NEW ORLEANS AS IT IS.

ITS SETTLEMENT.

The history of New Orleans, if fully written out from its earliest day, in connection with the first adventures and discovery of the Mississippi Valley, would be one possessing more interest to the people of this country, than that of almost any other portion of the American Continent. To do this, in any degree to satisfy the inquiring mind, is not the purpose of the author of these few pages. The writer only designs to give a brief portrait of the breathing mass, that fills up the great emporium of the Valley of the Mississippi. To say that all live, in the common understanding of the term, who spend their time there, would be to give a false coloring to a large portion of the picture, which the reader may be assured is true in all its lineaments. It is important, however, to the reader, to know something of the early history of this section of the country, as well as a general description of the city, and some things connected with it, to be able to duly appreciate and understand, why a life in New Orleans differs so widely from any other in the whole range of civilization. And while standing on the Levee, and looking over that great busy mart, where the products and treasures of that vast region of the Mississippi Valley and its tributaries, are constantly being poured out, it would seem that a word could not be said of New Orleans, without requiring a full history of its discovery, beginning of settlement, adventures of individuals in other portions of the Valley, along the banks of this great artery of the breathing earth, which is constantly pouring its floods into the bosom of the ocean. As a brief sketch is demanded of the early times of this range of our country, I shall only notice a few things.

One among the most singular facts in the history of discoveries, is that this mighty flood of many waters, was first met with more than one thousand miles from its mouth. The first discoverer was a Spaniard, by the name of De Soto. He started from the Island of Cuba, in the year 1538, with six hundred men, landed on the coast of Florida, passed to the North, through Georgia, Tennessee and Kentucky, and came to the river, at the place now known as Chickasaw Bluffs.

In passing from 1538, down to 1717, many adventurers from the old countries, as well as from the colonies, came, and scarcely more than roused the panther and alligator from their lairs, and passed on, leaving them quietly to return to their repose, and there to remain, until another should come after them in search of the “fountain of immortal youth,” which was the object sought after by those who first traversed this region of our country, and whom the Indians had now made to believe there existed such a fountain, in which, if a man should bathe, he would, even if old, return back to the sunny days of youth, his life be without end and clothed in immortal youth. But this glorious fountain was never realized, yet on they came, for many years, company after company; and most of them found a resting place, unburied, in the midst of the swamps and desolation of a wild and unbroken wilderness.

The result of these several companies, in search of the fountain of “living waters,” was a settlement under the patronage of the French government, after the purchase from Spain, one at Natchez, and one at Balize, on Lake Pontchartrain; and finally, in the year 1718, at the city of New Orleans, this Babel of all Babels, this Sodom of all Sodoms, was commenced. And here let me ask the reader to pause and contemplate the scenes which have been enacted in this modern Golgotha. Turn back to the pages of its history, although never written; yet to read it, let the imagination have its widest range, excite it as livid as the lightning flash amid the lowering thunder cloud; and then call up the fullest measure of human woe, of moral degradation, of human suffering, and contemplate the blackest rage of human passion, and all the dark and damning deeds that the fiends of the infernal regions could perpetrate, and you would have before you a faint moonlight picture of the early days of New Orleans. But now, a change has come over the drama of life, yet not in the spirit of her dreams. For the same boiling caldron of human passion is still there, swallowing up its victims, and as in olden times, leaving not a shred or a remnant, to tell from whence they came or whither they have gone.

This was New Orleans a century ago, and this is New Orleans to-day. And notwithstanding a change is in her outward forms, by throwing aside the bowie knife, the dirk and pistol, yet the weapons by which destruction is now accomplished, are none the less sure, none the less fatal. For unlike the knife and pistol, they never maim, but strike strong and deep into the very life blood of the victim.

ITS LOCATION.

The City of New Orleans is on the west bank of the river, about ninety miles from its entrance into the Gulf of Mexico.—The City of Lafayette has a distinct city charter, yet the increase of New Orleans has been so rapid, for a few years past, that it has grown up, so that by buildings they are united, and now appear like one vast city, occupying about seven miles in length, and about one mile in width, along the bank of the river, which, at this point, takes a wide circle and passes to the north-east. The two cities occupy the bend of the river, in form like the new moon, and hence has been given it the name of the Crescent City. The valley above and below is very level and low, and were it not for the Levee, as it is called, would be inundated, by the overflowing of the river, for nearly half of the year. The Levee is an embankment of earth, thrown up from six to eight feet high, and sufficiently broad to make an excellent road. This embankment, commences about forty miles below the city, and on the east side of the river extends as far up as Baton Rouge, a distance of one hundred and forty miles. On the west side it has been necessary to build it, with but very little interruption, up to the line of the State of Arkansas, a distance of five hundred and fifty miles. Were it not for this embankment, not a rod of this vast extent of country could be cultivated. Yet it is now one of the most fertile and productive portions of the South, and on which is grown almost the entire crop of Sugar in Louisiana, as well as large quantity of Cotton.

ITS HISTORY.

From the commencement of the city of New Orleans up to the time of the “Seven Years War,” which is now always spoken of as “The Old French War,” between England and France, and in which many of our fathers participated, the province of Louisiana, being then in possession of the French, passed through many trying scenes; and several times barely escaped annihilation, not only by sickness and starvation, but by well concerted plans of massacre by the Indians who inhabited that range of country. At the termination of the “Seven Years War,” came up a new era, upon which soon followed those mighty developements, which to us now in the distance appear like the work of enchantment. The cession by France of all her rights and lands in North America to England, except the province of Louisiana, was stipulated by the deputies of the two governments, and the boundary line between their possessions, in the wilds of America, was determined should run along the middle of the Mississippi river from the gulf of Mexico, up as far as Ibberville, thence along the centre of that river, through Lakes Maurepas and Ponchartrain. This treaty was made in 1763, twelve years before the war of the Revolution. Immediately following the treaty, France ceded the entire province of Louisiana to Spain. This act of cession, however, for certain considerations, existing with the government of France, was not made known until about two years after the date of the treaty. When, the decree was first published, making, by a mere dash of the pen, Frenchmen into Spaniards, it produced the utmost consternation among the inhabitants of the province. The act of being thus secretly passed into Spanish hands, with new lords and masters, and without being consulted, or even a knowledge of the fact imparted until long after the consummation of the matter, was too revolting to those who had abandoned home and friends, and braved the difficulties and dangers of the savage wilds of the Mississippi valley, and who were as true and loyal Frenchmen as ever paid court to Crown or King. Public meetings were called, and they resolved as one man, not to submit to the outrage which the new order of things would impose upon them. And they further determined, that if they were to be thus dealt with, and finally deserted by the Mother Country, they would endeavor, with the limited means and power which they possessed, to commence business on their own capital; and thus brave the displeasure of both Spain and France. This determination they at once prepared fully to sustain.

On the arrival of the Spanish Governor, Don Ulloa, with a strong force, in 1766, they met him at the point of the bayonet, and succeeded in driving him off, forcing him to leave the country and return home and lay down his commission. At this unexpected defeat and defiance of authority, the King of Spain was highly enraged. In consequence, however, of other troubles then on hand, which were such as to engage his whole attention, no further attempt was made to take possession of the province until 1769, when the King succeeded in finding a man, with all the requisite qualifications to undertake the work of royal vengeance, which had been three years waiting to glut itself with the blood of Frenchmen. The fit instrument to do this work, was a man by the name of Don O’Reilly, a renegade Irishman, who had “left his country for his country’s good,” to whom he gave the appointment of Governor. To accomplish a purpose by any means within the scope of human ingenuity, a fitter tool, or a more arch fiend, could not be found within the compass of royal favor. He came to the citizens of the province with fair promises of government patronage and favor, pledging them at the same time, that he would, in a great degree, respect the laws and regulations which they had enacted, and retain in office a due share of the citizens. By these assurances, impressed with so much apparent honesty, he succeeded in prevailing upon the authorities and the people to lay aside their arms, and meet him on the terms he proposed, and acknowledge him as Governor. For some time he continued to respect his pledges, and yet, while doing this, he was secretly fortifying himself, and arranging his plans, by placing his own chosen and subservient tools where he could at once call them out to do his bidding, when the time should come to throw off the mask of hypocrisy. He then assumed the power of the Dictator, made laws to suit his own purpose, trampled under foot and disregarded written contracts, and finally, to consummate his fiendish acts of treachery, and to gratify the vengeance of his Spanish Master, and in defiance of the most solemn pledges, he caused five of the principal men of the city to be arrested, and, without trial, to be shot. Five others he sent to the dreary dungeons of the “Moro Castle,” at Havanna, on the Island of Cuba. These acts of outrage and vengeance, together with violations of every assurance which he had given to seduce the too credulous people, soon brought down upon him the execration and abhorrence of the whole colony. The final result was, he soon worked out his own downfall. Following the dictates of his own inclinations, and supposing, at the same time, he was courting royal favor, the King was forced to recall him, and cast him off disgraced. Under his successor, a Spanish nobleman by the name of Unzoga, who remained with the colony a short time, the province enjoyed a short time of comparative peace and prosperity.

