Charleston, in South Carolina, being the first place of my destination, I went to Bourdeaux as one of the ports of France that trades most with the southern parts of the United States, and where there are most commonly vessels from the different points of North America. I embarked the 24th of {2} September 1801, on board the John and Francis, commanded by the same captain with whom I returned to Europe several years ago.[1] A fortnight after our departure we were overtaken by a calm, within sight of the Açorian Islands. Saint George’s and Graciosa were those nearest to us, where we clearly distinguished a few houses, which appeared built with stone and chalk; and the rapid declivity of the land divided by hedges, which most likely separated the property of different occupiers. The major part of these islands abound with stupendous mountains, in various directions, and beyond which the summit of Pico, in a pyramidical form rises majestically above the clouds, which were then illumined by the rays of the setting sun. A gentle breeze springing up, we soon lost sight of that charming prospect, and on the 9th of October following entered the Charleston roads, in company with two other vessels which had left Bourdeaux, the one eighteen days, and the other a month before us.

The pleasure that we felt on discovering the shore was very soon abated. The pilot informed us that the yellow fever had made dreadful ravages at Charleston, and was still carrying off a great number of the inhabitants. This intelligence alarmed the {3} passengers, who were fourteen in number, the most of whom had either friends or relatives in the town. Every one was fearful of learning some disastrous news or other. The anchor was no sooner weighed than those who had never been accustomed to warm countries were escorted by their friends to the Isle of Sullivan. This island is situated about seven miles from Charleston. Its dry and parched-up soil is almost bereft of vegetation; but as it is exposed to the breeze of the open sea, the air is generally cool and pleasant. Within these few years, since that bilious and inflammatory disorder, commonly known by the name of the yellow fever, shows itself regularly every summer at Charleston, a great number of the inhabitants and planters, who took refuge in the town to escape the intermittent fevers which attack seven-tenths of those resident in the country, have built houses in that island, where they sojourn from the early part of July till the first frost, which usually takes place about the 15th of November. A few of the inhabitants keep boarding-houses, where they receive those who have no settled residence. It has been remarked that foreigners, newly arrived from Europe or the states of North America, and {4} who go immediately to reside in this island, are exempt from the yellow fever.

However powerful these considerations were, they could not induce me to go and pass my time in such a dull and melancholy abode; upon which I refused the advice of my friends, and staid in the town. I had nearly been the victim of my obstinacy, having been, a few days after, attacked with the first symptoms of this dreadful malady, under which I laboured upward of a month.

The yellow fever varies every year according to the intenseness of the heat; at the same time the observation has not yet been forcible enough to point out the characteristic signs by which they can discover whether it will be more or less malignant in the summer. The natives are not so subject to it as foreigners, eight-tenths of whom died the year of my arrival; and whenever the former are attacked with it, it is always in a much less proportion.

It has been observed that during the months of July, August, September, and October, when this disorder is usually most prevalent, the persons who leave Charleston for a few days only, are, on their return to town, much more susceptible of catching it {5} than those who staid at home. The natives of Upper Carolina, two or three hundred miles distant, are as subject to it as foreigners; and those of the environs are not always exempt from it: whence it results that during one third of the year all communications are nearly cut off between the country and town, whither they go but very reluctantly, and seldom or ever sleep there. The supply of provisions at that time is only made by the negroes, who are never subject to the fever. On my return to Charleston in the month of October 1802, from my travels over the western part of the country, I did not meet, on the most populous road, for the space of three hundred miles, a single traveller that was either going to town or returning from it; and in the houses where I stopped there was not a person who conceived his business of that importance to oblige him to go there while the season lasted.

From the 1st of November till the month of May the country affords a picture widely different; every thing resumes new life; trade is re-animated; the suspended communications re-commence; the roads are covered with waggons, bringing from all quarters the produce of the exterior; an immense number of carriages and single-horse chaises roll rapidly {6} along, and keep up a continual correspondence between the city and the neighbouring plantations, where the owners spend the greatest part of the season. In short, the commercial activity renders Charleston just as lively as it is dull and melancholy in the summer.

It is generally thought at Charleston that the yellow fever which rages there, as well as at Savannah, every summer, is analogous to that which breaks out in the colonies, and that it is not contagious: but this opinion is not universally adopted in the northern cities. It is a fact, that whenever the disease is prevalent at New York and Philadelphia, the natives are as apt to contract it as foreigners, and that they remove as soon as they learn that their neighbours are attacked with it. Notwithstanding they have a very valuable advantage that is not to be found at Charleston, which is, that the country places bordering on Philadelphia and New York are pleasant and salubrious; and that at two or three miles’ distance the inhabitants are in perfect safety, though even the disorder committed the greatest ravages in the above-mentioned towns.

I took the liberty to make this slight digression, for the information of those who might have to go to the {7} southern parts of the United States that it is dangerous to arrive there in the months of July, August, September, and October. I conceived, like many others, that the using of every means necessary to prevent the effervescence of the blood was infallibly a preservative against this disorder; but every year it is proved by experience that those who have pursued that mode of living, which is certainly the best, are not all exempt from sharing the fate of those who confine themselves to any particular kind of regimen.

