VOYAGE OF THE TIMES-DEMOCRAT'S RELIEF BOAT THROUGH THE INUNDATED REGIONS
IT was nine o'clock Thursday morning when the 'Susie'
left the Mississippi and entered Old River, or what is
now called the mouth of the Red. Ascending on the left,
a flood was pouring in through and over the levees on
the Chandler plantation, the most northern point in Pointe
Coupee parish. The water completely covered the place,
although the levees had given way but a short time before.
The stock had been gathered in a large flat-boat, where,
without food, as we passed, the animals were huddled together,
waiting for a boat to tow them off. On the right-hand side
of the river is Turnbull's Island, and on it is a large plantation
which formerly was pronounced one of the most fertile in the State.
The water has hitherto allowed it to go scot-free in usual floods,
but now broad sheets of water told only where fields were.
The top of the protecting levee could be seen here and there,
but nearly all of it was submerged.
The trees have put on a greener foliage since the water has poured in,
and the woods look bright and fresh, but this pleasant aspect to the eye
is neutralized by the interminable waste of water. We pass mile after mile,
and it is nothing but trees standing up to their branches in water.
A water-turkey now and again rises and flies ahead into the long avenue
of silence. A pirogue sometimes flits from the bushes and crosses
the Red River on its way out to the Mississippi, but the sad-faced
paddlers never turn their heads to look at our boat. The puffing
of the boat is music in this gloom, which affects one most curiously.
It is not the gloom of deep forests or dark caverns, but a peculiar kind of
solemn silence and impressive awe that holds one perforce to its recognition.
We passed two negro families on a raft tied up in the willows this morning.
They were evidently of the well-to-do class, as they had a supply of meal
and three or four hogs with them. Their rafts were about twenty feet square,
and in front of an improvised shelter earth had been placed, on which they
built their fire.
The current running down the Atchafalaya was very swift,
the Mississippi showing a predilection in that direction,
which needs only to be seen to enforce the opinion of that
river's desperate endeavors to find a short way to the Gulf.
Small boats, skiffs, pirogues, etc., are in great demand,
and many have been stolen by piratical negroes,
who take them where they will bring the greatest price.
From what was told me by Mr. C. P. Ferguson, a planter
near Red River Landing, whose place has just gone under,
there is much suffering in the rear of that place.
The negroes had given up all thoughts of a crevasse there,
as the upper levee had stood so long, and when it did
come they were at its mercy. On Thursday a number were
taken out of trees and off of cabin roofs and brought in,
many yet remaining.
One does not appreciate the sight of earth until he has traveled
through a flood. At sea one does not expect or look for it,
but here, with fluttering leaves, shadowy forest aisles, house-tops
barely visible, it is expected. In fact a grave-yard, if the mounds
were above water, would be appreciated. The river here is known
only because there is an opening in the trees, and that is all.
It is in width, from Fort Adams on the left bank of the Mississippi
to the bank of Rapides Parish, a distance of about sixty miles.
A large portion of this was under cultivation, particularly along
the Mississippi and back of the Red. When Red River proper
was entered, a strong current was running directly across it,
pursuing the same direction as that of the Mississippi.
After a run of some hours, Black River was reached.
Hardly was it entered before signs of suffering became visible.
All the willows along the banks were stripped of their leaves.
One man, whom your correspondent spoke to, said that he had had one
hundred and fifty head of cattle and one hundred head of hogs.
At the first appearance of water he had started to drive
them to the high lands of Avoyelles, thirty-five miles off,
but he lost fifty head of the beef cattle and sixty hogs.
Black River is quite picturesque, even if its shores are under water.
A dense growth of ash, oak, gum, and hickory make the shores
almost impenetrable, and where one can get a view down some
avenue in the trees, only the dim outlines of distant trunks
can be barely distinguished in the gloom.
A few miles up this river, the depth of water on the banks
was fully eight feet, and on all sides could be seen,
still holding against the strong current, the tops of cabins.
Here and there one overturned was surrounded by drift-wood, forming
the nucleus of possibly some future island.
In order to save coal, as it was impossible to get that fuel at any point
to be touched during the expedition, a look-out was kept for a wood-pile.