This, however, was soon broken up by the war between England and Spain, which was declared in 1779. This occasion enabled the Governor, Don Galvez, to display his martial prowess, by invading Florida, then in possession of the English. Without meeting much to contend with, he took Baton Rouge, and Fort Charlotte, which stood near where now stands the city of Mobile. From thence he marched down upon Pensacola, which, after a long and determined resistance, finally yielded to the Spanish arms. By this decisive blow the laws and power of Spain were established in Florida, and the thorough introduction of the Spanish colonial system. This, however, was too severe a blow for the proud and independent English and French to bear quietly, without showing some signs of the galling nature of the yoke, which was thus being formed upon them. Yet the impositions succeeded so well for a time, that an attempt was made in 1785, to establish an office or branch of the Grand Inquisition in the city of New Orleans.—Against this assumption and scourge of despotism, the spirit of the hitherto subservient Frenchmen took fire. They arrayed themselves at once in the most determined hostility against it, and so daring and fearless were they in their opposition, that it was crushed without leading to a collision between the people and the troops. The agent who had the authority to arrange the matter was taken from his bed in the night, and put on shipboard, and sent back to Spain. Thus, ere it saw the light, was strangled one of the most hideous monsters that was ever permitted to prey upon the lives, property, and liberty of an unoffending people. And yet, this was to come into a city, and among a population who had no sympathy with the power that ruled them, nor any motive for obedience except fear and self-preservation; and what is most astonishing in this event, is, that such a system as the Spanish Inquisition should be attempted on this continent, in the midst of the light and spirit of that age, ten years after the announcement to the world of the Declaration of Independence.

FIRST IMPULSE TO COMMERCIAL ENTERPRISE.

Finally, after a few minor vicissitudes, through which the colony passed, up to 1792, Baron Corondelet appeared as Governor. Two years following his appointment, the treaty of St. Lorenzo was entered into between the United States and Spain, by which was granted free navigation to every kind of water craft, belonging to the United States, through the lower waters of the Mississippi. The effect of this treaty at once aroused a spirit of enterprise, and gave an impetus to trade and speculation, which fixed forever the prosperity and preeminence of the crescent city, as the great emporium of the western world. The Spanish Governor, however, not deeming the stipulations of the treaty of sufficient account for his consideration, continued to exercise his authority, much to the detriment of those who had been induced to embark in business, as permitted by the stipulations of the treaty. This interference on the part of the governor, did not much accord with the enterprising spirit of that class of traders who had embarked their all upon the waters of the Mississippi. This class of men differed widely from those with whom the governor had hitherto been accustomed to meet. They were schooled under different teachers than the servile minions of Spain, or the too credulous and confiding Frenchmen, who had long been submissive to his will. But the “live yankee,” and such too, as constituted the boatmen of the Mississippi, had never before crossed his path, and how to meet them, was a task which he was not able to accomplish. The traders from the beginning assumed a position to maintain their rights, and this begat in the governor an impression that they were insolent in the extreme, in daring to oppose his authority. The consequence was, the restrictions upon the traders were more stringent than ever; until finally, by an armed force under Andrew Elliot, the territory was taken possession of, and the refractory governor compelled to acknowledge the stipulations of the treaty and respect the right of the traders. From this time until 1803, the territory was quite prosperous, when Spain re-transferred all her rights and interest to France.

THE PURCHASE OF LOUISIANA.

Immediately following this treaty between France and Spain, on the 30th of April of the same year, France sold the whole territory to the United States, for fifteen millions of dollars. Gen. Wilkinson was ordered to take possession of the new purchase, which he did, amid the rejoicings of the warm hearted Frenchman, whose love of liberty had increased as the galling yoke of his Spanish master bore down upon his neck. To him the day was one that he had long desired, the day for knocking off his chains and throwing them in the face of the insolent Spaniard.—From this hour, the riches of the Mississippi Valley were unlocked. The march of improvement, and the swelling tide of business, poured out her treasures into every clime, and at once determined that this valley was the grand centre to which the extremes and every part of the circle of this vast continent must yield their homage.

STEAM NAVIGATION.

Nine years after this event was an important and memorable era in the scenes of the Mississippi Valley; and never will it be effaced from the memory of the thousands and tens of thousands who lined the banks of the river to witness the crowning efforts of genius, and the almost omnipotent power of man over matter. It was at this time, the first steam boat was taken into the bosom of the father of waters. Although it was but yesterday that the astonished multitude stood amazed, yet they are still there, and are now witnessing thousands of these floating palaces flying to and fro, bearing upon their huge frames the productions of this vast region of our country. In the vision of the master genius of our land, the immortal JEFFERSON, the reality which now lays before us, was vividly drawn up, a short time before he consummated the purchase of Louisiana, and in the language of another it is thus presented:

“The purchase of Louisiana is considered the greatest political event, next to the Revolution, commemorated in American history. The circumstance ought not to be overlooked that this mighty conquest, exceeding in territory the greatest monarchy in Europe, was achieved, without the guilt or calamities of blood, from a military autocrat, whose ceaseless ambition was an universality of empire, and who, in the untamable pursuit of his purpose, went on demolishing nations at a blow, and partitioning the earth at pleasure, until vanquished by the consolidated power of Europe. The mind is lost in the magnificence of the achievement, and the vastness of its consequences; its glories can only be commemorated in the unceasing homage of the unborn millions who will participate of its blessings. ‘There is no country,’ says a writer, ‘like the valley of the Mississippi on the face of the globe. Follow the mighty amphitheatre of rocks that nature has heaped around it. Trace the ten thousand rivers that unite their waters in the mighty Mississippi; count the happy millions that already crowd and animate their banks, loading their channels with a mighty produce. Then see the whole, bound by the hand of nature in claims which God alone can sever, to a perpetual union at one little connecting point; and by that point fastening itself by every tie of interest, consanguinity, and feeling, to the remotest promontory on our Atlantic coast. A few short years have done all this; and yet ages are now before us: ages in which myriads are destined to multiply throughout its wide spread territory, extending the greatness and the happiness of our country from sea to sea. What would we have been without the acquisition of Louisiana? what were we before it? God and nature fixed the unalterable decree, that the nation which held New Orleans should govern the whole of that vast region. France, Spain, and Great Britain, had bent their envious eyes upon it. And their intrigues, if matured, would eventually have torn from us that vast Paradise which reposes upon the western waters.’”

CHARACTER OF THE FIRST SETTLERS.

