Part 7

The next great expert act with the darts is to fasten one in the centre between the horns, on the neck, and escape unhurt. This act also is greeted with rounds and shouts of applause, all of which excites the audience and arouses the fury of the bull. The darts being disposed of, and most of them sticking in the head and neck of the animal, the same men take each three bearded rockets, prepared on sticks about eighteen inches long, and so constructed that when they are driven into the bull they will ignite, and after burning and hissing for a time, will explode with as much force and noise as a heavily charged musket. These are alternately driven into the head and sides of the bull, and while they are burning, hissing, and tearing his flesh, a more wild and terrific scene can scarcely be imagined. He roars, plunges and lashes his sides, with the most intense writhings of maddening pain and fury that can be conceived. After the rockets are exhausted, the chief or swordsman comes in, with a straight sword two feet and a half long, for the purpose of ending the contest by taking the life of the bull. To perform this act, and strike the animal through the heart at the first blow, is the climax of all feats in the whole round of bull-fighting. The swordsman is obliged to do it according to prescribed rules in the science of the sport. He must strike his blow in a particular spot, and when it is done, must stand on the left side and drive the sword in just forward of the point of the right shoulder through the heart of his victim. And while this attempt is being made, and the swordsman is following the infuriate animal, it in turn rushes furiously after him, and seems fully conscious that the time has come for the exhibition of that part of the “sport,” as announced in the bill to be performed by the chief. During this struggle the audience becomes wrought up to the highest tone of excitement. The swordsman while seeking for an opportunity to strike the fatal blow, if successful in the first attempt, is greeted with shouts and rounds of the most frantic applause ever witnessed, and at the same time showers of money are poured in upon him from almost every hand in the audience, and often amounting to several hundred dollars. He is allowed to strike three times, and if he fails in giving a deadly thrust, the other extreme of disapprobation is meted out upon him in long continued hisses and cries of “take him out,” “take him out,” and thus the audience will _magnanimously_ interfere and save the life of the unconquered bull, who has at least for an hour defied the power of eight men to destroy him; and yet here he is, foaming and lashing his sides, and writhing under the most intense agony, full of ghastly and bleeding wounds, and the tearing of dozens of darts and rockets that goad him at every step; while thousands of human beings are looking on with an intensity of feeling and exultation of pleasure, that is impossible to be expressed by language. Under these circumstances and cries of “take him out,” a man comes in on horse-back with a lasso, and catches the bull by the horns and drags him out. Another bull is then let in, and the same round of teasing and goading with darts and rockets is gone through with, and then he is dragged out with the lasso. The darts and goads are cut out, and the next _Sabbath_ he is let in again, and goes through the same “fight,” with the addition of its being his turn to be killed. Thus as the bill announces, four bulls are let into the ring for the “sport” of one _Sabbath_, and two are teased, and two are slain. In witnessing scenes of this kind, there is exhibited throughout the whole assemblage, a blood thirsty and savage desperation, and withal, a strong desire that the bull may succeed in goading tearing out the very vitals of some one of the inhuman monsters against whom he is contending. It would seem that the “sports” could not be _agreeable_, and meet the expectations and desires of the audience, unless a scene of that kind could be exhibited; for when the bull makes a deadly and determined plunge, and his victim barely escapes as by a miracle, as will often occur, the spectators appear disappointed in not seeing the man gored through and through, and crushed into a mangled and bleeding corpse. And to see this done, it appears that every one would go away perfectly satisfied in having witnessed all that could be done in the “sport” of “bull-murdering.” Take it all in all, a more brutal and fiendish exhibition of cruelty cannot be conceived, and yet, on the _Sabbath_ day, in this civilized land, will the good men of New Orleans legalize and sanction this horrid practice. But in this, no one will be disappointed, for it is in perfect harmony and character with other scenes in the great drama of human life in this city. The same kindred and brutal exhibitions are allowed, and usually come off on the _Sabbath_, in cock fighting and dog fights, with animals trained expressly for such “sports,” and they are often made up by bets of large sums. There are many who make these “sports” a matter of permanent business, and to which their whole time is devoted as a science. A fight of this kind was made up in the winter of 1837, in which a “ruling passion strong in death” was exhibited to an extent almost incredible. A _gentleman_ who was in the last stages of consumption, had arranged a cock fight to come off in about six weeks, when the animals would be properly trained. The bet was $3,000 a side. It was evident, however, that he would not survive the time, either to witness his triumph or defeat, for he could scarcely be expected to live from one hour to another. Yet the excitement and struggle, and determination on his part was so great, to live until the day of the fight, that he was assured by his Physician for three weeks before the time, that were it not for his determination and anxiety, he would not live an hour. The day came, and the fight was made, and he was victorious. He immediately passed from the cock pit to his carriage, and on reaching the side walk, he sunk down and was a corpse in a moment.

