Monday, March 16th. During the last three days the weather has been warm, but not oppressively so: last evening a light shower of rain was followed by a lovely night. I am leading a dissipated life here, and engaged for every day I can yet count upon must prepare for flight from this Capua, but how? that’s the question! since up the Mississippi I won’t steam again, that’s poz!

Visited a noble packet called the Shakspeare, in which I feel hugely tempted to take passage, although by the route newly opened through Florida there is greater certainty, albeit with a good deal of hard work to calculate upon.

17th. St. Phaudrig’s day. Engaged to dine with the sons of the saint. Rain falling in torrents, no stirring out; by the afternoon a deluge threatens us, the streets are turned to rivers, and our neighbour swamp is become a lake, above which the naked cypress-trees, hung with their sombre drapery of moss, tower like the masts of some goodly navy whose hulls lie sunk beneath. Boats will soon be required, for every gutter is become a branch of mother Mississippi.

About three o’clock P.M. it subsided a little, and we were able to get through in a well-horsed carriage to the French Theatre, in the ball-room of which our rendezvous was appointed, dinner being laid in another of the suite of apartments appropriated to public purposes. We mustered about a hundred strong, and a more creditable set of children no saint ever had to his back. About midnight the party broke up, and, despite the rain, the shamrog had never presided over a gayer table.

18th. A glorious morning; paid my visits, made adieus; and after, rode out to the lake by the canal and Bayou St. John. But what a change had taken place since my last ride here, just three days back! then all was torpid, decayed, and dead; the forest was voiceless, and the waters oily and stagnant as though never intended for the use of living thing. On this day all nature appears awakened, as if by magic, and vegetation actually seems to proceed before our eyes; in every dyke the water-snakes are gliding about with their graceful crests reared above the surface, and on lake and lagoon bask shoals of mullet, rejoicing in the warm waters of the swamp. The lazy alligator is dragging himself across the path, newly roused from his winter lair. The cardinal, the mocking-bird, and the gaudy red-bird, are all darting to and fro, in pursuit of the various insects that flutter about the air. The very swamp is putting on a face of beauty, and all nature appears to hail the arrival of spring. Never was change so complete, so sudden, and so attractive.

Returning, halted by a camp of Choctaws, consisting of a dozen huts, about which crawled or ran as many children of all ages, looking remarkably healthy and well-formed. In a hut, larger and better made than any other, sat the chief and his squaw, upon whose lap lay numberless strings of blue and white beads, which she was admiring and arranging with as much delight as a London girl would her first suite of pearl.

The chief himself was a stout, honest-faced fellow, and I suppose an active hunter, for the sides of the hut, which was open in front, were hung with various skins, and the earth was closely carpeted with the like trophies: several clean-looking baskets were hanging about the back of the hut; over the fire, in front, was suspended an iron pot, and to attend to this seemed the present business of the chief.

This was a portion of a tribe or nation, once very powerful and numerous in the South; it is now, however, scattered and broken up; many families under their several chiefs have departed for the Western wilderness, many more for the tomb. They begged for money as the natives usually do, but receive with equal indifference the coin or a refusal.

Friday, 20th. The ship Shakspeare, according to the owners’ promise, was to sail this day, but sail she did not. Passed an uncomfortable morning from being kept the best part of it in uncertainty. Almost wish I had proceeded two days ago by the route through Florida. H s gravely assures me it is all for the best, and J. H n coolly echoes his philosophy, although both one and the other of the villains are “as hot Jacks” in their mood “as any in all Italy,” Day very sultry, or, as a countryman of mine here, calls this sort of muggy heat, “Vile mucilaginous weather.”

21st. Again a delay, and a put-off till to-morrow; three of our passengers now deserted, taking the steamer up the river for Louisville; was half tempted to follow their example, but don’t like to cut my Shakspeare. I verily think, were the ship called by any other name, I would quit the mess. The bard was wrong when he made Juliet say “what’s in a name?”