I have thus given a brief sketch of a few of the leading incidents which tended to bring into existence and develope the resources of this important section of our country. What makes it of so much interest, at this time, is, that its birth and youth, and transformation, as by magic, has been before the eyes of the present generation. Nevertheless, they seem to pass it by as being among the most common incidents in the life-time of every man. It is like the idle tale of a school boy. And here it is proper to call the reader to one important consideration, from which will readily be recognized the causes which have produced this state of things, so peculiar in New Orleans, and which gives a character to this city unlike any other in the world. These causes commenced with the beginning of the settlement, and increased by the frequent changes which so often occurred, in the government and possession of the territory of Louisiana. First came the French adventurer in search of the “Fountain of Immortal Youth.” Then came the bigoted, iron rule of the dark frowning Spaniard; and, mixed up with these, from all parts of the world, were fugitives from justice, disaffected politicians, and desperate adventurers of all descriptions. At length appeared also the shrewd and ever calculating Yankee, with a force and power to leave the unmistaken impress of his guessing nature upon every thing that he laid his hands upon. And finally the poor African, stolen from his native home, was brought to mingle with the heterogeneous mass, and impress his nature and give a shade of character upon the length and breadth, the height and depth of every thing that has had existence in New Orleans. This crushed and down-trodden being came in with the commencement of the cultivation of sugar cane, in 1751. African slaves were sent from the Island of St. Domingo, by the Jesuits, to their brethren in New Orleans, to superintend the making of sugar. From their first introduction, the females have been to all intents and purposes, the wives of both the French and Spanish, and are now the same with the Americans who have taken up their abode here. And in this there has been no respect to color, from the dark sooty black, down to the soft and mellow tinge of the beautiful quadroon. Thus, it will be freely acknowledged, the African has had no small share in impressing the peculiarities of his nature upon the living picture of a life in New Orleans. From this heterogeneous mass, which in the beginning was thrown suddenly and promiscuously together, has originated a state of society differing widely from any other part of the civilized world. And now, as at the beginning, the Spaniard is there, with his low dark brow, concealing deep under its arch the small keen black eye, with snake-like language, which tells of treachery, deceit, and midnight assassination. Here too figures the brilliant, the proud and restless Frenchman, with all the life and animation peculiar to his nature, with his heart constantly running off at his tongue’s end. And now, at every turn, you meet the cool, calculating, determined emigrant from the Northern States, who moves on, with an eye single to the “almighty dollar.” To these may be added, within a few years past, the warm-hearted son of the Emerald Isle, together with the cold and ever measured tread of the plodding Dutchman. And to complete the picture, in this mixed mass of living beings the neat and tidy Quadroon is seen, civil, courteous, unassuming in all his manners, yet with a down cast look, indicative of a deep realizing sense of the damning curse that rests upon him in consequence of the yellow tinge of his brow.

THE FLAT-BOATMEN.

And now to be considered alone, and distinct, that nondescript of all human demonstrations, are the “Flat Boatmen,” of the Mississippi River. Of this class there are annually visiting the city of New Orleans not less than ten thousand, and yet when there, that is their home. They are, indeed, an amphibious race of beings, living on land or water, and always enjoying the comforts of a hotel wherever night overtakes them. They belong, however, to the Mississippi, and are, to the length and breadth of that mighty river, what the wild Arab is to the deserts of Arabia. Daring and fearless, they never regard danger, as more than the common incidents of every day life. In their composition, they present the striking features and peculiarities of the disciplined sailor, the fearless whaleman, and the bold and strong backwoodsman, added to all the free and social qualities of the well educated New Englander. And while combining, and being made up of such traits of character, they present a class distinct, original, eccentric, and unique; yet, with all the better attributes of the human soul cultivated to a high degree, presenting a noble and generous nature, and as warm a heart as ever beat in the human breast. This class of “half horse and half alligator,” as they claim to be, have borne such a conspicuous part in the great Valley of the Mississippi, that a better view of their character cannot be given than the following narrative, taken from the lips of the celebrated James Girty, a short time before his death.

“In the year 1814, I was captain of the barge Black Snake, belonging to the Poyntz’s at Maysville. I started with the barge, about two-thirds loaded, for New Orleans, in the latter part of November. When I reached the mouth of Cumberland, I found a considerable quantity of arms belonging to the United States, which had been despatched from Pittsburgh for the troops engaged under General Jackson, in the defence of New Orleans. They had been taken down thus far, depending on an engagement made with Ben Smith of Cincinnati, under which he had contracted to deliver them within a given time at New Orleans. The government agent had been waiting some days for Smith, who had not yet made his appearance; and finding an opportunity offering, and fearing they would be needed, immediately decided to send them by me. I made all possible despatch, and happily succeeded in reaching New Orleans with my precious freight on the 3d of January, 1815. Eager to have a hand in the approaching battle, I reported myself immediately to Gen. Jackson, who gave me the appointment of Captain, with authority to impress into service the whole body of barge and keel-boat men in port. I entered on the work without delay, and with great activity and success. You know as much as I can tell you of the glorious 8th. After every thing in the shape of a red coat had disappeared, I discharged the remaining part of the cargo and crew, for which last I had no further use until I could get a freight up the river, which I did not get until the latter part of May, when I hired a crew and started for Pittsburgh. I reached Natchez in June. It was the custom of those days to give the hands a holiday at Natchez, one at the mouth of the Ohio, and one also at Louisville or Shippingsport.—It was four o’clock in the afternoon that we threw up our poles and fastened our bowlines at Natchez. The men were eager for a dance, and some would not wait even for their supper, scampering off to the dance houses under the hill. I got my supper and went up also. I looked on until 11 or 12 at night, when finding all my entreaties to get them back to the boat unavailing, I left them, some engaged in dancing, others betting with the gamblers on the Roulettes, and went on board the Black Snake. As the day dawned, all hands were also at their posts, but in a wretched plight, many of them having their heads badly cut and bruised.

“It seems the gamblers had won all their money, and a fight ensued, in which those gentry came off victorious. After breakfast, I judged by the threats of the hands, and other circumstances, that it would be advisable to get the Black Snake under way; but on giving orders to that effect, not a man would raise a pole, until he had had his accustomed frolic out, and I was compelled to give way, determining in my own mind, to leave at 4 o’clock, when the day of privilege would be out. When that hour came, it was of no use to propose starting, none of the men would budge, until they had obtained revenge; and they had privately agreed that they would not assist me up any farther, if I would not go with them and help whip the gamblers.

“I saw there was no alternative, and after supper, I repaired with my whole crew to the dance house, armed with knives, chopping axes and setting poles. The gamblers had expected us and were prepared with pistols, knives, and rifles, for the fight. The scrimmage commenced without exchanging a word. At first they gave us hard usage, but their ammunition was soon spent, and they gave way, bearing three of their number off who were killed in the scuffle. One of our men was mortally wounded, who made out to walk to the boat, where he died in half an hour. We cut cable and crossed the Mississippi, worked the Black Snake three miles up the river, and came to for the night. About day-light next morning, while burying the dead man, the Sheriff of Adams county and a posse of almost an hundred men, came up and made us all prisoners.