DRINKING HOUSES.

Of the accumulation of the sources of evil and causes of contamination, there is none perhaps stands out so glaring as the immense number of drinking houses in every part of the city, sustained only in selling liquor by the dram. And of this practice, it may be asserted without dispute, it is the great propelling power that drives on the maddening car of human passion into every other scene of vice and pollution that is its proper element. This practice of almost constant drinking through the day, pervades all classes of society. Not only the male portion, with scarcely an exception, but the _ladies_, or a large majority of them, indulge in the daily use of intoxicating drinks. Under all circumstances, in the social relations, in the interchange of civilities, wines and liquors of all kinds constitute the principal offerings in the courtesies of every day life. And it is astonishing indeed, to see how perfectly hardened and proof against the intoxicating effects of Alcohol, the great mass of the people have become. But notwithstanding this constant steeping in liquor, and being able to keep up under it, more than three-fourths of the men who are moving about the streets, have become literally sots, and according to the northern standard of intoxication, are confirmed drunkards. And how can this be otherwise, for there are but few who take less than a dozen drams, and from that number up to twenty-five and thirty a day, and yet these are all high-minded, _sober_, and respectable _gentlemen_, full of _Southern chivalry_--incapable of brooking an insult, and ready to fight in defence of their honor and good name. It is under such circumstances, that we see men of the South so tenacious of their character, and manifest so much pride in having the world understand that they are gentlemen. But of this _Southern chivalry_, and those high-minded and noble traits of Southern men, of which we have heard so much boast, it is all gammon. It is not there, and the high-toned sense of propriety in observing the practice and rules of what constitute the true gentleman, does not prevail in society at the South, in as great a degree as it does in the more northern states. And certain it is, the standard of what constitutes a good and respectable man, is far, very far below the wholesome and elevated standard which prevails at the north. For no man here could live and sustain a common respectability, should he be guilty of the sayings and doings of a Southern _gentleman_.--And in all that is mean and low and contemptible in society, in backbiting, neighborhood scandal, and tea-table slander, there is as much, according to the population and facilities for such matters, as in any other section of the country. And in addition to this, there are among these high-toned and chivalrous bloods, more drunken brawls, and breaking canes over each others heads, and hair pulling, and cat fighting, than is met with in any other part of the world. As evidence of this, the scenes that are often witnessed in the popular resorts and drinking houses in New Orleans, will convince any one of the true nature of Southern chivalry. Seldom does a week pass without some of these _magnanimous_ fights, of hair pulling, scratching, and the lowest kind of puppy squabbles, will be exhibited among the _gentlemen_, those of the first respectability in the city. And yet all these fights will occur, from a high sense of honor and self respect, prompted by an elevated tone of _genuine_ Southern chivalry. The number of grog shops sustained by these _gentlemen_ in New Orleans, is _more_ than legion. They are found in whole blocks--on three of every four corners, where one street crosses another, and ranges of buildings from street to street, every door leading into a drinking house. The style and splendor in which some of these establishments are fitted up, surpasses the most costly and richly furnished parlor in the mansion of any millionaire in this country. At the head of these “enchanting resorts” may be regarded the “GEM,” opposite the Post Office on Royal street. The magnificence and rich display of furniture and fixtures in this _grog-shop_, shows at once to what extent dram drinking is practiced among the “upper ten thousand” in this city; for none other but a _gentleman_, with white kid gloves and burnished boots, would dare presume to enter within its brilliant and shining walls. The expense of fitting up this room in furniture and fixtures, simply for the purpose of a drinking house, was upwards of eight thousand dollars. The floor is covered with a beautiful Saxony carpet, costing three dollars and half a yard. Cast-iron settees and chairs, with rich crimson cushions. Two mirrors suspended back of the counter, costing seven hundred dollars each, together with beautiful landscape paintings from the pencils of the best artists in the country. Three massive chandeliers light the room, making it as light as the sun at midday. And thus, is carried out, in perfect order and taste, every article of fixture and furniture in this “Guillotine” for the _legs_ of _gentlemen_ in this city.

This “GEM” was opened in November, 1848, and the first day the receipts were three hundred and seven dollars for drams at ten cents a drink. There are a number of other houses of this character fitted up in the same costly style, and among them is the “Verandah,” the “Orleans House,” and “Phenix,” with many others, and all of which furnish their bars with the most costly wines, liquors and cordials, that can be obtained from all parts of the world. In this display of attraction, where _gentlemen_ can become drunken, fight and quarrel, and pass it away without the event being noticed, except for a few days when the conqueror and his friends will exhibit their prowess in boasting and bragging of the “fine licks” and the “black eyes” given an antagonist, and who perhaps was twice his superior in force and strength, yet being a little more “tight” of the two, and perhaps having met with an unlucky blow from some side arm of a friend of his competitor, he came off second best. And here it is in these pot house brawls among the boasted chivalry of the South, originate nine-tenths of the duels and deadly combats which take place. From fights of this kind often originate hostile and angry feelings, that finally on the next occasion are followed by direct insult designed to provoke a challenge.

