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