“They left a man of the party in charge of the barge, and took us all down to the ferry-boat and across to Natchez, where we were brought before a judge and tried. No evidence being found against any but myself and Bill Lloyd, one of my hands, the rest of the crew were set free, while Bill and I were sent to Washington jail; my barge was sent on, and I was detained to stay in jail until Court, which was to sit the first Monday in October. After I had been in jail about two weeks, one of the Associate Judges of the Court by which I was to be tried, came out to Washington to see me. I found in him an old Pennsylvania acquaintance, on whom I had some claims. He gave me poor encouragement, telling me he feared the Court would not let me out on bail. I told him I had $2,700, which I could leave with my security. Still he discouraged me. He said the evidence was point-blank against me and Lloyd, but promised he would call again, ordering the jailor to see that I did not want for anything that lay in his power to give, and bade me good-bye. In about a week, he came again, and told me he had succeeded in making it a bailable case of $3,000, and had also obtained a man to go my security. The door was opened. I gave the Judge $2,700 and the necessary security.—The Judge advised me to leave immediately, and never show myself in Natchez, saying he would willingly pay the $3,000, if I would keep away. I told him I would be in Washington at the sitting of the Court, if I lived—on this I was determined. That afternoon I wrote a letter to a friend of mine in Natchez, who was a woman that kept a dance-house—now living and wealthy, and of course, respectable—requesting her to get clear of the evidence against me. I received an answer to this next morning, assuring me I need fear nothing; that I might make my appearance at the proper time with perfect safety, for there would be no one present to witness against me. I left Natchez the same day, on foot for Pittsburgh, which I reached in the latter part of July. I lost no time collecting money, and gathered up $1,500, and started in a large covered skiff on my return to Natchez. This was the last of August. My skiff had two pairs of oars, and I took three yankees on board to work their passage as far as Cincinnati, and the oars were plied night and day till we got there. At Cincinnati I hired a man to help me the rest of the way down; by the time we reached Louisville, he got tired and ran off. I went over Falls by myself, and landed at Shippingsport in search of another hand, and the first man that met my eye was Bill Lloyd. You may guess my astonishment. My first words were, “Why, Bill, how did you get out of jail?” “Oh,” said he, “it got so d—d sickly among the thieving scoundrels in there, that the jailer was glad to open my door to get me to take charge of the sick. I opened the door for the rest, and all went out that could walk out, and then I walked off to the mouth of Tennessee, and there I got a chance to push up on that keel-boat there,” said he, pointing to it. “Well, Bill, you need not fear anything while you are with me,” I remarked; “I am going back to stand my trial, and I want to hire a hand to help me down. The river is low, and if I don’t get some good hand to help me row, I fear I shan’t get there in time.” In short, I agreed to give Bill a dollar a day, and to let him off at Walnut Hills: so he came on with his horn and blanket, and we were off in a jiffy. Bill was a worthless fellow, and I knew it, but he was a stout and good oarsman. He had not been long with me, till he found out that my chest was heavy, and I watched him close. When we were near the mouth of the Ohio, he became dissatisfied, and objected to going any further towards Natchez, proposed to go trapping up the Mississippi, insisting there could be a great deal made on the Missouri, with other suggestions of the sort. I paid little attention to his statements or arguments, keeping down the Mississippi, and told him, if he wanted to stop, to do so; as for me, I should go on to Natchez. He said no more until we were in the bend above Beef Island, when he broke out afresh, accusing me of suspicioning him of a wish to rob me. I told him I was not afraid of him in any shape. A fight ensued, which I knew must end in the death of one or the other, with the skiff and my money for the victor’s spoils. After much struggling, I put him overboard. I set the blade of an oar against him, shoving him off from the skiff, then thrusting the oar to him, told him to save his life. He made no other reply, than to clench the oar and threw it back to me, telling me to “go to hell,” and swimming about fifty yards, safely reached the head of Beef Island. I landed at Natchez at one o’clock, and on the morning of the first Monday in October, I left the skiff, and with my chest on my shoulder, walked up to the dance-house. My friend was still up, as were several more. I deposited my chest with her, and looking around the room, I espied the most important witness against me. I turned to her, reminding her of the promise she had made me. She told me she had been trying to get rid of him all summer; that he was the only evidence against me left in the country, and that she would yet get him out of the way. I observed the time was short, and calling him forward, told him I would give him five hundred dollars to leave the place that morning, and not appear against me. He swore there was no use to talk to him, for he had braved the worst of the yellow fever for the purpose of remaining there and appearing against me, and I might depend upon it, he would be on the spot when called to testify. My friend said, never fear, all would be right; and as I was about bidding her and witness good-bye, proposed that we should take a gin-sling together. She mixed one for witness, one for me, and one for herself. Having all drank, I started for Washington, and reached there by 9 o’clock. Being quite tired, I lay down on the door-step and directly fell fast asleep and did not awake until the sheriff, calling the Court, awoke me. Every body seemed astonished at my presence. My case was the first one called. I answered to my name, and when the judge enquired of me if I was ready for trial, my counsel did not happen to be present, and I answered that I was as ready then as I ever should be; that I had no evidence when I was sent to jail, and had none now. The attorney for the State directed the Sheriff to call his witnesses, to see if he was ready for trial, who called 11 names in succession, not one of whom was present, but some one answered, name by name, as they were called, what had become of them. Some had left the country, and some had died of the yellow fever, until the name of the one I had left in Natchez was called, and the answer was that he had died that morning at half past eight. There being no evidence against me, I was, of course, discharged, and returned the same evening to Natchez. I asked my friend what had caused the fellow’s death who was to have been the witness. She said she supposed it was in the course of nature, nor could I, then or afterwards, get any satisfaction from her on this point. Next day, I called on my security, settled my business with him, then went to my friend’s house, opened my chest, and counted out $500 for her. She perceived what I was doing, and told me, if I wanted to make her my enemy for life, I could have a chance, and if I dared to offer her money, she would blow my brains out. I made several excuses to induce her to take the money, saying that I owed it to her honestly for her kind treatment of me, and that I did not mean anything dishonorable by it. She remained resolute, and said if I wanted to continue friends with her, I must not offer her money. I then bade her good-bye, and before dark, my chest and skiff and myself were all on the way to New Orleans.”

For one to look upon the visage of such a man as Girty, there would at once arise a suspicion of damning deeds, as dark and dread as his own sun-burnt brow; yet in him was always found an integrity of purpose, from which many in the higher walks of life, could learn a lesson, and profit by it. In his time, thousands of dollars’ worth of property and money were confided to his care, and accounted for to the last farthing. Nor was he ever known to break an engagement, or betray a trust.

And now the reader has before him all that New Orleans is to-day, and from this mass of elements is constituted its society; and certainly, short-sighted indeed must be any one who cannot in some decree anticipate the leading features which would be presented from such a mingling of the impulses of human passion, and form some opinion of the perfect Babel of human tongues, as well as human actions, that is found there.

CITY GOVERNMENT AND POLICE.

There is not a city in the United States so well regulated, and so thorough in enforcing laws and regulations, as are the authorities of the city of New Orleans. And in no place is a person, in purse and property, more safe, at all times of day and night, and in every part of the city. And yet, in this respect, it is far different from what is understood by the people of the Northern States. The impression exists with almost every one, that to walk the streets at night, or to be caught in the suburbs of the city, the bowie knife, the dirk, and the pistol, will be the first thing to flash in his face; and to escape the gang of assassins is impossible. But far from this are the facts. Even females can walk the streets after dark without an attendant, and be perfectly secure from insult or molestation.

The city is divided into three municipalities, each being under a distinct and separate government. Hence, no doubt, a strife arises, in enacting and enforcing wholesome and salutary laws, at least so far as security for person and property are concerned. Certainly there are fewer murders, robberies, and burglaries, according to the population, than in any other place in the civilized world of its size. Another very important and very salutary regulation is, the disposition they make of vagrants. A man appearing ragged, dissipated, and degraded, and laying about the streets, without any visible means of support, either by labor or money, is arrested and taken before the Recorder, and unless he can make some show for himself, he is sentenced to the work house for sixty or ninety days, and in all this transaction you find no low unprincipled pettifogger, as is the case in New York, volunteer to defend him. Such an interference by a lawyer, in New Orleans, would forever disgrace him. After the vagrant has served his time of sentence out, you will see him make his way out of the city, cursing the very stones on which he treads, not even venturing to look behind him, fearing that he may be again arrested before he can escape. The effect of this stringent regulation is to keep the city entirely clear of this class of day and night peculators. It is also a note of warning to that horde of plunderers and robbers who operate on a larger scale; for they are sure there will be no favor shown them by a pettifogging construction of the laws, nor flaws found in the indictment, by which he can escape against the evidence of his guilt. And in more than this, you will find New Orleans differing from other cities. You cannot find here a coat of mail thrown around the culprit by the influence of money, through which the law cannot penetrate. Neither can you find in the halls of justice, a back-door avenue by which you can reach the jury box, or the prosecuting attorney, or the Court. Hence the vicious are cautious how they lay their hands on their neighbor’s property, and woe to him who invades his neighbor’s rights, so as to fall within the meshes of the law. These regulations and features in the government of the city are the only wholesome rules of which it can boast, and present the only redeeming trait in the whole frame-work of its laws, its manners or customs, except the system of common schools.

COMMON SCHOOLS.

The system of common schools is deserving of more than a passing remark; yet what is due, in commendation of such a gem in the midst of such a mass of corruption, cannot be allowed within the compass of the design of these pages. Suffice, however, to say, that it is one of the most perfect models for common school education ever instituted, and it is to be hoped that other, and older States, may profit by the example. The citizens of Louisiana feel a pride in this great work, and well may they. In particular the citizens of New Orleans should be proud of this monument of their wisdom and benificence. Some of the municipal arrangements of this system, are as follows. Large and commodious buildings are erected, to which all the children of a certain district are sent. Each school is divided into four classes, according to the ability and knowledge of the child. When they have passed the several departments, and been subjected to the rigid and thorough examinations which are necessary in passing from one to the other, and have gone through and received a diploma, they are qualified to enter the junior class of any college in the United States. And here the road is open to all, the poor as well as the rich, the system forbidding any distinction, and to all classes free of expense for every thing which the pupils require for instruction, in books, maps, charts, and other materials, all of which are furnished by the State.

THE LOCATION OF THE CITY.

To give the reader a correct idea of the city of New Orleans, and the great curse to which it will ever be exposed, it is important to know its peculiar location. The range of country along the banks of the Mississippi, is called the coast, commencing about forty miles below and about sixty miles from what is called the “Balize.” This is a term signifying a sea mark, or pole elevated as a guide for seamen, and this was done by those who first made the discovery of the mouth of the Mississippi. No other term is now used, but “Balize,” when going out of the river. The coast is a narrow strip of low, flat land, from one to two miles wide, and in rear of which, running nearly parallel with the river, is deep, dismal swamp land, filled with legions of the most deadly, poisonous snakes, and herds of alligators. This belt of land is perfectly level, until it meets a ridge at “Baton Rouge,” on the east side of the river, about one hundred and twenty-five miles above the city. The soil is a deep black sandy alluvial, of great fertility, and seems not to deteriorate by cultivation. This whole coast along the river is now occupied by the sugar planter, and for nearly eight months in the year the eye of the traveler sees nothing before him but the waving sugar cane, presenting one unbroken livid landscape of the most beautiful green ever beheld upon the lap of nature.