From these houses downwards there is every grade of grog shops, to the lowest sipping of whiskey from a tin cup in negro pens, where slaves steal away and imitate the example of their masters in taking a few social glasses in view of participating in the common civilities and courtesies of fashionable life. The practice of drinking so often during the day, with almost every one, is such that eating and sleeping is of small account, and they are indulged in with very little regard to regularity except the meal at dinner. The hour for dining is usually from three to four, and this is the feast for fat things, and the only time at which much food is taken. Breakfast is usually coffee in abundance, and generally is taken in bed before rising. And after rising coffee is taken again with some light article, and this is done from eight o’clock in the morning and at any other time as they may happen to get from their beds before the hour for dinner. Tea is usually taken from seven to eight in the evening, and usually amounts to nothing in the consideration of the good _livers_ in New Orleans. The rounds and revels of dissipation are at their height from nine o’clock in the evening until two in the morning, by which time the devotees of pleasure and the great mass of the inhabitants have become fully surfeited with the things of this world, until they are overcome with the _load_ that is upon them, and one by one they pass away from their labors and repose for a few hours, when they return on the morrow refreshed and invigorated, and repeat the same round in the drama of “life in New Orleans.” From the low dens and grog shops, the miserable victim who crawls away in his poverty and rags, is caught up at first sight by the minions of the law, and hurried before the Recorder’s Court on “suspicion” of being a vagrant, and unless he can find some one to vouch for him he is thrown into the work house for sixty or ninety days, while the proud and _chivalrous_ southern gentleman who has been drinking, carousing, and fighting at the “Gem,” the “Verandah,” the “Orleans House,” or “Hewlett’s,” comes out next day as one of the bloods of the city. But follow for a short time these chivalrous knights, and you will see their steps as sure downwards as that hour succeeds hour, until they are found in the lowest “picayune groggery,” steeped in the very dregs of pollution and death. An illustration and graphic commentary upon a life in New Orleans, was exhibited before the Recorder’s Court in the fall of 1848, in the arrest under the vagrant law of “DANGEROUS and SUSPICIOUS,” in the person of one of those shocking and abandoned wrecks of the “noblest works of God,” a man of mind and genius who had fallen, and had become as he said of himself “like the gnarled oak shorn of its green boughs,” yet he had in his better days moved and revelled in the rounds of fashionable life, and having a ready and fluent speech, and flashings of caustic wit and good humor, it called around him warm and devoted friends, whose kindness was showered upon him in repeating glass after glass until he fell below the standard of a _gentleman_, and finally was cast off, and thus took a downward leap, and when he appears again it is as a “dangerous and suspicious person” before the bar of justice as a criminal. But the scene does not stop here, for that very authority before which he now stands arraigned on “suspicion,” sets the machinery in motion that takes the victim in at the “LICENSED PALACE,” and carries him along through every grade down to the lowest dens of degradation and misery, and finally brings him up before the same authority as the natural and legitimate fruit of that document to which its hand and seal is fixed as a license for these blighting and damning curses, these groggeries that fill up this city at every turn.

The following incident occurred before the Recorder, and is copied from a city paper.

“DANGEROUS AND SUSPICIOUS.”

“But where is the iron-bound prisoner? where?”--CAMPBELL.

A very haughty and gloomy-looking individual might be seen passing upwards from Baronne street Watchhouse, towards the Recorder’s office, yesterday morning, about nine o’clock. He was _one_ of the number who seemed to have undergone the Cæsarean operation at the hands of Madame Fortune, but who, more than any of the rest, seemed to have been ripped untimely from the womb of the circumstances by which he had been surrounded. There was a sullenness of manner about him, perfectly in keeping with the bitter sneer which sat enthroned on his cynical lip. His dark eye flashed indignation towards the officer in whose keeping he was, and every now and then, as he raised his iron-bound hands to heaven, he shut his teeth as though he could have crunched a bar of adamant into a pulp. Anon he shut his eyes, and opening them, there came the searching glance and the dark scowl, which seemed to ask, in the language of Shakspeare,

“Which of you has done this? Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.”

The garb of the outer man was indicative of the severe storms which had passed over it--its looped and windowed raggedness told a tale of misery and wretchedness too often repeated by the numerous children of misfortune.