The city is hot and humid, as though it were washing-day above, and the sun’s rays intercepted by wet blankets. In the evening, strong symptoms of a refreshing thunder burst: sat till after midnight sans coat or cravat, striving to keep cool; about that time the rain began to descend, and soon after up came a breeze, under whose influence I crept beneath my musquito curtain to fall sound asleep in five minutes.

Sunday. Called up early. Shakspeare about to quit the Levee: find out that I have slept through a regular tornado, for to that complexion am I informed the night breeze came at last. Day clear, fresh, and pure, like a fine June morning at home; a difference of twenty-eight degrees between to-day and yesterday; got a hasty breakfast, and learned that the wind “sits in the shoulder of our sail,” or rather of our steam, since under such convoy do we seek the sea.

At eight A.M. got on to the Levee, and found the Shakspeare already linked to her fiery mate; bade farewell to the many friends who have daily attended to add a last link to the chain of kind recollections in which they have bound my memory.

The market, close by which we lay, was, being Sunday morning, crowded by a chequered assemblage of European, Quadroon, Negro, and Indian, all gabbling, pushing, and purchasing in company. We unmoored in very capital style, though pretty closely jammed, for a ship of seven hundred tons, and in one minute after were whirled into the mid current of the Mississippi: the vast crescent of the water-front of the city showing through a curtain of thick masts, the hulls belonging to which floated level with the roofs of the highest houses: for the river, at this period, ran in its course far raised above the city.

The wind blows hard, but a clearer or more bracing day heart could not desire; and, contrasted with the horrid yesterday, it is indeed most welcome.

We found some difficulty, owing to the violence of the breeze, in getting into that extraordinary bend called the “English turn;” but afterwards we rushed past the fine sugar plantations lying along our course with great velocity: we had a powerful steam-boat, and wind and current with us.

About sunset passed Fort Jackson, occupying a well-selected bend of the river, and commanding a long reach either way. This is one of the works projected and finished by French engineers, and is said to be of a first-rate description.

Shortly after passing this fort, a sight of unparalleled grandeur broke upon us. The western horizon was yet ruddy with the last light of sunset, and was attracting my attention, contrasted as it was with the dull stream and dismal jungle around us. Suddenly I observed a bright flame rush, as it were, over the distant surface of the swamp: at the same moment we opened a noble reach of the river, and a vast fire was perceived, steadily advancing over the prairie land on our left, which character of surface is continued from here to the Balize, covered by a rank growth of lofty cane or reeds.

As night drew on, the fire seemed to gather greater strength, rolling away to leeward a mighty ocean of flame; whilst nearer to us lines might be observed creeping close to the earth, devouring the dry grass, and marching right in the teeth of the wind, sheltered by the tall cane next doomed to fall.

Whilst viewed far off, the effect was exactly that of a great city delivered to the flames: the trees growing by the river’s brink, and scattered here and there over the prairie, showed like some yet standing spires, whilst here and there a tall cedar might be caught just falling; the dwarf trees and withered shrubs in front, with the flames quivering through their branches, might readily be imagined a remnant of the population fleeing from the destruction pressing on their rear, with the sullen Mississippi for their only refuge.

We overtook and sailed down, side by side, with this mighty conflagration for an hour or more, through water made bright by the fiery reflection: at last, we outstripped its speed, but, for three hours after, I never withdrew my eyes from this the grandest sight it ever was given to me to contemplate; nor was the effect at all diminished though changed by distance. At one turn of our course we were presented with a coup d’oeil of fearful grandeur; it seemed as though the flame had crossed the broad river, and formed a half circle, whose left extremity was lost in distance, and whose right pursued our path, rolling after us a lofty wall of fire, from behind which burst wreaths of smoke, of different degrees of darkness, as though shot up from some volcano’s crater, whilst the more distant masses formed gradually into clouds of snow, whose lower edges were tinged with mingled lines of gold and jet.