The city is located on the west bank of the river, and the wide and graceful sweep which the river takes at this point, in crescent shape, crowds it far back into the belt of land, leaving but a narrow space between the river and the swamp. This swamp is several miles wide, skirting the rear of the city the whole length, and into this mud hole, the water and filth (what little passes off) are taken. This boiling fountain of death is one of the most dismal, low and horrid places, on which the light of the sun ever shone. And yet there it lies under the influence of a tropical heat, belching up its poison and malaria, from whence it is constantly being swept through the city, feeding the living mass of human beings who stand there, ready, as it were, to take down the dregs of the seven vials of wrath, that is incessantly being poured out upon them. Another evil is, the city, by the bend of the river, is thrown so near the swamp that the range of land on which it stands, is exceedingly low. Consequently, during a rain or in a wet season, it is almost entirely under water, and always after a heavy shower, or several days of damp wet weather. The state of the atmosphere and heat are such that in a few hours the water in the gutters and in the yards and vacant lots, becomes covered with a yellow greenish scum, in which there appears to be a fermentation, which you can distinctly hear, as you pass along the side-walk.

SOURCES OF DISEASE.

In connection of the swamp, is being thrown off, unceasingly, from the whole surface, in and around the city, one dense sheet of thick malaria. And to thicken this up, and add to its qualities, the whole city, from one extreme to the other, is filled with the most filthy masses of stench and corruption, that were ever suffered to remain above ground in a community claiming to be decent or civilized. In proof of this, go to that part of the city where you would certainly expect neatness and order, and look for some place to locate, to escape the steam and odor from piles of filth, and you will find on one side or the other of almost every dwelling, a horse stable, a mule yard, a negro pen, or piles of offals, from some lane or alley, which have been there from time immemorial. Again, you may look for a desirable dwelling, but none can you find, unless on one side or the other is a miserable shanty or hovel, filled with the most degraded human beings, either black or white. In further proof of what New Orleans is, in this respect, the following incident will give some idea of what is found there. In the summer of 1847, during the rage of the yellow fever, when hundreds were dying daily, the citizens and authorities, from some cause which I believe has never yet been made public, and perhaps only known to but few, got an impression, that filth and corruption might possibly beget disease. Consequently they appointed a committee of examination to search the city, to ascertain if any thing could be found that would have such a tendency. In this arrangement, a very worthy and efficient gentleman, Mr. N., was assigned to Gravior, one of the principal streets in the second municipality. While on his mission he went into the chamber of a house, but a few rods in rear of the St. Charles Hotel, occupied by an Irish family, and while conversing with the lady of the house, his attention was attracted to another room by a noise like the grunting of swine, yet for the moment, he concluded it could not possibly be up chamber. The report, however, soon came again, and was so convincing that he arose and opened the door, and to his astonishment met an old sow nursing five pigs, which she had reared in that room, until they were almost large enough to become gentlemen hogs. And this is life in New Orleans. In connection with all this, every mouthful of food a person gets on the table is a mass of poison, disease and death. I refer now to meats, of every description. The animals of all kinds, to supply the city, are brought down from the upper States, bordering on the Ohio and Mississippi, in Steam Boats, and are, generally, from ten to fifteen days on the passage. They are forced into a change in food, water and other circumstances, during the passage. They eat but very little, and when they arrive in the city, are in a state of starvation; and in this condition are killed, and taken into the markets. Now this meat is as improper for the table as if the animal had died of ship fever; for the whole body is in a state of feverish inflammation, produced by the change of diet and the starving condition in which the animal is when killed. Consequently, the meat must produce a deleterious influence upon the health of those who eat it.

To present clearly, the condition that meats are in, when taken into the markets, the following facts are given. The Steamer Dove, in her trip to New Orleans, in Oct. 1848, was completely covered on her deck with coops full of chickens, as thick as could be crowded in, amounting to several thousand. The passage was long and tedious. For two days after being taken on board, the poultry began to sicken and die. The number dying daily increased, and for two or three days, before we arrived in the city, a large number died. On arriving, those living were immediately sold, and the next day, many of them were on the tables of the Hotels and boarding houses. Now if these chickens were wholesome, and proper food to be eaten, and would promote “health and long LIFE,” then may we look for health in consuming the pent up damps and vapors of the dungeon or an emigrant ship. It is also in almost a putrid condition that butter and preserved meats are received, and they both have generally a rancid and forbidding taste and smell. Vegetables may be classed with other things, for they are usually produced by a forced growth; consequently, cannot become healthy and vigorous plants.

WATER IN NEW ORLEANS.

And now comes the water, and while I am writing, before me stands a tumbler of as pure water as was ever thrown from the bosom of the earth; hence those who have been in New Orleans, can fully realize that I can well appreciate the contrast. To dig a well and procure water in New Orleans, is a very easy matter; for you would have it, for more than two thirds of the time, even with the surface of the ground, and never, in the dryest time, more than a foot below. To drink freely of this water, no person would probably live but a short time. To furnish a supply of water for dwellings, every house has a cistern, from ten to fifteen feet high, standing above ground, for rain water. This water is used for drinking, cooking, and washing. Standing as this cistern does, exposed to the heat of the sun, the water becomes exceedingly warm, and always has a brackish, insipid taste. Another supply of water, to those who prefer it, is from the river. It is taken through the main part of the city in pipes, and this is the most disgusting and loathsome beverage, that a person ever put to his lips. To have some proper conception of this water, for drink, call to mind the filth from cities, towns, and villages, for an extent of two thousand miles, together with the dregs that are constantly being poured off from ten thousand boats of every class, from the floating palace of the magnificent “Autocrat,” down to the shabby coal carriers of the Monongahela, which are constantly floating upon its surface. And then look at the dirty gurgling mass, as it rolls along, and constantly boiling up from the bottom: dip up a tumbler full, each of which is thick with what you may call “mud,” if you please, and each glass-full will have at least, when left to settle, a tea spoon full of this “delicious” mud; and I am sure, it being so well mixed, that no other “mud” can be found as rich as this. Yet those who live here, along the range of the Mississippi, drink it, and say they “like it.” But one thing is as certain as any cause and effect, that a more frightful source of disease does not exist in the Mississippi Valley, than the use of the river water for drink. As evidence of this, is the change it produces with almost every person when he commences taking it. The effect is a very powerful alterative influence upon the system, terminating as thorough as the most drastic cathartic. This derangement, in a majority of cases, follows with great obstinacy for weeks, and often months, baffling all remedies. The effect is a great irritation of the mucous coat of the stomach and alimentary canal, resulting in extreme prostration of the physical powers, and a general derangement of the whole system; thus rendering it an easy prey to the various diseases peculiar to a hot southern climate. Now, all these causes, and all the circumstances by which the inhabitants of New Orleans are surrounded, together with the excessive dissipation, in every manner prompted by human passion, make that city, as it truly is, “one great charnel house.”—Although there are periods when New Orleans is called “very healthy;” yet that time is, when the Yellow “Jack,” the Cholera, or “Danza,” is not sweeping the inhabitants off by scores every day. At all other times, while the mortality is three times as great as any other city of its size, with corresponding sickness, yet you will then hear, that it is “exceedingly healthy.” But notwithstanding all these reports, New Orleans never can be healthy. As well could health be enjoyed while living upon the adder’s breath, or breathing the odor from the deadly Upas tree.

POPULATION.

