R.R. Steamer Trombone, VICKSBURG, May 8, 1859.
The river from New Orleans up to Natchez is higher than it has been
since the niggers were executed (which was in the fall of 1813) and my
opinion is that if the rise continues at this rate the water will be
on the roof of the St. Charles Hotel before the middle of January. The
point at Cairo, which has not even been moistened by the river since
1813, is now entirely under water.
However, Mr. Editor, the inhabitants of the Mississippi Valley should
not act precipitately and sell their plantations at a sacrifice on
account of this prophecy of mine, for I shall proceed to convince them
of a great fact in regard to this matter, viz.: that the tendency of the
Mississippi is to rise less and less high every year (with an occasional
variation of the rule), that such has been the case for many centuries,
and eventually that it will cease to rise at all. Therefore, I would
hint to the planters, as we say in an innocent little parlor game
commonly called “draw,” that if they can only “stand the rise” this time
they may enjoy the comfortable assurance that the old river's banks will
never hold a “full” again during their natural lives.
In the summer of 1763 I came down the river on the old first Jubilee.
She was new then, however; a singular sort of a single-engine boat, with
a Chinese captain and a Choctaw crew, forecastle on her stern, wheels
in the center, and the jackstaff “nowhere,” for I steered her with a
window-shutter, and when we wanted to land we sent a line ashore and
“rounded her to” with a yoke of oxen.
Well, sir, we wooded off the top of the big bluff above Selmathe only
dry land visible--and waited there three weeks, swapping knives and
playing “seven up” with the Indians, waiting for the river to fall.
Finally, it fell about a hundred feet, and we went on. One day we
rounded to, and I got in a horse-trough, which my partner borrowed from
the Indians up there at Selma while they were at prayers, and went down
to sound around No. 8, and while I was gone my partner got aground on
the hills at Hickman. After three days' labor we finally succeeded in
sparring her off with a capstan bar, and went on to Memphis. By the time
we got there the river had subsided to such an extent that we were
able to land where the Gayoso House now stands. We finished loading at
Memphis, and loaded part of the stone for the present St. Louis Court
House (which was then in process of erection), to be taken up on our
return trip.
You can form some conception, by these memoranda, of how high the water
was in 1763. In 1775 it did not rise so high by thirty feet; in 1790 it
missed the original mark at least sixty-five feet; in 1797, one hundred
and fifty feet; and in 1806, nearly two hundred and fifty feet. These
were “high-water” years. The “high waters” since then have been so
insignificant that I have scarcely taken the trouble to notice them.
Thus, you will perceive that the planters need not feel uneasy. The
river may make an occasional spasmodic effort at a flood, but the time
is approaching when it will cease to rise altogether.
In conclusion, sir, I will condescend to hint at the foundation of these
arguments: When me and De Soto discovered the Mississippi I could stand
at Bolivar Landing (several miles above “Roaring Waters Bar”) and pitch
a biscuit to the main shore on the other side, and in low water we waded
across at Donaldsonville. The gradual widening and deepening of the
river is the whole secret of the matter.
Yours, etc.
SERGEANT FATHOM.