History Buffs: What is was name of that burned down plantation on river road?

I think it was cottage plantation or cottage plantation at Duncan point something like that. If I remember correctly there are a few interesting old story's about the place

Caterpillar's wedding was there, I believe it's his families land if I can remember correctly. I'm sure he can tell you all about it

Speaking of history who knew Louisiana was once known as the Territory of Orleans?

Do you wish the name had been kept for statehood? Would you want to live in St. Francisville, Orleans? "New Orleans, Orleans Parish, Orleans. The city so nice they named it thrice..."

dayum, five downvotes?

UPDATE: from Recollections of a Rebel Reefer, James Morris Morgan, 1845-1928

I have a vivid recollection of a tragedy which happened in those days which often troubles the dreams of my old age. I was an eye-witness of the blowing-up and destruction by fire of the Princess, the finest steamboat on the Mississippi in those days. The night before the disaster my father and mother had kissed me good-bye and gone on board of an old dismantled steamboat, which answered the purposes of a wharf, to await the arrival of the Princess, as they intended to take passage on her for New Orleans.

Early the next morning I went down to the river to find out if they had yet left. The Princess had just drawn out into the stream, and as I stood watching her as she glided down-the river a great column of white smoke suddenly went up from her and she burst into flames. She was loaded with cotton. As though by magic the inhabitants of the town gathered at the riverside and in the crowd I spied my brother-in-law, Charles La Noue, in a buggy. He called to me; I jumped in alongside of him and we dashed down the river road in the direction of the burning boat. The road was rough and the horse was fast. The high levee on our right shut out the view of the river, so we could only see the great column of smoke. On our left were the endless fields of sugar cane, with an occasional glimpse of a planter’s house set in a grove of pecan trees.

At last, in a great state of excitement, we arrived at the plantation of Mr. Conrad. “Brother Charlie” jumped out of the vehicle and ran toward the house while I made the horse fast to a tree. I then mounted the levee from where I could see floating cotton bales with people on them; men in skiffs, from both sides of the river, were rescuing the poor terror-stricken creatures and bringing them ashore. From the levee I rushed into the park in front of Mr. Conrad’s residence and there saw a sight which can never be effaced from my memory. Mr. Conrad had had sheets laid on the ground amidst the trees and barrels of flour were broken open and the contents poured over the sheets. As fast as the burned and scalded people were pulled out of the river they were seized by the slaves and, while screaming and shrieking with pain and fright, they were forcibly thrown down on the sheets and rolled in the flour. The clothes had been burned off of many of them. Some, in their agony, could not lie still, and, with the white sheets wrapped round them, looking like ghosts, they danced a weird hornpipe while filling the air with their screams. Terrified by the awful and uncanny scene, I hid behind a huge tree so that I should not see it, but no tree could prevent me from hearing those awful cries and curses which echo in my ears even now.

Suddenly, to my horror, one of the white specters, wrapped in a sheet, his disfigured face plastered over with flour, staggered toward my hiding-place, and before I could run away from the hideous object it extended its arms toward me and quietly said, “Don’t be afraid, Jimmie. It is me, Mr. Cheatham. I am dying–hold my hand!” And he sank upon the turf beside me. Although dreadfully frightened, I managed between sobs to ask the question uppermost in my mind: “Can you tell me where I can find my father and mother?” The ghostlike man only replied with a cry which seemed to wrench his soul from his body. He shivered for an instant, and then lay still. A slave passing by pointed to the body and casually remarked, “He done dead.”

A Creole negro woman then came running toward me; she was stout and almost out of breath, but was still able to shout out to me in her native patois: “Mo cherche pour toi partout; M’sieur La Noue dit que to vinit toute suite!” When I found “Brother Charlie,” he was ministering to the maimed, but found time to tell me that my parents had taken another boat which had stopped at Baton Rouge in the night and thereby had saved their lives. I returned at once to my home, where I was comforted in the strong arms of Katish, my old black nurse.

(no message)

Was FDC an immigrant? Did he build it, child, or married into it?

I bet BR was nothing but swamp land other than the small bluff

quote:

---

Hint: my first name is all over that article.

---

Princess?


I can see why you use The Catepillar on here.

What year did it burn? I walked through it or around it 40 years ago in high school. We hunted wood ducks on the batture all up and down the river in that area and used to slam them. The Wildlife enforcement agent used to sit on the levee and honk his horn when shooting time stopped. He told us the first time we saw him as long as we stopped he wouldn't run us off the levee.

He had a key to a gate somewhere by it and walked with us to describe it. He must have known some of your family or at least a bit of the history of it. Great place. Long time since I've thought of that.

i want to go hang out there. I drive buy it every day, and always wondered what it was. if i had moneyi would love that land. complete rural land 5 mins from lsu.