The population of New Orleans is about one hundred thousand, and this includes that portion who reside there during the fall and winter months. The number who may be regarded as residents, according to the proper understanding of what constitutes a residence, will probably not exceed sixty or seventy thousand. There is doubtless, every winter, a transient population of thirty or forty thousand, who spend from six to eight months in the city, and as soon as the warm season commences, take their departure in swarms, as regular as wild geese do from the North on the first appearance of a flake of snow. But on the return of cold weather they are not all of them found to return; for, as a general thing, a large majority get enough of New Orleans in one season. And separate from the Creole population, or that portion who are descendants of the first settlers, the French and Spanish, I do not think there is one in twenty of the residents of New Orleans, men who are now in business, who design to spend their days in the City. They are now, however, engaged in a routine of business that fixes them there for a time; yet they are firmly resolved, at no distant day, to seek another home. But before that time will be determined upon, by many who are now moving in the busy scenes of that fated City, they will be taken to a house and a resting place that will be more certain and unchanging than the bed of that mighty river which will forever pour its immense flood into the bosom of the Ocean. To the man of middle life, when he begins to turn the “descending scale,” and the warm current of his youthful blood begins to cool, and run sluggish through the channels of life, and before the bright visions of his fancy begin to flit the dark clouds of the uncertain future, to such a man will New Orleans present no charms, and the longer he remains there, will its varied and blighting realities appear more and more desolating. The Creole population know no other home, and consequently have nothing before them from which to make a comparison that will enable them to appreciate a higher and better state of existence. Hence they will always be found there. But to the adventurer, he who has come in from the Northern States, and whose early life is filled up with the impressions of the pure and wholesome associations of a well educated, refined and moral people, this City presents nothing that can call up the pleasing and delightful scenes of his early days, but the contrast is calculated to beget an insatiable hankering for his early home.

THE CREOLES.

The Creole population of New Orleans are a peculiar and singular people. And here it is proper to explain who are recognized as Creoles, for I find, that almost without exception, every person of the North understands the term, Creole, to mean that portion of the inhabitants who are, more or less, shaded with African blood; and in short, the impression is, that when you speak of them you are speaking of those called Quadroons. Yet they believe that in this class are included those of a much darker shade than the yellow persons or mulattoes who come strictly within the class of quarter-blooded Africans or Quadroons. The term Creole simply means native born. The Creoles are principally descendants of the French and Spanish settlers. They are exceedingly genteel, civil and courteous, and in all the embellishments that adorn the gentleman and lady, they excel, and in all their articles of dress they exhibit a degree of taste and perfection in arrangement, that makes them easily recognized in the common walks of life as well as in the promiscuous assembly. And yet they are strongly attached to the footsteps and ways of their fathers, and are exceedingly cautious in preserving their identity, and consequently do not desire to become familiar with the manners and custom of those “Goths and Vandals,” who have come down upon them from the North. This portion of the population of New Orleans reside principally in the first municipality, which is now the center of the City. The second municipality, or American part, as it is termed, is above, and the third is below. In the third, the inhabitants are a mixed mass, of all nations, kindreds, people, and tongues. The Creoles being thus hemmed in, are gradually yielding and giving way to the superior energy and force of character and adaptation to business of those who surround them, and have given tone and vigor to every thing of a business nature in New Orleans. Hence, the Creole reads in the future his destiny, and is compelled to reflect that what he now looks upon as Vandalism, will ere long crush every thing of his name and character in the dust. This foreshadowing of his doom makes him jealous of his more busy neighbors, and oftentimes, in view of the change that is going on like magic before him, he becomes exceedingly captious, and thus forbids himself to become social with his Yankee neighbors. But the immutable laws of population which will ever make the weak give room for the strong, force of character, influence and power of change in associations, the ingenuity and adaptation to business of those who surround them, and who already begin to mark them as their prey, will take every thing from their hands, and leave them in the shades of oblivion, only to be found by the cold and speechless marble that marks their final resting place.

SPLENDID BUILDINGS.

Of costly and splendid buildings in New Orleans, there are but very few worthy of note. The St. Charles Hotel, however, presents the proudest monument of that city, and of buildings of that character it stands unrivalled, and without a comparison in the world. This magnificent establishment, in size and beauty, in its external appearance, and architectural designs, impresses upon the beholder that sublimity and grandeur, which perfection in the science of architecture is ever calculated to produce. The most casual observer, when unconsciously brought to view this speaking monument, feels an awe stealing over him, which at once charms him into the stillness of a statue; and he stands a silent gazer upon that tongueless yet speaking mass before him. There are other buildings in our country that are costly and magnificent in structure; yet in comparison to the St. Charles Hotel they fail in that speaking eloquence which it is the power of perfection in the science of architecture to display.

This immense structure was commenced in the spring of 1835 by an incorporated company, and was completed in three years.—The entire cost of the building was between five and six hundred thousand dollars. The front, on St. Charles Street, as viewed in passing down, presents a projecting portico of six Corinthian columns, standing on a granite basement, and four similar columns, on each side of the portico, ranging with the front wall of the centre part of the building. Behind these four columns is an open space, one hundred and forty feet long, covered with large granite slabs, thus affording a wide and extensive range for promenading. The entrance to the bar-room is on the front of the portico, in the basement, on each side of which is a range of stores in front. It occupies the centre of the main building, and is octangular, or eight square, and is seventy feet in diameter and twenty feet high. To support the floor above, is a range of heavy Ionic columns, in a circle round the room. In rear of this is a bathing establishment, consisting of fourteen rooms, perfectly arranged, and adapted to warm or cold baths. In the basement also are the wine and liquor cellars, store house, and other domestic apartments, necessary for such an immense establishment. The saloon, or reception room, for gentlemen, in which also is the office, is directly over the bar-room, and of equal size. In the centre of this room commences a winding stair-case, that leads through the upper stories to the dome. As it ascends up, in each story, around the stair way, is a space or gallery, that leads into a suite of bed rooms. The gentlemen’s dining room is one hundred and twenty feet long, fifty wide, and twenty-two feet high, beautifully finished in the Corinthian order of architecture. The floor above is supported by two rows of columns, arranged so as to give space for four tables, through the whole length of the rooms. The ladies’ dining room is in another part of the building, entirely separate, and is fifty two feet long and thirty six wide. The angle in front, and to the right of the portico, is the ladies drawing room, and is forty feet long and thirty two wide. The gentlemen’s sitting room is also in front, on the opposite side of the building, to the left of the portico. It is thirty eight feet square. There are, in the whole establishment, three hundred and fifty-two rooms, besides nine private parlors, with bedrooms adjoining. These rooms, throughout the whole building, are furnished with a taste and elegance, unsurpassed by any other Hotel in this or any other country. To complete and perfect this magnificent structure, a dome, in diameter and heighth, surmounts the centre of the building, that appears so perfectly in harmony with all the other parts, that to add to or diminish it would seem to destroy every line of beauty, which is now so richly displayed.—And yet to finish and fill up the conceptions of the imagination, on the top of this dome, away in the dizzy height, is a beautiful Corinthian turret, that keeps up, in its proportion, the image of perfection, that looks out from every part of this unrivalled specimen of architecture. The dome is fifty-six feet in diameter, and around this, at a distance of eleven feet, is a range of columns that support the projecting cap of the dome, thus making a beautiful gallery for promenade, from whence the eye can range at a glance over the whole city, and trace in the far distance the windings of the rushing tide of many waters that lays before it.

The influence that this vast and magnificent structure has upon every one, is such that it places every other building in New Orleans so far in the back ground, that they will not receive even a passing notice. The St. Louis Hotel, however, is a building of much elegance and taste, yet presenting nothing remarkable to attract the attention of the passer by, except its immense size and the space it occupies. It fills the entire block, between Royal and Chartre Street, fronting on St. Louis, three hundred and ten feet, and on Royal and Chartre, in width, one hundred and twenty.—The original design of this immense building, was for a City Exchange, a Bank and Stores, a Hotel, and a large dancing room, in imitation of the Saloons of Paris. For a Hotel, the arrangements for such are, perhaps, the most complete and perfect of any other in the world; yet it has failed in every particular in being sustained, and this is in consequence of its location, being in the first municipality, or the French part of the city. Hence it can never become the resort of business men, or him who comes in for pasttime or pleasure. The determination of every thing in New Orleans is in another direction, and nothing hereafter will succeed unless it comes within the range of the American part of the City,—the second municipality. It is of no use to try in any other part, for “Capt. Scott” is there, and they may as well “give in” and “come down,” first as last, for they will surely be killed, if they don’t. There are no other buildings of note, or any that will rank with the common average in cities generally.

THE OLD SPANISH CATHEDRAL.

