At last venit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus. I
had seen as much as might be of the best phase of the great institution — less
than I could desire of a most exemplary, kind-hearted, clear-headed, honest
man. In the calm of a glorious summer evening we crossed the Father of Waters,
waving an adieu to the good friend who stood on the shore, and turning our
backs to the home we had left behind us. It was dark when the boat reached
Donaldsonville on the opposite “coast.”
I should not be surprised to hear that the founder of this
remarkable city, which once contained the archives of the State, now
transferred to Baton Rouge, was a North Briton. There is a simplicity and
economy in the plan of the place not unfavorable to that view, but the motives
which induced Donaldson to found his Rome on the west of Bayou La Fourche from
the Mississippi must be a secret to all time. Much must the worthy Scot have
been perplexed by his neighbors, a long-reaching colony of Spanish Creoles, who
toil not and spin nothing but fishing-nets, and who live better than Solomon,
and are probably as well-dressed, minus the barbaric pearl and gold of
the Hebrew potentate. Take the odd, little, retiring, modest houses which grow
in the hollows of Scarborough, add to them the least imposing mansions in the
town of Folkstone, cast these broad-sown over the surface of the Essex marshes,
plant a few trees in front of them, then open a few cafés billard of the
camp sort along the main street, and you have done a very good Donaldsonville.
A policeman welcomes us on the landing, and does the honors
of the market, which has a beggarly account of empty benches, a Texan bull done
into beef, and a coffee-shop. The policeman is a tall, lean, west-countryman;
his story is simple, and he has it to tell. He was one of Dan Rice's company —
a travelling Astley. He came to Donaldsonville, saw, and was conquered by one
of the Spanish beauties, married her, became tavern-keeper, failed, learned
French, and is now constable of the parish. There was, however, a weight on his
mind. He had studied the matter profoundly, but he was not near the bottom. How
did the friends, relatives, and tribe of his wife live? No one could say. They
reared chickens, and they caught fish; when there was a pressure on the
planters, they turned out to work for 6s. 6d. a-day, but those were rare
occasions. The policeman had become quite gray with excogitating the matter,
and he had “nary notion how they did it.”
Donaldsonville has done one fine thing. It has furnished two
companies of soldiers — all Irishmen — to the wars, and the third is in the
course of formation. Not much hedging, ditching, or hard work these times for
Paddy! The blacksmith, a huge tower of muscle, claims exemption on the ground
that “the divil a bit of him comes from Oireland: he nivir bird af it, barrin'
from the buks he rid,” and is doing his best to remain behind, but popular
opinion is against him.
As the steamer could not be up from New Orleans till dawn,
it was a relief to saunter through Donaldsonville to see society, which
consisted of several gentlemen and various Jews playing games unknown to Hoyle,
in oaken bar-rooms flanked by billiard tables. Dr. Cotmann, who had crossed the
river to see patients suffering from an attack of euchre, took us round to a
little club, where I was introduced to a number of gentlemen, who expressed
great pleasure at seeing me, shook hands violently, and walked away; and,
finally, melted off into a cloud of mosquitoes by the river-bank, into a box
prepared for them, which was called a bedroom.
These rooms were built of timber on the stage close by the
river. “Why can't I have one of these rooms?” asked I, pointing to a larger
mosquito box. "It is engaged by ladies.” “How do you know?” “Parceque
elles ont envoyé
leur butin.” It was
delicious to meet the French “plunder” for baggage — the old phrase, so nicely
rendered — in the mouth of the Mississippi boatman.
Having passed a night of discomfiture with the winged demons
of my box, I was aroused by the booming of the steam drum of the boat, dipped
my head in water among drowned mosquitoes, and went forth upon the landing. The
policeman had just arrived. His eagle eye lighted upon a large flat moored
alongside, on the stern of which was inscribed in chalk, “Pork, corn, butter,
beef,” &c. Several spry “citizens were also on the platform. After
salutations and compliments, policeman speaks — “When did she come in?”
(meaning flat.) First citizen — “In the night, I guess.” Second citizen — “There's
a lot of whiskey aboord, too.” Policeman (with pleased surprise) — “You never
mean it?” First citizen — “Yes, sir; one hundred and twenty gallons!” Policeman
(inspired by patriotism) — “It's a west-country boat; why don't the
citizens seize it? And whiskey rising from 17c. to 35c. a gallon!” Citizens
murmur approval, and I feel the whiskey part of the cargo is not safe. “Yes, sir,” says citizen three, “they
seize all our property at Cairey (Cairo), and I'm making an example of this
cargo.”
Further reasons for the seizure were adduced, and it is
probable they were as strong as the whiskey, which has, no doubt, been drunk
long ago on the very purest principles. In course of conversation with the
committee of taste which had assembled, it was revealed to me that there was a
strict watch kept over those boats which are freighted with whiskey forbidden
to the slaves, and with principles, when they come from the west country,
equally objectionable. “Did you hear, sir, of the chap over at Duncan
Kenner's, as was caught the other day?” “No,
sir; what was it?” “Well, sir, he was a man that came here and went over among
the niggers at Kenner's to buy their chickens from them. He was took up, and
they found he'd a lot of money about him.”
“Well, of course, he had money to buy the chickens.” “Yes, sir, but it looked
suspeecious. He was a west-country fellow, tew, and he might have been
tamperin' with 'em. Lucky for him he was not taken in the arternoon.” “Why so?”
“Because, if the citizens had been drunk, they'd have hung him on the spot.”
The Acadia was now along-side, and in the early morning
Donaldsonville receded rapidly into trees and clouds. To bed, and make amends for
mosquito visits, and after a long sleep look out again on the scene. It is
difficult to believe that we have been going eleven miles an hour against the
turbid river, which is of the same appearance as it was below — the same banks,
bends, driftwood, and trees. Large timber rafts, navigated by a couple of men,
who stood in the shade of a few upright boards, were encountered at long
intervals. White egrets and blue herons rose from the marshes. At every landing
the whites who came down were in some sort of uniform. There were two blacks
placed on board at one of the landings in irons — captured runaways — and very
miserable they looked at the thought of being restored to the bosom of the
patriarchal family from which they had, no doubt, so prodigally eloped. I fear
the fatted calf-skin would be applied to their backs.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 287-90
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