On rounding a point a pirogue, skilfully paddled by a youth, shot out,
and in its bow was a girl of fifteen, of fair face, beautiful black eyes,
and demure manners. The boy asked for a paper, which was thrown to him,
and the couple pushed their tiny craft out into the swell of the boat.
Presently a little girl, not certainly over twelve years, paddled out
in the smallest little canoe and handled it with all the deftness
of an old voyageur. The little one looked more like an Indian
than a white child, and laughed when asked if she were afraid.
She had been raised in a pirogue and could go anywhere.
She was bound out to pick willow leaves for the stock, and she pointed
to a house near by with water three inches deep on the floors.
At its back door was moored a raft about thirty feet square,
with a sort of fence built upon it, and inside of this some sixteen
cows and twenty hogs were standing. The family did not complain,
except on account of losing their stock, and promptly brought a
supply of wood in a flat.
From this point to the Mississippi River, fifteen miles, there is not a spot
of earth above water, and to the westward for thirty-five miles there
is nothing but the river's flood. Black River had risen during Thursday,
the 23rd, 1 3/4 inches, and was going up at night still.
As we progress up the river habitations become more frequent,
but are yet still miles apart. Nearly all of them are deserted,
and the out-houses floated off. To add to the gloom, almost every
living thing seems to have departed, and not a whistle of a bird
nor the bark of the squirrel can be heard in this solitude.
Sometimes a morose gar will throw his tail aloft and disappear in the river,
but beyond this everything is quiet—the quiet of dissolution.
Down the river floats now a neatly whitewashed hen-house, then
a cluster of neatly split fence-rails, or a door and a bloated carcass,
solemnly guarded by a pair of buzzards, the only bird to be seen,
which feast on the carcass as it bears them along. A picture-frame
in which there was a cheap lithograph of a soldier on horseback,
as it floated on told of some hearth invaded by the water and despoiled
of this ornament.
At dark, as it was not prudent to run, a place alongside the woods was hunted
and to a tall gum-tree the boat was made fast for the night.
A pretty quarter of the moon threw a pleasant light over forest and river,
making a picture that would be a delightful piece of landscape study,
could an artist only hold it down to his canvas. The motion of
the engines had ceased, the puffing of the escaping steam was stilled,
and the enveloping silence closed upon us, and such silence it was!
Usually in a forest at night one can hear the piping of frogs,
the hum of insects, or the dropping of limbs; but here nature was dumb.
The dark recesses, those aisles into this cathedral, gave forth no sound,
and even the ripplings of the current die away.
At daylight Friday morning all hands were up, and up the Black we started.
The morning was a beautiful one, and the river, which is remarkably
straight, put on its loveliest garb. The blossoms of the haw perfumed
the air deliciously, and a few birds whistled blithely along the banks.
The trees were larger, and the forest seemed of older growth than below.
More fields were passed than nearer the mouth, but the same scene
presented itself—smoke-houses drifting out in the pastures, negro quarters
anchored in confusion against some oak, and the modest residence just
showing its eaves above water. The sun came up in a glory of carmine,
and the trees were brilliant in their varied shades of green.
Not a foot of soil is to be seen anywhere, and the water is apparently growing
deeper and deeper, for it reaches up to the branches of the largest trees.
All along, the bordering willows have been denuded of leaves, showing how long
the people have been at work gathering this fodder for their animals. An old
man in a pirogue was asked how the willow leaves agreed with his cattle.
He stopped in his work, and with an ominous shake of his head replied:
'Well, sir, it 's enough to keep warmth in their bodies and that's
all we expect, but it's hard on the hogs, particularly the small ones.
They is dropping off powerful fast. But what can you do? It 's
all we've got.'
At thirty miles above the mouth of Black River the water
extends from Natchez on the Mississippi across to the pine
hills of Louisiana, a distance of seventy-three miles,
and there is hardly a spot that is not ten feet under it.
The tendency of the current up the Black is toward the west.
In fact, so much is this the case, the waters of Red River
have been driven down from toward the Calcasieu country,
and the waters of the Black enter the Red some fifteen miles
above the mouth of the former, a thing never before seen by even
the oldest steamboatmen. The water now in sight of us is entirely
from the Mississippi.
