Terrebonne County Louisiana Archives News.....A Trip to West End July 21, 1883
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Savanna King savanna18king@gmail.com August 12, 2023, 7:31 pm

The Thibodaux Sentinel July 21, 1883
On Saturday morning July 14 1883, I took the cars at Thibodaux Depot, in company 
with four or five hundred Excursionists, to New Orleans.

The ride to New Orleans was pleasant and agreeable, the road passing through the 
prolific cane and rice fields of Lafourche, which gave unmistakeable evidence of 
bounteous harvests in a few months. The prospect beyond Des Allemands, so far as 
sugar is concerned, was just the reverse, much of the cane seeming to be 
abandoned to the grass and weeds. 

In the city the heat was intense, but towards the evening I boarded the cars for 
West End, to visit and see the festivities given by the French citizens in honor 
of a great event in the history of their native country. The cars were filled to 
their utmost capacity, probably 25000 people having made their way to their 
famous evening resort.

West End is a beautiful place. The buildings are elegant, the walks nice, the 
gardens beautiful, and Lake Pontchartrain spread out to the Westward as far as 
the eye can reach, with numerous boats sailing upon its placid bosom renders the 
view enchanting.

After promenading over the grounds and after witnessing some men attempt to walk 
a slender horizontal pole and tumble in the water below, I turned my attention 
to a bicycle tourname in which three professionals were striving for a prize. As 
one of the riders was passing at full speed, with lance in rest, a little child 
ran across the road. The rider being unable to change his direction in time, ran 
against the child and gave a practical exemplica of the scriptural adage. “By 
the carelessness of little children, the rider and his horse shall go tumbling 
down.”

The child received no injury, but the man was somewhat stunned but not badly 
hurt.

In the centre of the grounds was a fine Pavillion in which were placed the Band 
of music. As I was passing by I saw a man, with stick in hand, striking it about 
in every direction over and around his head, as if 500 horseflies were trying to 
alight on his nose. 

I asked Johnny Baptiste if the man was crazy. He said “no,” “he was beating 
time.”

Well what has time done that he should beat it. Time has been good, it has given 
them all a splendid day, and made everything propitious for the celebration and 
yet they have put a man up there to beat it.”

“Oh, he is beating time for the musicians.” Well, it may be so, but that 
accounts for one mystery that has ever been impenetrable to me.”

“What’s that.”

“Why, the musician who plays the big fiddle is always bald headed. The leader 
who beats time with such ferocity makes the fuzz fly off the top of his head, so 
high and fast that it never gets back.”

The great feature of the evening was the fire works. To say the least of them, 
they were grand, magnificent, equal to any of the famed exhibitions of Aladdin 
with his wonderful lamp.

I thought that I would write a minute description of them, but after I had seen 
them I thought I would not do anything of the kind. 

In company with a distinguished citizen of Lockport, I had managed to obtain a 
seat, a few minutes before the exhibition began.

Suddenly a cannon was fired that so astonished a little lady of 17 near by that 
she sprang up about two feet and then sat down upon the first seat that was 
convenient, which happened to be my knees. I told her to “sit still, the cannon 
wouldn’t hurt her,” but she jumped up as quick as if another shot had been 
fired. This shows the want of duty that parents are guilty of in not teaching 
their children to have confidence in those things that old people may tell them. 
Now the rapidity with which this young lady jumped up would naturally cause one 
to believe that she actually was afraid that the cannon would hurt her.

When the magnificent exhibition was concluded I made my way to the cars and when 
reaching the depot I halted in front of one of the gates that I presumed would 
be opened when the train arrived. Whilst standing there someone behind me 
inquired if I thought that I could get aboard of the first train. Looking back I 
discovered an ex Mayor and a distinguished contractor of this town, who seemed 
to be particularly anxious about my ability to get on the train. 

The train arrived, but before I could reach it there was no longer looking room 
inside.

The second train arrived: by main strength and awkwardness I succeeded in 
embarking, and was shoved along the central passage until the crowd from the 
other end of the car, met me.

As the crowds met a poor little innocent newsboy was caught in the centre who 
wanted to get off the train.

I told him his only chance was to go out by the window, and giving him a lift, 
he glided out and landed upon a platform of bonnets and stove pipe hats when he 
was floundering about like a fish upon a stone, as the cars moved away. Whether 
he ever reached ground I am unable to say. 

I found myself in a tight fix, on my right was a venerable matron, and on my 
left was a suspicious female. Behind me was a six foot cowboy of Texas and in 
front was an innocent sort of a looking youth who imagined that I was the cause 
of his being “tight.” Thus I was not only between Scylla and Charybdis, but was 
in danger of being ground to dust between the upper and lower mill stones.

With my left hand I endeavored to study myself, by holding to the end of one of 
the seats.

A sudden lurch threw me against Scylla, which caused her to imagine that I was a 
very bold chap, and to suddenly clap her hand upon her purse, and grasp it with 
a grip that was intended to be firm and sure.

Not knowing what the next development would be I placed the thumb of my right 
hand under my vest, and assumed the position of an innocent Dude, but I fear 
that I made a failure in the personification of that character, as Scylla never 
let go her purse, and Charybdis gritted her teeth every time that the cars 
pitched me towards the one or the other.

Our Venerable Ex Mayor and contractor did not even succeed in getting on a train 
for some time. The last heard of the contractor he had his rule in his hand 
measuring how much space a man in a tight place would occupy.

I am told that he made a calculation, that the Firemen’s Hall now under 
construction in Thibodaux will hold 4743 persons, male and female, without 
counting babies in their mother’s arms, and little boys and girls perched upon 
their father’s shoulders. 

(The building committee will make a note of that, to be used when objections to 
the new Hall are made that it is too small.)

On Sunday I was witness to one of the most remarkable feats of the cuisine that 
I ever witnessed. I was invited to dine at the Four Season’s Restaurant. We sat 
down at the table at 3 o’clock P.M. The proprietors were told that we had to 
leave by train and wished our meal promptly. In precisely 15 minutes a little 
ice was put on our table, five minutes later some bread and butter came, five 
minutes afterward the soup came, and at 4 o’clock we left the table with the 
remainder of the meal in the kitchen or somewhere else. We didn’t get it at all 
events. If the proprietor and two of his servants would rent three eating houses 
on any railroad, and make travellers pay as they enter the dining room, they 
would be able to buy the railroad in three years and six months. 

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