The wind blew half a gale at about N.N.W., and it was calculated that our pace could not be less than twelve miles per hour; that of the fire, therefore, must have been seven or eight, since, despite the turns of the river, we were closely followed by it for three hours, and very soon after we anchored at the Balize it again overtook us, rushing on unchecked whilst it found a supply of food, until extinguished in the waters of the gulf.

I had before seen the prairie on fire, that is, small districts of mere dry grass in a blaze; but, although striking from its novelty, it had none of the grandeur belonging to this wild conflagration. The fuel here offered to the flame was of an enduring quality, and continued to burn a fiery red after the first rush of flame had passed over it and onward; and the next change it assumed was one of singular beauty: the reflection of the burnt cane, yet standing in perfect order as it grew, only made transparent by the action of fire, had the appearance of the harvest of an Eastern tale, composed of grain whose tall stalks were of burnished gold; whereas on the grass of the wide prairies the effect of the fire is lost as soon as passed, the bare and blackened soil alone being left behind.

We arrived at the bar by 10 P.M. and let go an anchor for the night: the water reported by our pilot to be about eleven feet; a comfortable hearing, when it is considered that the Shakspeare draws fourteen.

There is now here, hard and fast, an English ship called the Coromandel, which has been on the bar for the last forty days. Several vessels intend pushing over, we understand, at the same time we do in the morning.

Monday, 23rd. On deck at six A.M. Our pilot, I find, declines crossing till the afternoon, when the tide will possibly, he says, be higher; the rise of water is, however, dependent upon the strength of the sea-breeze forcing the tide of the gulf up against the current of the great river. No rise of the Mississippi above, however high, affects the bar here in the least perceptible degree.

Heaven send us well into blue water! for any place having a more desolate aspect than this sight never lighted on: not a sign of vegetation is visible, except the brown rank-growing reeds upon our right, where no fire has yet been. To the north, all is blackness on land, and dull and dead at sea: along the course of the water-line, logs of timber of every size, and trees of every kind, lie strewn, sometimes scattered singly, and in other places accumulated into enormous beds or rafts.

On every side is presented a dead level, muddy water, or land barely showing above it. One might have imagined, looking around here, that the great Deluge was but now subsiding, and this, the ruined world, left for the remnant of humanity, gathered here, to weep over. Silence and solitude reigned absolute, and the only evidence of our not being alone was to be found in the three or four ships scattered within sight.

As the morning advanced, each ship hoisted the colours of her nation: several schooners came down near us, tugged along by a powerful steamer; the Mexican and Brazilian flags were amongst them.

I find, too, that even this just redeemed soil is tenanted; here are eyes that find in it the charms of home. A couple of natives came alongside, with a boat-load of fine oysters; viewing them as samples, I should imagine the air not over salubrious at the Balize, for they were miserable-looking, blighted beings, “but half made up,” and shook like aspen-leaves in the sharp air of morning.

About two P.M. the pet steamers of the bar, the Pilot and the Grampus, ran down to us, and made fast to the ship’s sides: away we went for a dash at the pass, the object being to force a ship drawing nearly fifteen feet over a bar having upon its ridge just twelve feet.

We soon grounded, as was anticipated; when, after a couple of hours’ tugging, we were left by our steamers, although one of their skippers had sworn stoutly in the morning that he never had quitted a ship on the bar, and never would. Three vessels that had got under weigh in company with the Shakspeare were set fast about a hundred yards farther over than ourselves, and now lay right a-beam of the Coromandel drawing seventeen feet: when she will forge over is past all calculation; our own chance of a speedy move does not appear to me very bright.

All day set firm, a little movement perceptible at night: contemplate returning to New Orleans if a boat goes up to morrow.

Mem. Never go by sea if in any haste, however tempting the prospect: just one week lost to-day, in addition to much vexation of spirit.

To complete the discomfort of our condition, the weather is raw and cold; clouds above, mud and misery below and about.

Tuesday, 24th. Ship forging ahead slowly. At meridian the Spanish ship got away, and, in an hour after her, over slid the bark, leaving us gazing after them with longing eyes.