As the officer unloosened the handcuffs, preparatory to the old man’s being placed in the dock, for examination before the Recorder, not a muscle of his face, nay, of his frame, but was in motion. Shortly after being placed there, he burst into a flood of tears, and, in a paroxysm of the extremest agony, swooned into the arms of a fellow prisoner. After a few moments, however, he recovered his consciousness, and staring wildly round the Court, (as though he were among a horde of savages in the wild desert,) he exclaimed, after a manner which showed him to be well conversant with the drama:

“I did not faint--no, though a sickening pang Tugg’d at my heart, and made the cold sweat creep, Like ice-drops, o’er my body; yet, even then, Did conscious innocence uphold my soul, And turn’d the horrid words to senseless sounds, That ought not to dismay.”

“Verulan Langdale!” said the crier of the court. The prisoner raised himself slowly up from his seat, and running his fingers through the grey and tangled locks, which fell scantily over a well formed forehead, bowed to the court, in token of his identity.

_Recorder._--You are charged with being a dangerous and suspicious person, following no honest occupation or calling for a livelihood. Have you any good citizen to vouch for you?

_Prisoner._--May it please the court, I know of none--the world knows me not--I am as you see me, the gnarled oak, shorn of its green boughs. I am like Othello--my occupation’s gone. I came here to look after a daughter, who eloped a long time ago with a merchant of this city who, dying, left her all his worldly effects, and she became rich. By chance, I heard she was in this city. She was--she is--but she is the occupant of the Lunatic Asylum, and she has rendered me well nigh fit to occupy the same cell. I have craved from those who have had charity--my wants were small and they were over supplied. I was going towards Ohio, where I have a son engaged in the profession of the law.

_Recorder._--May I ask you if you yourself have any profession on hand, and if you are an American citizen?

_Prisoner._--I recollect Wordsworth saying in one of his fine poems, when speaking of a foreigner in England--

From Indian blood you deem him sprung: Ah, no! he spake the English tongue, And bare a soldier’s name; And when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He cross the ocean came.

I bear a “soldier’s name”--I have held a commission in the British service, under the last but one of the Georges’. I have fought, long before I became an American citizen, under the stars and stripes, and have been but lately mustered out of the American service--I have ever thought and do think with Chateaubriand that--“The fairest crown of an old man is his silver hair, and the recollection of an honorable life.” Pronounce your sentence, if you think me dangerous and suspicious.

As the old man repeated the last sentence in a firm and energetic tone, he drew back the folds of his old woolen vest with the hands which had lately been in fetters, and pointing to some half dozen scars, said--

I don’t know how suspicious you may think me, but the enemies of my adopted country always declared me _dangerous_.

As he gave utterance to these words, a thrill of sensation passed through the crowd, which the Recorder did not ask to check. He himself turned aside to--peruse some other charge entered on the watch sheet. After a short pause, the Recorder, addressing the prisoner, told him he was at liberty to seek his son, and he hoped his search in that quarter would be more successful than it had been on another occasion.

_Prisoner._--I hope so.

It is unnecessary to say that the old veteran had funds liberally supplied him. A subscription was set on foot in court, to which the Recorder most liberally subscribed, and “words, cheery words,” fell upon his ear as he left the court, where, but a few moments before, he had stood, to all appearances, a vagrant of the worst class. He did not leave the dock without bowing to his fellow prisoners; then turning to the crowd who ushered him out, he looked again on those he left behind him, as though loth to leave his fellows in misfortune. It was a momentary gleam of commiseration, for it lit up the face with the sunshine of the soul, until the recollection of his past sufferings, awakening all the misanthropic feelings which lay lurking in his breast, found a vent in the language of the gifted Maturin:

“I was a blighted branch--the storm was on me-- And in my rifted core the winds of heaven Sung wintry welcome, and made stern abode. The mildewed moss upon my brown sere bark Made verdure seem like blasting. Such was I. The sun is on me now, the storm on thee. Bear it as I have done.

Such oftentimes are the slender grounds on which our laws deprive men of one of the choicest blessings said to be ensured by our republican form of government--their liberty.

* * * * *

The life-drawn scene which is here presented in the person of the old man, is a sad tale of desolation and woe, with which the Recorder’s court and the work-house of this city is familiar; yet the subjects for such exhibitions are usually much younger, having been like the old man, “shorn of their green boughs” long before they could point to a head with “silver locks,” and claim for them the respect and reverence due to a ripe old age, even though clothed in rags.

VAGRANTS.

For a time, so great was the increase of the class of vagrants, that the common council was forced to pass a law requiring the police to arrest every such person on “suspicion” of having no regular calling, and if no one will vouch for his ability to gain an honest living, his doom is the work-house without further ceremony.