February 1, Sunday, at 3 A. M., we reached New Orleans and anchored opposite the central part of the city, where we remained during the next day. Looking at New Orleans at that time, it was hard to realize that just previous to the opening of the war it had the largest export trade of any city in the world. Its stores closed, its fine business blocks deserted, its levee which had once groaned with the burden of a great commerce empty and desolate, the great metropolis of the Southwest lying under the guns of our ships of war was a mute but vivid witness of the folly of rebellion.
Leaving New Orleans on the 3rd at 11.45 A. M. we proceeded up the river. Above New Orleans the desolation became more marked. War had written his autograph over the whole face of the country. Crops of sugar cane which should have yielded thousands of pounds of sugar were still standing in February, when they should have been gathered months before. No hope of saving them, for the frost had been at work upon them. Moreover, the planter's negroes had left him, his horses had been stolen, his mules and teams confiscated by the Government. Defiant amid the general wreck, the planters were said to be bitterly cursing President Lincoln and praying for the destruction of the Union armies.
The village of Donaldson, the first place of importance above New Orleans, presented a sorry sight. Its inhabitants had had the bad habit of firing on our weaker steamers as they passed up and down the river. Farragut bore the outrage until forbearance ceased to be a virtue, and then assured the people that if the outrage were again repeated he would shell the town. It