About six P.M. the Shakspeare took a long slide, just clearing the bowsprit of the Coromandel. Breeze getting up from S.S.E. a little sea coming in. Our pilot, it seems, does not know when the tide is at its highest, but thinking we might slide over suddenly in the night, this efficient person now quitted us, taking to our larger neighbour, whose chance, I am sorry to say, does not seem great of a hasty removal. She lies nearly on her beam-ends, with very little motion, thirteen feet water under her bowsprit end.

After amusing myself all day taking different bearings, and calculating each inch we made, got disgusted at last, and about midnight crept into bed, praying Heaven henceforward to be kept clear of all bars, from this of the Balize to the bar of the Old Bailey; although I do think, if I had a choice, I should prefer being arraigned for highway-robbery, or any other gentlemanlike felony, at the latter, to the being kept for a month weltering in mud upon the former.

Wednesday, 25th. Prospect a little brighter, a swell setting in from the eastward; the ship evidently working over, as we now have sixteen feet water within half our length ahead: day mild and clear, with a south-easterly breeze: all the passengers busy noting our snail-like progress: the poor Coromandel, which is fixed as a rock, affords us an excellent land-mark; we have slipped by her inch by inch. At three o’clock P.M. the ship’s bow is all alive, the heel alone hangs on the ridge: a French brig is just taking the bar, and rapidly nears us. At four P.M., just as the Frenchman came abreast of us, and her crew raised a cheer, the Shakspeare launched forward, as though just sent from the stocks; and, as all hands of us were on deck, with the poop and forecastle both well manned, we gave forth an involuntary hurrah, in which the crew of the Coromandel, who were all forward watching the result, heartily joined: the cheer of the dashing little Frenchman was in this way fairly drowned.

Our captain seems a smart hand; he had his sails trimmed, and the Shakspeare heading seaward, in less than no time: nor was it long before we reached the boundary line of the great river. At some six or seven miles from the bar a well-defined line is observable, stretching away north and south, with a regular curve outward. On all sides within this arch the water is thick and muddy, and immediately without this is the clear deep blue of the gulf; yet the influence of the current of the Mississippi is sensibly felt full seventy miles to the southward, its strength being found to set in that direction.

Our breeze freshened gradually all the evening, until by midnight it blew a rattler; but, thank Heaven, we are clear of the mud; no more lead-lines bandying about the decks.

Friday, 27th. How time flies! and yet how same has been my existence since this day week, five days of expectation, with but two of action; yet the fifty-secondth part of the year is away scarce marked! One is here actually compelled to turn back to the date of one’s last mem. and look what day one has fallen on, so hard is it to keep note of time without occupation, or the remembrancers that surround us in our daily affairs on shore. I do not wonder at Crusoe notching his stick; the wonder is, that he should have been able to decide whether or no to-day was yesterday.

All is calm and fixed above, with a long easterly swell rolling under our foot, which does not seem likely to subside, although, as our captain informs me, unusual at this time of year. Large logs of blackened timber drift about, reminding us of the great river within whose influence we yet unhappily remain, although but twenty hours of fair wind would lead us round the Tortugas, within the influence of the gulf-stream. Employed all my morning shooting at bottles as empty as myself; this, with eating, drinking, and écarte, forms the amusement and occupation of the day. I have heard of people who could read and write on ship-board; but, for myself, protest I never could do either with the least possible satisfaction.

Last night the Connecticut steamer passed close by us, bound for Havannah; I could not help wishing she had been compelled to give Billy Shakspeare a pull.

Whilst at whist in the night, a passenger was reported dead of cholera. “Well,” said our chief, “if he’s dead, we must bury him, that’s all.” It was an old man, whose only daughter, with her husband and child, were on board; and the report is, that he has been grossly neglected by this pair, having been very well when received.

Saturday, 28th. Seven A.M.; went upon deck, and was delighted to find stun-sails on both sides, a clear blue sky above, reflected on a sea of the same colour, only crested with wreaths of snowy whiteness: wind about west by north. What an instantaneous elasticity does the spirit gather up from a change like this! I had quitted my room despondingly, having slept sound and hearing no indications of a breeze; the dull heavy creak of the bulk-heads alone spoke of motion; when, on gaining the poop-deck, a fair, free breeze, and an atmosphere filled with life and vigour, awaited to be hailed.

