Читать книгу Lamy of Santa Fe - Paul Horgan - Страница 34

i.

New Orleans

ON 25 NOVEMBER 1850, Lamy sailed from Cincinnati by river on the first of the several long stages of his way to the Far West. His ultimate destination was that whole immense area of the Rocky Mountains and the high plains which was lettered in a sweeping arc on early- and mid-nineteenth-century maps as “The Great American Desert,” Since the end of the war in 1847, and the discovery of gold in California in 1848, travel to the West had increased vastly, by many alternate routes, including trails straight westward overland; Atlantic travel by ship to Mexico or the Isthmus of Panama, followed by an overland passage to the Pacific, and again by ship north to the California gold fields; or, by ship, all the way around Cape Horn. News came eastward, not too much of it accurate, but people responded. Inevitably settlements took root along the westward trails, and new details soon came to light on later maps. But beyond the Mississippi much was still alive only in the imagination, and impressions owed as much to legend as to fact. Lamy had little detailed knowledge of the continent, other than that known at second hand to the fellow bishops who had elected him.

How full, as preparation, had been his work in the intimate forest villages and their confined landscape during the past ten years? He had no way yet to measure this, and it was not in his nature to indulge in imaginative speculation, and in any case he had little enough to go on to form any true idea of what lay ahead. Habitually he met the occasion of the day, under the calm sense of confidence and guidance which animated him.

His river steamer wound slowly away from Cincinnati, taking the great double bend of the Ohio to the south and west of the city. The populated slopes were soon lost to sight. Wilderness America followed, with its rolling hills and winding valleys, broken only now and then by wide flat fields on each side of the river, and an occasional farm house in Indiana and Kentucky. On the Ohio and the Mississippi, the river voyage to New Orleans would take nine days. The paddle steamer would pass many others of her general sort. They all made a brave sight, with their fancifully crowned stacks, showing dense smoke by day, and sparks and even flames by night. They were capacious ships—some had room for over fifteen hundred passengers—with luxurious fittings and flattering service which were meant to rival those of the wooden scroll-saw hotels in the inland cities.

Lamy’s sister Margaret, and Marie, the daughter of his brother Etienne, saw with him much to wonder at during the voyage, now with amusement, at other times with sorrow and distaste—and so did Machebeuf, who followed on a river steamer some weeks later in January 1851. Machebeuf was a lively and constant letter writer, and his own observations of river travel captured the typical.

There was always a mixed passenger list—American, Dutch, English, French, Pole, Italian, Irish, Catholics and Protestants, priests, laymen, and Negro servants who were slaves. The crews were both white and black. To the animation of the persons aboard was added the dense animal presence of more than 160 mules or horses, 100 beef cattle, 400 sheep, 60 or 80 fighting cocks which had been bought for twenty-five francs each at Louisville and were destined to amuse the spectators of New Orleans. There was other cargo: 400 bales of cotton, 200 or 300 tons of wheat—and Negro slaves for sale.

Lamy used river-time to study a new language. English or French would not, it was supposed, be generally useful to him where he was going. Spanish was the language of the people, and had to be learned, as English had had to be mastered for Ohio. As the wide, fancy-decked, scroll-sawed steamer wound slowly southward Lamy would work at his Spanish, and later he and Machebeuf were amused to compare notes on the resemblances they found between that language and much of the common speech of Auvergne, despite differences in pronunciation. “La vida” seemed to them close to “la vie” “aqua” to “l’eau” “la mitad” to “la moitié” Putting the language together in discourse would, however, be another matter, as they would learn.

The steamers hove in for passengers and cargo all down the river. While the ship was docked for several hours at Memphis, there was an event not to be forgotten by strangers, though it was familiar enough to others. In the evening her cargo of slaves was taken to the slave market by the trader in charge, who, in a “revolting scene,” sold two young black women to a local customer. This buyer examined his prospective goods thoroughly. He directed them to walk, to speak, asked them what they could do, why their previous owner had sold them, and, finally assured that he would get his money’s worth, paid 650 piastres each for them and led them away in their rags. It moved the observer to compassion to see them walking slowly off behind their new master. (Machebeuf naively felt obliged to add—having no doubt heard as much from cordial southern passengers—that many slave-owners took great care of their human property, and that even if offered their freedom many slaves would never leave them.)

Here and there when the steamer tied up at the bank to take on wood for her furnaces, the travellers could see some of the great Mississippi plantations, which often looked like small villages, centered about the great two-storey brick mansion of the master, with the slave quarters set to one side, where they stood thirty or forty feet from each other. Each Negro family had its own cabin and little garden, and the inhabitants were obliged to work for nothing in exchange except their food and coarse clothing.

As the voyage proceeded, the climate gradually changed—overcoats even in mid-winter were no longer needed, the trees bore leaves, and the land was green, and as they drew close to New Orleans, the travellers would see orange groves before nightfall. The river widened. The city would be both a destination and a point of departure. Lamy’s sister was ailing so rapidly that on arrival he must enter her into the hospital of the Sisters of Charity, where she could await the sailing of the ship which would take her home to France, back to her motherhouse, for she was no longer able to be active in America. Little Marie Lamy would go to school to the New Orleans Ursulines with the blessing of her uncle the bishop. He cared greatly for her, and during all his life she would be devoted to him.

They docked at New Orleans in early December and carried out their arrangements. Lamy was lodged with Archbishop Blanc, who had a lively interest in his affairs. From Blanc’s experience and the letters of Bishop Odin of Galveston, Lamy could draw on a great fund of advice. Blanc had already written to Purcell at Cincinnati that he expected Lamy, and would receive him as a “friend and brother,” but could not understand why he had to go to Santa Fe by way of New Orleans, as the St Louis route was so much quicker. It may have been that those who always raised the question did not know of Lamy’s sense of responsibility for taking proper measures himself for his sister and his niece at New Orleans, or if they knew, did not feel so strongly as Lamy in this duty. Another possible reason for the New Orleans route was that soon after arriving there, he was to go to Mobile, Alabama, to assist at a consecration; and New Orleans was the most suitable place from which to go to Mobile.

Once in New Orleans to plan his next steps westward, Lamy had plenty to do. The city was busy—an ocean and river port both. The waterfront was clustered with steamers for the river trade, and also with others which voyaged into the Gulf of Mexico and into the oceans. The Mississippi was as wide as a sizable lake. Signs of industry lined her shores. Canal street was like one half of a great Parisian boulevard with two traffic lanes separated by a park with walks, lawns, lamps, and trees. Horse-drawn passenger cars moved along parallel to the river; and in the inner streets, winding between gas lamps and houses with lacy iron balconies, the glass hearses and black broughams of funeral processions bearing away cholera victims could frequently be seen by people on the sidewalks—men in frock coats who bared their heads at the sight, bonneted women who said a prayer, a black woman carrying on her head a round basket of flowers for sale. Facing the river across a formally planted park, in the midst of which General Jackson in bronze doffed his cocked hat while his charger reared beneath him, was the Cathedral of New Orleans. Its tall central spire and two lesser ones were almost black in color, above an ornate façade of pale plaster. Behind the cathedral was an enclosed garden with great trees and flowering bushes. There Lamy, like his host, could read his daily office, or enter the rear door of the church to say his Mass.

Waiting for Machebeuf, he went ahead with his preparations.