Up to Trinity, or rather Troy, which is but a short
distance below, the people have nearly all moved out,
those remaining having enough for their present personal needs.
Their cattle, though, are suffering and dying off quite fast,
as the confinement on rafts and the food they get breeds disease.
After a short stop we started, and soon came to a section where
there were many open fields and cabins thickly scattered about.
Here were seen more pictures of distress. On the inside of the houses
the inmates had built on boxes a scaffold on which they placed
the furniture. The bed-posts were sawed off on top, as the ceiling
was not more than four feet from the improvised floor. The buildings
looked very insecure, and threatened every moment to float off.
Near the houses were cattle standing breast high in the water,
perfectly impassive. They did not move in their places, but stood
patiently waiting for help to come. The sight was a distressing one,
and the poor creatures will be sure to die unless speedily rescued.
Cattle differ from horses in this peculiar quality. A horse,
after finding no relief comes, will swim off in search of food,
whereas a beef will stand in its tracks until with exhaustion it drops in
the water and drowns.
At half-past twelve o'clock a hail was given from a flat-boat
inside the line of the bank. Rounding to we ran alongside,
and General York stepped aboard. He was just then engaged
in getting off stock, and welcomed the 'Times-Democrat'
boat heartily, as he said there was much need for her.
He said that the distress was not exaggerated in the least.
People were in a condition it was difficult even for one to imagine.
The water was so high there was great danger of their houses
being swept away. It had already risen so high that it was
approaching the eaves, and when it reaches this point there is
always imminent risk of their being swept away. If this occurs,
there will be great loss of life. The General spoke of the gallant
work of many of the people in their attempts to save their stock,
but thought that fully twenty-five per cent. had perished.
Already twenty-five hundred people had received rations from Troy,
on Black River, and he had towed out a great many cattle,
but a very great quantity remained and were in dire need.
The water was now eighteen inches higher than in 1874, and there was
no land between Vidalia and the hills of Catahoula.
At two o'clock the 'Susie' reached Troy, sixty-five miles above
the mouth of Black River. Here on the left comes in Little River;
just beyond that the Ouachita, and on the right the Tensas.
These three rivers form the Black River. Troy, or a portion
of it, is situated on and around three large Indian mounds,
circular in shape, which rise above the present water
about twelve feet. They are about one hundred and fifty
feet in diameter, and are about two hundred yards apart.
The houses are all built between these mounds, and hence are all
flooded to a depth of eighteen inches on their floors.
These elevations, built by the aborigines, hundreds of years ago,
are the only points of refuge for miles. When we arrived we found them
crowded with stock, all of which was thin and hardly able to stand up.
They were mixed together, sheep, hogs, horses, mules, and cattle.
One of these mounds has been used for many years as the grave-yard,
and to-day we saw attenuated cows lying against the marble tomb-stones,
chewing their cud in contentment, after a meal of corn furnished
by General York. Here, as below, the remarkable skill of the women
and girls in the management of the smaller pirogues was noticed.
Children were paddling about in these most ticklish crafts with all the
nonchalance of adepts.
General York has put into operation a perfect system in regard
to furnishing relief. He makes a personal inspection of the place
where it is asked, sees what is necessary to be done, and then,
having two boats chartered, with flats, sends them promptly
to the place, when the cattle are loaded and towed to the pine
hills and uplands of Catahoula. He has made Troy his headquarters,
and to this point boats come for their supply of feed for cattle.
On the opposite side of Little River, which branches to the left
out of Black, and between it and the Ouachita, is situated
the town of Trinity, which is hourly threatened with destruction.
It is much lower than Troy, and the water is eight and nine
feet deep in the houses. A strong current sweeps through it,
and it is remarkable that all of its houses have not gone before.
The residents of both Troy and Trinity have been cared for, yet some
of their stock have to be furnished with food.
As soon as the 'Susie' reached Troy, she was turned over to General York,
and placed at his disposition to carry out the work of relief more rapidly.
Nearly all her supplies were landed on one of the mounds to lighten her,
and she was headed down stream to relieve those below. At Tom Hooper's place,
a few miles from Troy, a large flat, with about fifty head of stock on board,
was taken in tow. The animals were fed, and soon regained some strength.
To-day we go on Little River, where the suffering is greatest.