Our dead passenger was uppermost in my mind, and I made inquiry of the officer of the watch respecting the hour appointed for committing the corpse to the sea, until that time when Judgment might claim its own from the deep caves of ocean. I found, however, that the old man was in no way prepared to avail himself of this day’s sunshine for his dark journey, being, on the contrary, alive if not merry.

It appears that, whilst busied about the last offices offered by the living to the dead, signs of life had been discovered by his attendants, and the expiring flame gently reinvigorated by judicious friction and brandy and water, the old man’s ancient bane, and now his antidote. I hastened to see this dead-alive, and found him perfectly conscious of his restoration to “this breathing world;” but I imagine the respite can only be for a very limited period. Captain Collins had the jolly-boat fitted up for him on the main-deck, and, when placed in it on a clean comfortable bed, his pulse was barely perceptible; his eye was glazed and dim, and his frame emaciated to a degree that was painful to contemplate. The daughter is a fair-haired devil of two-and-twenty, tall and hearty, but exhibits a callous want of feeling and a disregard of opinion, seldom met with in the most ruffianly of our sex, and truly shocking in a woman.

The father, I learn, is from the state of New Jersey, where he possesses a good farm, and flocks and herds, to which this Goneril will succeed on his demise; hence it is that she looks upon his nurses with no love or gratitude. The poor old man, in hopes of augmenting her store, had quitted his pleasant possessions in Jersey, to seek wealth amongst the swamps of the Mississippi. How long, I wonder, will the fluttering soul, evidently plumed and eager for its flight, be held within the frail, worn-out prison-house? Its flight! but whither and to what? “Ay, there’s the rub!” the riddle, which this poor wretch will probably solve before the wisest living philosopher could build a single conjecture towards it.

Last night it appears the calf got loose in the stall, and joyfully helped itself to the food supplied by nature to the mother for its sustenance; in consequence, we, for this morning, are minus milk for breakfast. With a decision prompt and unanimous, this act was voted a robbery, the calf a felon, and the award death without delay. No counsel was called for the hungry youngster, nor a voice heard in Nature’s behalf; the absence of the customary supply of milk was considered evidence conclusive and damnatory; the hearts of judge and jurors were superseded by their appetites, and doubtless the criminal calf must die the death.

All day our fine wind follows us; the sun is hot; we have an awning spread over the whole of the noble poop-deck, and within its shade we lounge or lie about in the most perfect luxury of idleness, whilst the Shakspeare majestically moves forward on her course, with just motion enough to be pleasant.

Sunday, 29th. This morning we found our table abundantly supplied with milk; which, together with a burnt-offering of the inconsiderate calf’s liver, bore undoubted evidence of the steward’s prompt execution of the court’s decree. Thinking it a pity such an example of strict justice should be lost to the world, I have, as far as this record goes, done my utmost to preserve it. Wind still abaft the beam, blowing a steady, constant sort of blow; sun cheerful, and sea all alive. About meridian a shore-bird, rather like a woodcock, but considerably larger, came fluttering round the ship, evidently wearied by long flight, yet fearing to confide in our hospitality; and not without reason, faith! for one of our passengers gave me notice of the stranger, and gravely requested me to shoot it. I said nothing; but the ship and cargo could not have bribed me to raise a barrel against that timid, storm-worn, home-sick bird: no, if he would trust in me, he should have rest and food, and so fly back to his lone mistress rejoicing.

Our old man breathes still, but shows little disposition to make an effectual rally against the foe: for the rest, crew and passengers, all are well. A number of Irish lads occupy the between-decks: they have a fiddle amongst them, and “welt the flure” on the forecastle, every night, with a perseverance that is most amusing.

