Alphabet File page 388
The house of one of Andrew Jackson's nephews flanks the extreme west of Waveland, and the white shell road begins in front of it and follows the sweep of the coast, in and out, for nearly four miles, and forming with the Bay St. Louis front a beautiful roadway of some nine miles long.
Along this road are the cottages, white and vine-covered, dotted, at irregular intervals, for the entire distance.
In front of the houses is the shadow-swept expanse of Mississippi sound, whitened here and there by a glittering sail. Every cottage, however small, has its bathhouse in front of it, and as the waters are shallow, long, spindle-legged wharves are run out to gain a sufficient depth. These wharves are of many lengths, and present the appearance of an irregular fringe hung along the beach. The sweep of the shore is a pure, wide crescent, and Pass Christian may be faintly seen on this taut purple headland which tapers into a hazy thread, and is lost between the ocean and the sky. On the other side, toward New Orleans, may be indistinctly seen the outlines of the St. Joseph Lighthouse, so dreamily far, that it seems to sentinel the outposts of creation.
The shell road which skirts the beach at Waveland is the fashionable afternoon drive. The coast, above the narrow white strip of beach, is the most part of a high bluff, rising and sinking in picturesque lines, and protected from the ravages of the waves of breakwaters.
The scenery along the shell road toward the Sound is indeed magnificent, but the inland side is scarcely less beautiful; the pretty cottages are tucked under wide-branching live oaks, draped in moss, with rose gardens in front, and flowering vines clambering on the cool, wide porticoes. The forest behind the settlement creeps between and around the houses, and shades and shelters them, and a few tall pines stand guard along the coast.
The citizens of Waveland have plenty of enterprise and progressiveness, but their energies are mainly directed to developing their individual properties. This makes the town a beautiful one, for every cottage and garden has something to recommend it in the way of ornamentation and adornment. There are no hotels in Waveland, but just now there is an attempt being made to establish one on Nicholson Avenue. There is also some talk of building an opera house. The value of real estate has increased 400 per cent in five years, and in many cases even more than that. Lots which five years ago could have been bought for $2 and $3 a foot are now sold at $10 and $12, and some of the building lots are held at $20. New cottages are constantly being built in Waveland and a large number have just been completed this spring. Among them might be mentioned the nine-room cottage of Mr. Blake, which he opened for the first time and occupied Wednesday, May 3, and those of Mr. George LHote and Mrs. L`Hote, which are built side by side in the same garden spot, and that of Mr. Pitard and of Dr. G.W. Smith. Mr. F.W. Young has only this week moved into a beautiful home finished in hardwoods, with a trim garden in front of it.
The houses in Waveland are being put in thorough repair at this time, and there is scarcely one that has not been, or is not being, renovated, for the season begins May 1 and lasts till November, and already families have commenced to move over from the city. Mr. Lucas E. Moore and family have already arrived, also Mr. F.W. Young and family, and Mr. Alfred Le Blanc and family, Mr. Peter Hellwege, Mr. William Blake and Mr. John R. Fell intend moving their families over this week, and the 1st of June will find every house tenanted.
Although Waveland has so rapidly increased the number of its houses and inhabitants within the past few years, yet there is an extent of coast within its limits which could be converted into admirable places for summer cottages, winter houses for Northerners or hotels for tourists. Waveland's population is now largely dependent on New Orleans, but it is only a question of time when its growth will cease to be dependent upon the Crescent City as a suburb, for it is gradually coming to be recognized as being as delightful a winter resort as a summer one, and Northerners will occupy the homes in the colder months that Southerners will use for their summer residences.
The climate of Waveland is delightful; the almost perpetual south-wind from the far away tropic seas robs the summer solstice of its fervid heat, and its heavy blanket of pine forests inland shelters it from the cold blasts of the North. In this way it secures coolness in the summer and warmth in the winter, giving it a mild and equable climate throughout the year.
The journey to Waveland, on the Louisville and Nashville road, is a very pleasant one. Boarding the cars at the foot of Canal street, the train crosses the last drainage canal in a few minutes run, and the great city is left behind, with its low and outlying houses and rose gardens, with its slow coils of smoke drifting across the sky, its mute steeples pointing upward, and its busy factories and markets, and with its thin line of masts that marks the crest of the Mississippi, and at once it plunges into a typical Louisiana forest. Before the cypress trunks and black stagnant pools become monotonous to the eye the swift train rushes into the flat marshland that lies between New Orleans and the Rigolets. This is an ocean-green stretch of sun swept prairie that merges away in the distance into the uncertain shadowland that lies close under the horizon. It is a billowless green sea that is only broken by the occasional glimpse of a silver flashing bayou, or by the blue of a distant lake that looks like a bit of sky woven into the land.
The pictures bound in by the frame of the car window is like panoramic series of landscapes by Turner, containing all the delicate suggestions of cloud-shaping and coloring that his master brush has pointed out. After a two hours' run Waveland is reached.
The Waveland station is in the midst of a brown stretch of pine scenery, three-quarters of a mile behind the town, with long white roads extending fan-wise to the coast. At this season of the year thirty or more private carriages are drawn up around the station on Sunday morning to await the arrival of the early trains, for some of the business men who own cottages at Waveland spend Sunday there almost throughout the year.
Your correspondent was deposited at Waveland and driven in a private carriage to see some of the most beautiful among the many residences.
A visit was made to the residence of Mr. Geo. E. Sears, and his fine stock of cows and horses were inspected. Mr. Sears' house is a cozy one, surrounded, as most cottages at Waveland are, with magnificent trees and with a wide pasture behind it. Mr. Sears has made his place a stock farm, and the sleek animals roaming over one of the most picturesque and beautiful pastures it has ever been your correspondents good fortune to see. Mr. Sears has in his stable some remarkably fine colts, very high bred, and giving promise of developing into valuable animals. The wonder is how one can willingly leave such a country bound for the dusty town, even for a day.
After leaving the "Anchorage", by which restful home the place of Mr. Sears is known, a visit was paid to the very beautiful home of Mr. John R. Fell, who has devoted himself for the past seven years to perfecting a haven of rest to which he may some day retire before life's fitful dream is over. Mr. Fell has gradually built up a typical Southern home, broad galleried, low-pitched cottages - several of them - nestling under wide-reaching oaks close by the wave-lapped shore, and flanked by gardens of rare roses and wealth of fruit and flowers and shade trees.
Among other attractions, and perhaps from their rarity, the most interesting of this charming place, are the fish ponds - not little pools, but broad stretches of clear water stocked with countless perch and green trout, some of the former so tame that the writer had them nibble bread from his hand.
These ponds, six in number, are fed by artesian water, cover some three acres and contain over a million gallons of clear water, in which the darting occupants seem to thrive wonderfully well. A net thrown for our amusement brought up in one cast some two dozen perch and several superb trout, one of which weighed fully four pounds. The writer was loath to leave this fascinating place, but he had many other visits to make, and reluctantly said farewell to his hospitable entertainer.