Charleston is situated at the conflux of the rivers Ashley and Cooper. The spot of ground that it occupies is about a mile in length. From the middle of the principal street the two rivers might be clearly seen, were it not for a public edifice built upon the banks of the Cooper, which intercepts the view. The most populous and commercial part of the town is situated along the Ashley. Several ill-constructed quays project into the river, to facilitate the trading vessels taking in their cargoes. These quays are formed with the trunks of palm trees fixed together, and laid out in squares one above the other. Experience has shown that the trunks of these trees, although of a very spungy nature, lie buried in the {8} water many years without decaying; upon which account they are generally preferred for these purposes to any other kind of wood in the country. The streets of Charleston are extremely wide, but not paved, consequently every time your foot slips from a kind of brick pavement before the doors, you are immerged nearly ancle-deep in sand. The rapid circulation of the carriages, which, proportionately speaking, are far more considerable here in number than in any other part of America, continually grinds this moving sand, and pulverizes it in such a manner, that the most gentle wind fills the shops with it, and renders it very disagreeable to foot passengers. At regular distances pumps supply the inhabitants with water of such a brackish taste, that it is truly astonishing how foreigners can grow used to it. Two-thirds of the houses are built with wood, the rest with brick. According to the last computation, made in 1803, the population, comprising foreigners, amounted to 10,690 whites and 9050 slaves.

Strangers that arrive at Charleston, or at any town in the United States, find no furnished hotels nor rooms to let for their accommodation, no coffee-houses where they can regale themselves. The whole of this is replaced by boarding-houses, where every thing necessary {9} is provided. In Carolina you pay, at these receptacles, from twelve to twenty piastres per week. This enormous sum is by no means proportionate to the price of provisions. For example, beef very seldom exceeds sixpence a pound. Vegetables are dearer there than meat. Independent of the articles of consumption that the country supplies, the port of Charleston is generally full of small vessels from Boston, Newport, New York, and Philadelphia, and from all the little intermediate ports, which are loaded with flour, salt provisions, potatoes, onions, carrots, beet-roots, apples, oats, Indian corn, and hay. Planks and building materials comprize another considerable article of importation; and although these different kinds of produce are brought from three to four hundred leagues, they are not so dear and of a better quality than those of their own growth.

In winter the markets of Charleston are well stocked with live sea-fish, which are brought from the northern part of the United States in vessels so constructed as to keep them in a continual supply of water. The ships engaged in this kind of traffic load, in return, with rice and cottons, the greater part of which is re-exported into Europe, the freight {10} being always higher in the northern than in the southern states. The cotton wool that they keep in the north for their own consumption is more than sufficient to supply the manufacturies, being but very few: the overplus is disposed of in the country places, where the women fabricate coarse cottons for the use of their families.

Wood is extravagantly dear at Charleston; it costs from forty to fifty shillings[2] a cord, notwithstanding forests, which are almost boundless in extent, begin at six miles, and even at a less distance from the town, and the conveyance of it is facilitated by the two rivers at the conflux of which it is situated; on which account a great number of the inhabitants burn coals that are brought from England.

As soon as I recovered from my illness I left Charleston, and went to reside in a small plantation about ten miles from the town, where my father had formed a botanic garden. It was there he collected and cultivated, with the greatest care, the plants that he found in the long and painful travels that his ardent love for science had urged him to make, almost every year, in the different quarters of America. Ever animated with a desire of serving the country he was in, he conceived that the climate of South Carolina {11} must be favourable to the culture of several useful vegetables of the old continent, and made a memorial of them, which he read to the Agricultural Society at Charleston. A few happy essays confirmed him in his opinion, but his return to Europe did not permit him to continue his former attempts. On my arrival at Carolina I found in this garden a superb collection of trees and plants that had survived almost a total neglect for nearly the space of four years. I likewise found there a great number of trees belonging to the old continent, that my father had planted, some of which were in the most flourishing state. I principally remarked two ginkgo bilobas, that had not been planted above seven years, and which were then upward of thirty feet in height; several sterculia platanifolia, which had yielded seed upward of six years; in short, more than a hundred and fifty mimosa illibrissin, the first plant of which came from Europe about ten inches in diameter. I set several before my return to France, this tree being at that time very much esteemed for its magnificent flowers. The Agricultural Society at Carolina are now in possession of this garden: they intend keeping it in order, and cultivating the useful vegetables belonging to the old continent, which, {12} from the analogy of the climate, promise every success.[3] I employed the remainder of the autumn in making collections of seed, which I sent to Europe; and the winter, in visiting the different parts of Low Carolina, and in reconnoitring the places where, the year following, I might make more abundant harvests, and procure the various sorts that I had not been able to collect during the autumn.

On this account I must observe, that in North America, and perhaps more so than in Europe, there are plants that only inhabit certain places; whence it happens that a botanist, in despite of all his zeal and activity, does not meet with them for years; whilst another, led by a happy chance, finds them in his first excursion. I shall add, in favour of those who wish to travel over the southern part of the United States for botanical researches, that the epoch of the flower season begins in the early part of February; the time for gathering the seeds of herbaceous plants in the month of August; and on the 1st of October for that of forest trees.