Perhaps, however, as an exception to this, may be considered the “Old Spanish Cathedral,” or Church of St. Louis. It stands in the centre of the “Crescent” and also of the City, overlooking the “Place d’Armes” or Parade Square. This unique and singular structure forcibly impresses the stranger by its ancient and venerable appearance, and is calculated to excite in the beholder, suspicion, that within its cold and gloomy walls have been perpetrated, dark and damning deeds, on which will dawn no light, until that time shall come when the crimes which have been committed within pent up walls, and in the dark haunts of vice, and under the fall of midnight, shall be spread out upon the long scroll that eternity has been rolling up. But the suspicion, that wrong or an impious act has been done within these consecrated doors, or within view of those sacred altars, would be sacrilege indeed, although it has stood here for more than half a century, and is now bearing upon its floor the footprints of three generations who have daily assembled here, and bowed in humble reverence and adoration before the image of their Savior. Yet could it reveal and unfold the records of the “confessional,” what tales of bleeding penitence—what strange and incomprehensible impulses of the human heart, would here be developed. But all these things are locked in the silent chambers of death, and rest with that venerable old man, Pere Antonio de Sedella, who was Curate of the parish for nearly fifty years. His image will live in the memory of succeeding generations, for the story of his virtues and the overflowings of his warm and generous heart will be told by the happy recipients of his favors, and impressed upon the records of every age. He was gathered to the home of his fathers in 1837, in the fullness of days, at the age of ninety years. His remains were deposited within these sacred walls, and lie buried at the foot of the altar where for half a century he daily knelt, presenting the case of some wayward and wandering child, who had poured into his ear, confessing the deeds and errors of the carnal heart, beseeching him, in the spirit of true penitence, to ask for mercy at the throne of grace.

PUBLIC GROUNDS.

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.

THE PLACE D’ARMES.

What a queer neighborhood is that in the immediate vicinity of the Place d’Armes, in the First Municipality! A stranger can scarce realize that he is in an American city, so foreign an air pervades the vicinage. There one beholds the time-worn buildings of the old Spanish architects of the last century, crumbling and mouldering slowly away. In a few short years they will be numbered among the things which were, and in their places will soon spring up smart rows of brand new brick buildings, rejoicing in all the freshness of newly moulded clay and coatings of bright fresh paint, looking as if age could never creep on them and sap their foundations, loosen the mortar, rot the heavy beams and joists, cause great chinks and cracks to open in the walls and the roof, letting the rain and wind in to assist in the work of ruin and decay. Even the old Place d’Armes itself has a queer, ancient, foreign look. The tall and aged sycamores, with the brown bark peeled off in great blotches from their trunks, leaving white-bald places; the dead and crackling branches, the dying leaves, changed by the approach of winter, but still clinging pertinaciously to the parent stock as if loth to fall and perish, seem to moan and mourn as the wind whistles through them, at the desolation which has crept into that old square. Where are its trim well-kept walks, where its neat benches, on which many a lover has uttered his devotion to his mistress and received from her lips his judgment? Where those gay promenaders, full of life and hope, uttering soft nothings and prattling in foreign tongues of la Belle France, or of deeds in old Spain! Where those children, rosy cheeked and cherry lipped, lightly bounding over the smooth grass and indulging in the pure and innocent sports of childhood, known only to that happy state of existence? Generations have slipped away while those old trees have been growing there—death has gathered them in by scores, and the cemeteries still tell the time when they retired to their quiet homes from the cares of the world forever. Bright wreaths of gay flowers sometimes may be seen upon the final receptacles of some of those old frequenters; evergreens growing around their graves, wetted by the tears of those in whose breasts the memory of the departed dwells ever. Where is the little fountain that once spouted so gaily in the centre of the square? where those funny, finny little denizens of the basin, in whose sportiveness the children took so much delight? Fish or fountain exist no longer; the little dolphins who never wagged their little tails, and who kept continually blowing little jets of water from their mouths—the plaster naiads, who watched over all, with a perpetual smile upon their lips, are gone also. The basin is filled up, and the next generation can only learn that there was once a fountain there! There is one old relic left yet—the black old gun which has bellowed forth from its great round throat a command to all blacks to get home as soon as possible, night after night, for many a long year. There stands the stout and hale old fellow yet, with iron constitution, affected but slightly by the hand of Time, and looking like some weather-beaten old veteran of the wars, who has been banged about a good deal, stood fire in frequent campaigns, but is still as rough and tough as the best youngster in the service.

Then there is the old cathedral, with its old towers and turrets frowning—all old places are by special poetical license invested with the power of frowning—over all, flanked on each side by the Court House and Municipal Hall, built in the olden time, and though furbished up, and whitewashed, and painted, still bearing the date of their origin upon them as plainly as the black looking ancient Cathedral. Those bells, too, in what time they first tolled a knell or rang for the quiet rest of some departed soul we cannot now tell. For many a year they have been cracked, but still are made to perform their office morning, noon and night, in obedience to the will of the founder of the Cathedral. No ghosts would infest those belfries or their neighborhood. In front stand a string of crazy old hacks and cabs, jingling jarvies and barouches, built long and long ago; the horses have a dejected air, and exhibit many points of a character which would indicate that they subsisted, like chameleons, upon very thin air, or dragged on a miserable existence in hopes of better days, living upon the force of imagination merely. You will be told, though, that these nags, “rum ’uns to look at though they be,” are “reg’lar good ’uns to go.” The drivers are mostly negroes who indulge in bad French and drink root beer at the stand of the fat old black woman at the corner. On one side of the square we have drinking houses, cafes and restaurants—scarce any thing else. The corner is the resort of all the inhabitants of the region, a well kept place, where persons can indulge in dominoes, strong cafe and all sorts of drinks from orange flower water and eau sucre up to Cogniac. Every afternoon it is thronged, and a babel like confusion prevails from the mixture of languages, French, Spanish, German, Italian and English. In the same row of buildings is the well known Cafe de Quatre Saisons, and Victor’s restaurant, one of the crack places of resort in the city, where bon vivants and epicures have a decided propensity to congregate. On the opposite side is the queerest combination of trades. Here is a depot of the fruits of Pomona, with stacks of apples, piles of oranges, strings of bananas, baskets of pecans, walnuts and shell-barks; little monuments of guava jelly and pyramids of cocoa nuts, piled up like cannon balls. Presiding over all is a stout, olive colored Spaniard, in a striped guernsey shirt and fur cap—he is the deputy of the goddess, handles her luscious offerings and pockets the proceeds. Side by side with this is a hardware store, with long-legged spiders, and griddles, and sprawling gridirons; podgy, apopleptic looking iron pots and wide-mouthed copper kettles; casks of spike, coils of wire, shelves of knives and forks; packages of locks and bolts and bars and hooks, mute commentators upon the dishonesty of mankind. Then comes another fruit depot, another and another, all looking exactly alike, arranged the same and all attended by individuals of the same pattern. Hardware, perishable fruits and spirits are the commodities exclusively dealt in in this row. How the second story is occupied no one can say. The balcony railings are usually hung with damp and dingy looking clothes, sheets, towels, stockings, gowns, pants, and vests. Broken flower pots with starvling rose bushes and blighted geraniums, dragging out a miserable existence, may occasionally be seen, and pale, attenuated females with uncombed hair and drabbled dresses, deluging them with soap suds. An old man sometimes smokes his short clay pipe moodily, silent and alone, leaning over the balcony and listlessly watching the passers-by; and now and then a child will clamber upon the railings and terrify the beholder by demonstrations of descending head foremost to the pavement below. The inhabitants by day are few, but at night the place swarms—it is alive. Fiddles, flutes, tamborines, grinding organs are going it at a great rate; busy feet are toeing and heeling it, but whereaway it is hard to tell. The sounds issue through the chinks of the window shutters, creep out beneath the doors, curl out of the chimney tops with the smoke; a strange jumble of queer sounds, half expressed notes, abridged cachinations, bits of German glees, replete with consonants melodiously uttered, pervades the atmosphere with the indistinctness of a dream, till the Cathedral clock sonorously peals forth the hour of 12. Then the noise which has been gradually growing less and less distinct, suddenly subsides entirely—the lights fade away and the quiet of the night is disturbed no more.

DWELLING HOUSES.

