_Wednesday, July 16, 1862. (Under a tree on the bank of Steele's
Bayou.)_--Early this morning our boat was taken out of the Mississippi and
put on Mr. Fetler's ox-cart. After breakfast we followed on foot. The walk
in the woods was so delightful that all were disappointed when a silvery
gleam through the trees showed the bayou sweeping along, full to the
banks, with dense forest trees almost meeting over it. The boat was
launched, calked, and reloaded, and we were off again. Towards noon the
sound of distant cannon began to echo around, probably from Vicksburg
again. About the same time we began to encounter rafts. To get around them
required us to push through brush so thick that we had to lie down in the
boat. The banks were steep and the land on each side a bog. About 1
o'clock we reached this clear space with dry shelving banks and
disembarked to eat lunch. To our surprise a neatly dressed woman came
tripping down the declivity bringing a basket. She said she lived above
and had seen our boat. Her husband was in the army, and we were the first
white people she had talked to for a long while. She offered some
corn-meal pound-cake and beer, and as she climbed back told us to "look
out for the rapids." H. is putting the boat in order for our start and
says she is waving good-bye from the bluff above.
_Thursday, July 17, 1862. (On a raft in Steele's Bayou.)_--Yesterday we
went on nicely awhile and at afternoon came to a strange region of rafts,
extending about three miles, on which persons were living. Many saluted
us, saying they had run away from Vicksburg at the first attempt of the
fleet to shell it. On one of these rafts, about twelve feet square,[32]
bagging had been hung up to form three sides of a tent. A bed was in one
corner, and on a low chair, with her provisions in jars and boxes grouped
round her, sat an old woman feeding a lot of chickens. They were strutting
about oblivious to the inconveniences of war, and she looked serenely at
ease.
Having moonlight, we had intended to travel till late. But about ten
o'clock, the boat beginning to go with great speed, H., who was steering;
called to Max:
"Don't row so fast; we may run against something."
"I'm hardly pulling at all."
"Then we're in what she called the rapids!"
The stream seemed indeed to slope downward, and in a minute a dark line
was visible ahead. Max tried to turn, but could not, and in a second more
we dashed against this immense raft, only saved from breaking up by the
men's quickness. We got out upon it and ate supper. Then, as the boat was
leaking and the current swinging it against the raft, H. and Max thought
it safer to watch all night, but told us to go to sleep. It was a strange
spot to sleep in--a raft in the middle of a boiling stream, with a
wilderness stretching on either side. The moon made ghostly shadows and
showed H., sitting still as a ghost, in the stern of the boat, while
mingled with the gurgle of the water round the raft beneath was the boom
of cannon in the air, solemnly breaking the silence of night. It drizzled
now and then, and the mosquitoes swarmed over us. My fan and umbrella had
been knocked overboard, so I had no weapon against them. Fatigue, however,
overcomes everything, and I contrived to sleep.
H. roused us at dawn. Reeney found light-wood enough on the raft to make a
good fire for coffee, which never tasted better. Then all hands assisted
in unloading; a rope was fastened to the boat, Max got in, H. held the
rope on the raft, and, by much pulling and pushing, it was forced through
a narrow passage to the farther side. Here it had to be calked, and while
that was being done we improvised a dressing-room in the shadow of our big
trunks. (During the trip I had to keep the time, therefore properly to
secure belt and watch was always an anxious part of my toilet.) The boat
is now repacked, and while Annie and Reeney are washing cups I have
scribbled, wishing much that mine were the hand of an artist.
_Friday morning, July 18, 1862. (House of Col. K., on Yazoo
River.)_--After leaving the raft yesterday all went well till noon, when
we came to a narrow place where an immense tree lay clear across the
stream. It seemed the insurmountable obstacle at last. We sat despairing
what to do, when a man appeared beside us in a pirogue. So sudden, so
silent was his arrival that we were thrilled with surprise. He said if we
had a hatchet he could help us. His fairy bark floated in among the
branches like a bubble, and he soon chopped a path for us, and was
delighted to get some matches in return. He said the cannon we heard
yesterday were in an engagement with the ram _Arkansas_, which ran out of
the Yazoo that morning. We did not stop for dinner to-day, but ate a hasty
lunch in the boat, after which nothing but a small piece of bread was
left. About two we reached the forks, one of which ran to the Yazoo, the
other to the Old River. Max said the right fork was our road; H. said the
left, that there was an error in Max's map; but Max steered into the right
fork. After pulling about three miles he admitted his mistake and turned
back; but I shall never forget Old River. It was the vision of a drowned
world, an illimitable waste of dead waters, stretching into a great,
silent, desolate forest. A horror chilled me and I begged them to row fast
out of that terrible place.
Just as we turned into the right way, down came the rain so hard and fast
we had to stop on the bank. It defied trees or umbrellas and nearly took
away the breath. The boat began to fill, and all five of us had to bail
as fast as possible for the half-hour the sheet of water was pouring down.
As it abated a cold breeze sprung up that, striking our wet clothes,
chilled us to the bone. All were shivering and blue--no, I was green.
Before leaving Mr. Fetler's Wednesday morning I had donned a dark-green
calico. I wiped my face with a handkerchief out of my pocket, and face and
hands were all dyed a deep green. When Annie turned round and looked at me
she screamed and I realized how I looked; but she was not much better, for
of all dejected things wet feathers are the worst, and the plumes in her
hat were painful.
About five we reached Colonel K.'s house, right where Steele's Bayou
empties into the Yazoo. We had both to be fairly dragged out of the boat,
so cramped and weighted were we by wet skirts. The family were absent, and
the house was headquarters for a squad of Confederate cavalry, which was
also absent. The old colored housekeeper received us kindly and lighted
fires in our rooms to dry the clothing. My trunk had got cracked on top,
and all the clothing to be got at was wet. H. had dropped his in the river
while lifting it out, and his clothes were wet. A spoonful of brandy
apiece was left in the little flask, and I felt that mine saved me from
being ill. Warm blankets and the brandy revived us, and by supper-time we
got into some dry clothes.
Just then the squad of cavalry returned; they were only a dozen, but they
made much, uproar, being in great excitement. Some of them were known to
Max and H., who learned from them that a gunboat was coming to shell them
out of this house. Then ensued a clatter such as twelve men surely never
made before--rattling about the halls and galleries in heavy boots and
spurs, feeding horses, calling for supper, clanking swords, buckling and
unbuckling belts and pistols. At last supper was dispatched, and they
mounted and were gone like the wind. We had a quiet supper and good
night's rest in spite of the expected shells, and did not wake till ten
to-day to realize we were not killed. About eleven breakfast was
furnished. Now we are waiting till the rest of our things are dried to
start on our last day of travel by water.
_Sunday, July 20, 1862_.--A little way down the Yazoo on Friday we ran
into McNutt's Lake, thence into Chickasaw Bayou, and at dark landed at
Mrs. C.'s farm, the nearest neighbors of H.'s uncle. The house was full of
Confederate sick, friends from Vicksburg, and while we ate supper all
present poured out the story of the shelling and all that was to be done
at Vicksburg. Then our stuff was taken from the boat, and we finally
abandoned the stanch little craft that had carried us for over one hundred
and twenty-five miles in a trip occupying nine days. The luggage in a
wagon, and ourselves packed in a buggy, were driven for four or five
miles, over the roughest road I ever traveled, to the farm of Mr. B., H.'s
uncle, where we arrived at midnight and hastened to hide in bed the utter
exhaustion of mind and body. Yesterday we were too tired to think, or to
do anything but to eat peaches.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] More likely twelve yards.--G.W.C.