Thursday, April 2nd. Since the 28th ult., light west and south-westerly winds, with warm balmy days. This morning we lost one of our crew overboard, an exceedingly pretty parroquet I had purchased at New Orleans: it was an amusing, active little creature, and on several occasions had crept through the bars of its cage, and slily gone up the rigging, whence it had, after a time, descended of itself, or had been brought down by one of the boys: but frequent peril incurred with impunity breeds presumption, and towering ambition knows no safe halting-place; so my poor, pretty Poll, on each new climb, gained a more giddy and more dangerous elevation, until on this day, attracted by her usual scream of exultation, I cast my eyes upwards in search of her, and quickly made her out, strutting to the weather-end of the royal yard-arm, the loftiest perch in the ship.

I augured ill of the attempt, and was watching her movements, when, either impelled by an innate love of liberty, or lured by some fragrant odour borne on the air from the distant woods of Florida, she made a bold flight in the direction of the land, and fell into the sea a little distance a-head of the ship.

Poll was a favourite, and Captain Collins a kind-hearted man: the Shakspeare was brought by the wind, and various efforts made to near the silly bird; but all in vain: we went rapidly past her, and left her to the fate her presumption had courted. The efforts the little creature made to approach the vessel were incessant, and almost painful to regard: from the instant she touched the waves, her head was kept to the ship, which she strove to regain by flapping along the surface with her maimed short-clipped pinions. I felt that I could have saved her; and only for shame, and the great trouble it would have necessarily caused, I should assuredly have slipped over the side after the miserable little fool.

Our fair wind sticks to us, and the gulf-stream is calculated to be from three to three miles and a half in our favour; so that we are making short work of it. All alive and well.

Tuesday, 7th. We last night got inside the Hook, but were blown off, not being able to get a pilot. We are now thrashing at it with a bitter head-wind. A great number of ships of all kinds are beating through the bay, as well as numbers coming out with it all their own way. The Shakspeare proves worthy the name, as she weathers and goes a-head of every craft beating with us. A very smart ship, called the “Washington Irvine,” held our Billy a stout tug, but, after reading the name as she went about a-head of us for many turns, we at last crawled to windward, and Shakspeare took the lead, as even the “Washington Irvine” must admit was perfectly proper.

At the quarantine station we landed our sick passenger, and were permitted to proceed. By four P.M. I once more set my foot on the dock-side of New York, after an absence of five months, and felt as though I had again reached home.

Let me here remark, that during these five months I had travelled through the roughest part of these States in every sort of conveyance, and had been thrown amongst all classes of the community, yet never received one rude word or encountered an inconvenience, save those inseparable from the condition of the roads. Even the Southern mail, the discomforts of which I have painted exactly as I experienced them, I must in fairness admit is well managed, when the difficulties to be encountered at the season of my journey are justly taken into consideration. Their object is to get on; this, as long as possible, at any risk, they are bound to do. It will be seen that, when a coach cannot be dragged through, they nail a few boards on the axle, and proceed with this lighter and less ticklish vehicle: it is true the passengers suffer much; but only those exceedingly desirous to proceed travel at such times, and without such a resort the machinery must stand still.

Out of our party two stout men gave in at different stages; and another, when I quitted America, had not recovered from the effects of exposure to wet, loss of rest, and fatigue.

The journey ought not, in my mind, to be undertaken by any man who regards his ease, after the month of November or before the month of May. A new route is, however, already in use by coach and steam-boat across Florida: a railroad is also in contemplation by the same line, which, connected with the present ready means of gaining Charleston, will probably, in a season or so, make the communication with Mobile and New Orleans a trip of little inconvenience.

Still I consider that a near view of the border parts of Georgia and Alabama, together with a sail down the noble river of that name, watering, as it does, the richest lands in the world, and destined, as it evidently is, to sustain a vast population on its banks, ought not to be neglected by any man whose motives for travel have any higher aim than mere amusement. For myself, I would not have missed the contemplation of this truly elementary society, and the absolute novelty it presents, for thrice the inconveniences it was my fortune, during an uncommon series of bad weather, to encounter.