The dwelling houses in New Orleans, at least seven-tenths of them, are the most miserable apologies for the comfort and convenience of a family that can be imagined, and there are but very few modern built, and well arranged, and completed, with a view to make a house desirable for a residence. The reason for this, doubtless, is the excessively high price for building lots; and the enormous expense of building obliges those who build, to erect as cheap buildings as possible. A house designed for renting, also, is built as cheap as can be done, for such an one will command nearly as much rent as the most splendid mansion, if it has equally as much room and as favorable location. Hence you will find, in every part of the city, in the best locations, the miserable old Spanish house, only one story high, renting from eight to twelve hundred dollars a year, and the building is not worth twenty dollars. And yet these buildings will remain where they are until swept away, either by fire or water. The excessively high price of rents for buildings, for any purpose, together with the enormous expense of living, will very much retard the rapid improvement, and permanent advancement of New Orleans.

“GOING SOUTH TO SEEK A FORTUNE.”

The impression prevails very generally, in almost every section of this country, that wealth can be accumulated with great ease, and quite rapidly here, and this has caused a great excess of business men, and much competition. Consequently profits are small, and but very few make annually more than enough to meet expenses, and many very soon become satisfied with the experiment of “going South” to make a fortune. You will not, therefore, find but very few “old merchants,” in New Orleans. And with this view also, “to seek their fortunes,” will you find hundreds of young men, in the fall of the year, wending their way South, to look up a way of business for themselves, and yet not one in every fifty obtain employment, or meet with any thing to do. I have seen many such come into New Orleans, with letters of introduction and recommendation of the highest character, and failing to get business, and too proud to return home, and being on expense, and without any income, would soon spend all their means in hand, and finally, from necessity as it were, would drop into the floods and whirlpools of dissipation, and be taken as straitway down to ruin and destruction, as if they were forced by the irresistible laws of gravitation. I have also watched the bright hopes and cheerful countenance of many a young man when he first looked in upon the wild and animating scenes which are here presented. He feels at once a new impulse stealing over him, and the bright visions of his fancy, which have led him on, he imagines will be more than realized, for the substance and the life before him he believes to be real, and in which he will soon participate. But little does he dream that all he witnesses is as false and groundless as the baseless fabric of his own wild fancy. I have thus followed him, a few short months, moving among the busy throng that fill up these streets, and finally night after night have left him in the low roofless hovel, feeding at the table with the most miserable and degraded herd of Slaves in human form. This is no sketch of scenes drawn out in vivid colors of fancy, for it is stern, living reality, and language contains no power to embellish them, for they are before you, in the history of thousands, who have been buried here, and gone down to a premature grave. And here let me say to the young man of the north, if you should have a desire, or an idea come up, of “going South,” check it at once,—crush the thought, ere it brings before you treasures of a golden harvest, which you may imagine is in store for you there; for let me assure you that the day has long since passed when fortunes can be easily gathered at the “South,” or in New Orleans; and no other place in this widespread country can be found, where so few realize the anticipations which urge them on to engage in the pursuits and business of the day and when the hour of trial comes, and blasted hopes gather thick around, so many sink away into the vortex of irretrievable ruin, and if ever known again it is amid the scenes of vice and dissipation, herding with vagabonds and gamblers. And this is the fate of hundreds of the business men of New Orleans. And this too is no fancy sketch, but the reality of every day life. And yet these men are worthy of a better fate.

THE CHURCHES.

Of the churches in this city, not including those of the Roman order, and the influence of professing christians, there cannot be much said in their favor; yet there has been something done by them, and some influence of a favorable tendency has been quietly and slowly working, which in some degree checks the wild rage of human passion, or at least has driven it back from the public view, and to a great extent from the light of day. And the reason, doubtless, why more has not been done, and why a more salutary influence is not produced by religious efforts, is that the christian standard is as much below the Bible requirements of christian life, as the moral standard is degraded below that point which justly forbids almost every man a character for morality. Hence, when the christian standard falls far below, as it does here, the ordinary estimation of a moral life, it cannot be expected that the influence of professing christians of such a grade, can be very forcible or of much avail. And I apprehend that nothing will ever be done here to crush those monster evils that stalk through these streets at midday, and to indulge and participate in which is not unbecoming a gentleman, a good citizen, a moral man, and a christian, unless it is by raising up a proper moral standard, by which men shall be tested who are to be the recipients of patronage and public favor. This, however, would look like a hard beginning, for some one would be called upon “to throw the first stone.” And I fear echo would answer, Where is he?

There are a number of Churches in the City, and many of them of recent organization. The Episcopalians have five, Presbyterians three, Methodists two, Baptists one, Universalists one. The Clergymen who officiate in them are generally men of distinguished talent and ability, and the morning service, on the Sabbath, is usually well attended. In the afternoon the audience is very small, consisting only of a small portion even of the members. No Church could be well sustained in New Orleans, with a second rate preacher. They must be men of popular talent, of forcible and attractive eloquence, and withal not very close preachers. Hence the influence of preaching and of Christian teaching is superficial indeed. The principal cause, and doubtless, the great obstacle in the christian and moral standard of New Orleans, is the total disregard and desecration of the Sabbath. Not only is this done by professed christians, but by those who have been differently educated and early impressed with the benefits and wholesome and salutary influence produced by a due observance of this day.

THE SABBATH.

The Sabbath appears to be regarded by almost every one as a holiday, and its return is as much desired for a day of pleasure, as if no other day was appropriate for such purposes. Military Parades are never on any other day but the Sabbath. Horse racing, when a large purse is at stake on the most famous races, are on the Sabbath. Theatres and circuses have the most attractive bills and greatest display on Sabbath evening. Bull fights also are never on any other day, and in fact, exhibitions of every kind are usually on the Sabbath. And yet, in this enlightened age and against the good sense and judgment of every other section of this country, and in full view of the evils that flow from these examples, the authorities grant permits and licenses for these things, and men in the highest official stations in the State and city favor them by their presence on the Sabbath. And also, against these outrages and other evils that are begotten by them, the pulpit is as silent as if they were in accordance with the rituals of the church. And more than this, will you be astonished to see, not only good men, but professing christians, mingling in the crowded throng that keep up these rounds of moral pollution and dissipation. But in all these evils the authorities are chargeable with more censure than all others, for they have the power to prevent and suppress entirely these blighting curses that pervade this city. But compared with other causes that seek no hiding place, amidst the whirlwind and rage of human passion that lays desolate every refined and noble impulse of the human heart, the desecration of the Sabbath is but as the breath of the summer breeze, compared to the tornado’s blast.

SOCIAL RELATIONS.

The social relations of the great mass of the citizens of New Orleans are peculiar, and doubtless unlike any other place within the wide range of civilization. And the principles by which the intercourse in society is regulated, are strange indeed; especially to those who have been educated and taught to believe there is some meaning and worth in virtue and chastity, and that licentiousness, fornication, and adultery are crimes, if not in the sight of heaven, at least should be so considered in a moral point of view, as well as against the sacredness of the domestic circle and peace of society. But here these evils, together with the outrages of prostitution, appear to be regarded as matters that come as much within the routine of the social relations, and the open and unrestricted indulgence of the citizens, as a general thing, as any of the common civilities of life. Hence, to be openly known in the practice of these vices—as a libertine, or living in adultery, or as an excessively licentious man, does not degrade him, or make him the less favored or less respectable. In fact, there appears to be no such condition known here as adultery, fornication, or prostitution; and I doubt very much whether they have any such words in their Dictionary. To the man who is notoriously of this description it appears to give a force of character, and a degree of consequence, that commands respect and deference, that makes him the beau ideal of a fine fellow and a gentleman. The light in which these things are regarded here, and the present practice in respect to them, at an earlier day than this, would have surprised any one, but considering the character of the early settlers, it would perhaps be remarkable indeed if this had not been exhibited; for those who first came into New Orleans were mere adventurers, without attachments to home or place, and many of them without social relations or even kindred. Consequently they were creatures of circumstance, and while mingling in the varied scenes of the Mississippi valley, it would be strange indeed if they should not have met with females of the same class, and to whom they would become attached as companions. To presume otherwise would be to conclude against the experience of every age, as well as against the natural impulses of the human heart.

ILLEGITIMATE FAMILIES.

There are hundreds of men and women now living together, who have around them large families, and yet were never married. Connections of this kind exist in New Orleans to a much greater extent than is generally known. As evidence on this point, a very worthy and intelligent lady living in the Third Municipality informed me that a Methodist minister accidentally left at her house his book of record for marriages, which the law now requires every clergyman to keep. In looking it through, she found that he had married within the last two years thirty-three of her neighbors, heads of families, and many of them having children that were married, who had been living together as man and wife, and as such every one regarded them. They had been privately married to enable the children to inherit their property, as a law in Louisiana has been enacted with a view to meet these very cases.