Part 3

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.