第131章 THE STRANGE CITY(1)

Nick and I stood by the mast on the forward part of the cabin, staring at the distant, low-lying city, while Xavier sought for the entrance to the eddy which here runs along the shore.If you did not gain this entrance, --so he explained,--you were carried by a swift current below New Orleans and might by no means get back save by the hiring of a crew.Xavier, however, was not to be caught thus, and presently we were gliding quietly along the eastern bank, or levee, which held back the river from the lowlands.Then, as we looked, the levee became an esplanade shaded by rows of willows, and through them we caught sight of the upper galleries and low, curving roofs of the city itself.There, cried Xavier, was the Governor's house on the corner, where the great Miro lived, and beyond it the house of the Intendant; and then, gliding into an open space between the keel boats along the bank, stared at by a score of boatmen and idlers from above, we came to the end of our long journey.No sooner had we made fast than we were boarded by a shabby customs officer who, when he had seen our passports, bowed politely and invited us to land.We leaped ashore, gained the gravelled walk on the levee, and looked about us.

Squalidity first met our eyes.Below us, crowded between the levee and the row of houses, were dozens of squalid market-stalls tended by cotton-clad negroes.Beyond, across the bare Place d'Armes, a blackened gap in the line of houses bore witness to the devastation of the year gone by, while here and there a roof, struck by the setting sun, gleamed fiery red with its new tiles.The levee was deserted save for the negroes and the river men.

``Time for siesta, Michie,'' said Xavier, joining us; ``Iwill show you ze inn of which I spik.She is kep' by my fren', Madame Bouvet.''

``Xavier,'' said Nick, looking at the rolling flood of the river, ``suppose this levee should break?''

``Ah,'' said Xavier, ``then some Spaniard who never have a bath--he feel what water is lak.''

Followed by Benjy with the saddle-bags, we went down the steps set in the levee into this strange, foreign city.

It was like unto nothing we had ever seen, nor can I give an adequate notion of how it affected us,--such a mixture it seemed of dirt and poverty and wealth and romance.

The narrow, muddy streets ran with filth, and on each side along the houses was a sun-baked walk held up by the curved sides of broken flatboats, where two men might scarcely pass.The houses, too, had an odd and foreign look, some of wood, some of upright logs and plaster, and newer ones, Spanish in style, of adobe, with curving roofs of red tiles and strong eaves spreading over the banquette (as the sidewalk was called), casting shadows on lemon-colored walls.Since New Orleans was in a swamp, the older houses for the most part were lifted some seven feet above the ground, and many of these houses had wide galleries on the street side.Here and there a shop was set in the wall; a watchmaker was to be seen poring over his work at a tiny window, a shoemaker cross-legged on the floor.Again, at an open wicket, we caught a glimpse through a cool archway into a flowering court-yard.Stalwart negresses with bright kerchiefs made way for us on the banquette.Hands on hips, they swung along erect, with baskets of cakes and sweetmeats on their heads, musically crying their wares.

At length, turning a corner, we came to a white wooden house on the Rue Royale, with a flight of steps leading up to the entrance.In place of a door a flimsy curtain hung in the doorway, and, pushing this aside, we followed Xavier through a darkened hall to a wide gallery that overlooked a court-yard.This court-yard was shaded by several great trees which grew there, the house and gallery ran down one other side of it; and the two remaining sides were made up of a series of low cabins, these forming the various outhouses and the kitchen.At the far end of this gallery a sallow, buxom lady sat sewing at a table, and Xavier saluted her very respectfully.

``Madame,'' he said, ``I have brought you from St.Louis with Michie Gratiot's compliments two young American gentlemen, who are travelling to amuse themselves.''

The lady rose and beamed upon us.

``From Monsieur Gratiot,'' she said; ``you are very welcome, gentlemen, to such poor accommodations as Ihave.It is not unusual to have American gentlemen in New Orleans, for many come here first and last.And Iam happy to say that two of my best rooms are vacant.

Zoey!''

There was a shrill answer from the court below, and a negro girl in a yellow turban came running up, while Madame Bouvet bustled along the gallery and opened the doors of two darkened rooms.Within I could dimly see a walnut dresser, a chair, and a walnut bed on which was spread a mosquito bar.

``Voila!, Messieurs,'' cried Madame Bouvet, ``there is still a little time for a siesta.No siesta!'' cried Madame, eying us aghast; ``ah, the Americans they never rest--never.''

We bade farewell to the good Xavier, promising to see him soon; and Nick, shouting to Benjy to open the saddle-bags, proceeded to array himself in the clothes which had made so much havoc at St.Louis.I boded no good from this proceeding, but I reflected, as I watched him dress, that I might as well try to turn the Mississippi from its course as to attempt to keep my cousin from the search for gallant adventure.And I reflected that his indulgence in pleasure-seeking would serve the more to divert any suspicions which might fall upon my own head.At last, when the setting sun was flooding the court-yard, he stood arrayed upon the gallery, ready to venture forth to conquest.