232

FIELD OF BATTLE.

by the Mississippi on one side, and the forest on the other. Below is a bend of the river, which, from what reason I know not, is called "The English Turn." Plantations continue at intervals for about forty miles, when cultivation entirely ceases.

From

Below this, nature is to be seen only in her dreariest and most desolate aspect. At first there are forests springing in rank luxuriance from swamps, impassable even by the foot of the Indian hunter. But these soon pass, and nothing but interminable cane brakes are to be seen on either side. the shrouds of the steam-boat, though the range of vision probably extended for many leagues, no other objects were discernible but the broad muddy river, with its vast masses of drift wood, and the wilderness of gigantic bulrushes shaking in the wind.

There are four passes or outlets by which the Mississippi discharges its mighty burden into the Gulf of Mexico. Two of these are navigable, but changes are ever taking place, and the passage formerly preferred by the pilots, is now rarely attempted even by vessels of the smallest class. On approaching the Gulf, verdure appears only at in

the ocean.

FORMATION OF LAND.

233

tervals, and the eye rests on tracts of mere mud, formed by the deposit of the river on the drift wood which some obstacle has arrested in its passage to It is by this process that land is formed, and it may be traced in every step of its progress, from the island resting on a few logs, up to the huge tract in whose bosom are embedded many millions. Encountering no obstacle, the river sends out arms in every direction, which, after winding through the half-formed region in a thousand fantastic flexures, are again united to the main branches.

.

It would be difficult to convey an idea by words, of the effect which this most dismal scene produces on the heart and imagination of the spectator. It seems as if the process of creation were incomplete, and the earth yet undivided from the waters, for he beholds only an indeterminate mass which admits of being absolutely assigned to neither element. He feels that he has forsaken the regions of the habitable world. Above, beneath, around, there is nothing to excite his sympathies, and probably for the first time in his life he becomes conscious of the full sublimity of desolation.

VOL. II.

234

RETURN TO NEW ORLEANS.

The steamer having towed her burden safely across the bar, took up several inward bound vessels, and commenced her voyage back to the city. I felt it absolutely a relief when my eye again rested on the deep shadows of the forest. Then came the dwellings of man. Never had the smoke, which rose in spiral wreaths above the masses of foliage, appeared so beautiful. Even New Orleans seemed to have lost something of its dinginess, when, after a three days' voyage, I found myself comfortably seated at the French restaurateur's, and saw the waiter enter with a most tempting dish of beccaficas, or some bird very much like them, and very nearly as good.

DEPARTURE FROM NEW ORLEANS.

235

CHAPTER VI.

JOURNEY TO CHARLESTON.

On the evening of the 10th of April, I bade farewell to New Orleans, and embarked on the canal which connects the city with the Bayou St John. These bayous are sluggish creeks which alternately supply nourishment to the Mississippi, and ease it of its load. When the river is in flood, the bayous which intersect the whole country, act as safetyvalves, and prevent a general inundation. When it is low, they restore a portion of their waters, and thus contribute to equalize the volume of the river at different seasons.

The Bayou St John has all the appearance of a canal. Its course leads through a swamp covered with cedars, and other trees which delight in exube

236

LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN,

rant moisture. It was dark when we reached Lake Pontchartrain, and the steamer lay at anchor at some distance from the shore. As it did not sail till the following morning, I should probably have slept at the inn had its appearance been at all inviting. But there was a large party carousing at the bar, and its pretensions were simply those of a pot-house. I therefore determined to embark immediately, though the night was dark, and the wind unusually high.

It may appear ridiculous to talk of a storm on a lake some forty or fifty miles long, and not more than two or three in breadth. But the tempestas in matula-if so it must be called-was exceedingly disagreeable, and before we reached the vessel, our boat was nearly full of water. Both the constitution and equanimity of a traveller should be robust enough to stand an occasional drenching without injury or disturbance; but to have your whole baggage saturated with water,-your books, papers, and other perishable valuables, seriously damaged, if not entirely destroyed, is apt to produce an elongation of visage in a more philosophical tourist than myself.