We continued our stroll about the city, coming to a cemetery, where I
looked into a newly dug grave to find it half full of water. On one side
were many brick vaults above ground. The ground here is very low and
wet, and seemed to be all swamp. The drainage was in surface gutters,
and in them the water stood nearly still. It seemed to me such water
must have yellow fever in it.
For a long way along the levee the steamboats lay thick and close
together, unloading cotton, hemp, sugar, hoop poles, bacon and other
products, mostly the product of negro labor.
Here our friend Evans was taken sick, and as he got no better after a
day or two, we called a doctor to examine him. He pronounced it a mild
case of yellow fever. His skin was yellow in places, and he looked very
badly. The doctor advised us to go on up the river, saying it was very
dangerous staying here with him. Evans gave me most of his money and all
of his gold specimens to take to his wife, and when he got well he would
follow us. We bade him good-bye, and with many wishes for his speedy
recovery, we took passage on a steamer for St. Louis. This steamer, the
Atlantic, proved to be a real floating palace in all respects. The table
was supplied with everything the country afforded, and polite and
well-dressed darkies were numerous as table waiters. This was the most
pleasant trip I had ever taken, and I could not help comparing the
luxuriance of my coming home to the hardships of the outward journey
across the plains, and our starvation fare.
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