to the one above mentioned, which certainly will be incalculably to her advantage.
The line of flats may be considered the last link of the great chain of shipping in front of New-Orleans, unless we consider as attached to it a kind of dock adjoining, where ships and steamers often lie, either worn out or undergoing repairs. From this place to the first station I have mentioned, runs along the Levée, fronting the shipping, an uninterrupted block of stores, (except where they are intersected by streets,) some of which are lofty and elegant, while others are clumsy piles of French and Spanish construction, browned and blackened by age.
X.
First impressions—A hero of the "Three Days"—Children's ball—Life in New-Orleans—A French supper—Omnibuses—Chartres-street at twilight—Calaboose—Guard-house—The vicinage of a theatre—French cafés—Scenes in the interior of a café—Dominos—Tobacco-smokers—New-Orleans society.
The last three days I have spent in perambulating the city, hearing, seeing, and visiting every thing worthy the notice of a Yankee, (and consequently an inquisitive) tourist.
As I shall again have occasion to introduce you among the strange and motley groups, and interesting scenes of the Levée, I will not now resume the thread of my narrative, broken by the conclusion of my last letter, but take you at once into the "terra incognita" of this city of contrarieties.
The evening of my visit to the market, through the politeness of Monsieur D., a young Frenchman who distinguished himself in the great "Three Days" at Paris, and to whom I had a letter of introduction, was passed amid the gayety and brilliancy of a French assembly-room. The building in which this ball was held, is adjacent to the Theatre d'Orleans, and devoted, I believe, exclusively to public parties, which are held here during the winter months, or more properly, "the season," almost every night. The occasion on which I attended, was one of peculiar interest. It was termed the "Children's ball;" and it is given at regular intervals throughout the gay months. I have not learned the precise object of this ball, or how it is conducted; but these are unimportant. I merely wish to introduce to you the dazzling crowd gathered there, so that you may form some conception of the manner and appearance of the lively citizens of this lively city, who seem disposed to remunerate themselves for the funereal and appalling silence of the long and gloomy season, when "pestilence walketh abroad at noon-day," by giving way to the full current of life and spirits. Adopting, literally, "Dum vivimus vivamus," for their motto and their "rule of faith and practice," they manage during the winter not only to make up for the privations of summer, but to execute about as much dancing, music, laughing, and dissipation, as would serve any reasonably disposed, staid, and sober citizens, for three or four years, giving them withal from January to January for the perpetration thereof.
After taking a light supper at home, as I already call my hotel, which consisted of claret, macaroni, cranberries, peaches, little plates of fresh grapes, several kinds of cakes and other bonbons, spread out upon a long polished mahogany table, resembling altogether more the display upon a confectioner's counter than the table d'hote of a hotel, in company with Monsieur D. I prepared to walk to the scene of the evening's amusement. But on gaining the street we observed the "omnibus" still at its stand at the intersection of Canal and Chartres streets. The driver, already upon his elevated station, with his bugle at his lips, was sounding his "signal to make sail," as we should say of a ship; and thereupon, being suddenly impressed with the advantages the sixteen legs of his team had over our four, in accomplishing the mile before us, we without farther reflection, sprang forthwith into the invitingly open door at the end of the vehicle, and the next instant found ourselves comfortably seated, with about a dozen others, "in omnibus."
There are two of these carriages which run from Canal-street through the whole length of Chartres-street, by the public square, and along the noble esplanade between the Levée and the main body of the city, as far as the rail-road; the whole distance being about two miles. The two vehicles start simultaneously from either place, every half-hour, and consequently change stands with each other alternately throughout the day. They commence running early in the morning, and are always on the move and crowded with passengers till sun-down. For a "bit" (twelve-and-a-half cents) as it is denominated here, one can ride the whole distance, or if he choose, but a hundred yards—it is all the same to the knight of the whip, who mounted on the box in front, guides his "four-in-hand" with the skill of a professor.
As we drove through the long, narrow and dusky street, the wholesale mercantile houses were "being" closed, while the retail stores and fancy shops, were "being" brilliantly lighted up. Carriages, horsemen, and noisy drays, with their noisier draymen, were rapidly moving in all directions, while every individual upon the "trottoirs" was hurrying, as though some important business of the day had been forgotten, or not yet completed. All around presented the peculiar noise and bustle which always prevail throughout the streets of a commercial city at the close of the day.
Leaving our omniferous vehicle with its omnifarious cargo—among whom, fore and aft, the chattering of half a dozen languages had all at once, as we rode along, unceasingly assailed our ears—at the head of Rue St. Pierre, we proceeded toward Orleans-street. Directly on quitting the omnibus we passed the famous Calaboos, or Calabozo, the city prison, so celebrated by all seamen who have made the voyage to New-Orleans, and who, in their "long yarns" upon the forecastle, in their weary watches, fail not to clothe it with every horror of which the Calcutta black hole, or the Dartmoor prison—two horrible bugbears to sailors—could boast. Its external appearance, however, did not strike me as very appealing. It is a long, plain, plastered, blackened building, with grated windows, looking gloomy enough, but not more so than a common country jail. It is built close upon the street, and had not my companion observed as we passed along, "That is the Calaboos," I should not probably have remarked it. On the corner above, and fronting the "square," is the guard-house, or quarters of the gens d'armes. Several of them in their plain blue uniforms and side arms, were lounging about the corner as we passed, mingling and conversing with persons in citizens' dress. A glance en passant through an open door, disclosed an apparently