Then we saw steeples, a dome; then the masts of numerous vessels, and
steamboats, and tall chimneys. Then we reached the levee of the city.
The boat was fastened, and I walked upon the streets of New Orleans. The
heat was no greater than I had felt in Illinois. And at night a breeze
stirred briskly from the harbor and the gulf beyond. This city of 50,000
people had immediate fascination for me.
In the evening I went to the Place d'Armes where a military band was
playing. There were races during the day just out of town. The cafes
were filled with people smoking and drinking, playing billiards and
dominoes. Ladies in gay costumes sat in the balconies, making
observations on the scene, the players, the passersby. French was spoken
everywhere. And everywhere was the creole beauty, with black eyes and
long silken lashes, and light skin faintly suffused with rose. I plunged
into these festivities in order to forget Dorothy.
I went to the Spanish Cathedral the next day, and saw on the porch
groups of gray-haired negroes waiting for alms. There were candles on
the altar, paintings of the stations of the cross on the pillars, and
confessional closets near the door. And here the lovely creole knelt
side by side with pure black descendants of the African negro.
Not anywhere did I see the negro treated worse than in Illinois, except
on one occasion.
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