ASCENDING THE ATCHAFALAYA.
Atchafalaya River, Feb. 4, 1904.--There is a very perceptible difference
between descending a river and ascending it. Our gallant little launch
finds the cabinboat a difficult proposition against the current, as
aggravated by the rising floods. We made but a few miles yesterday and
tied up for the night. An unexpected steamer came along about 12:30 and
gave us a good tumbling. She returned later, having doubtless taken in
her freight at Melville meanwhile. This morning an east wind drives us
against the shore, so that we have to steer out, and that makes it a
head wind; so the shore creeps slowly past. It is cloudy and feels like
rain, though warm. The river is very muddy, and full of drift over which
the boat rumbles constantly. Many doves are seen on the trees along
shore but, as usual, we are in a hurry and cannot stop for sport.
During the Civil War, we are told, the Atchafalaya could be bridged by
three carts, so that soldiers could cross. Now it is nowhere less than
sixty feet deep, and two-fifths of the water of the Mississippi go
through it to the Gulf. Every year it is enlarging, and the day may come
when the Mississippi will discharge through it altogether, and Baton
Rouge and New Orleans be inland cities. This route to the Gulf is 150
miles shorter.
* * * * *
Atchafalaya River, Feb. 6, 1904.--We made but a short run yesterday, the
wind stopping us two miles below Oderberg, just within 150 yards of a
turn around which we had to go to get the wind in our favor. But we
could not do it. Boy and Dr. shot some robins and Jake got a mud hen;
and from a passing wagon we secured a roast of beef. An old colored
woman sold us some buttermilk, for two bits. This morning it was rainy
and foggy, but under great difficulties we pushed ahead and made
Simmesport by lunch. Here we engaged a gasoline boat to take us around
into the Mississippi, for seven dollars--about 14 miles--and felt we got
off well at that. The current in the Red is said to be too fierce for
our little boat. We did as well as possible, by hugging the low shore,
and when the one we were on became high and eroded we crossed to the
other. In that way we avoided the swift current and often got a back
one, or eddy. The steamer _Electra_ dogged us all morning, passing and
stopping at numerous landings till we passed her. When we land we find
houses quite close along either shore. The rural population must be
large along the leveed part of the river. At Simmesport we obtained
butter, milk and lard, besides crackers and canned oysters. No meat. One
bunch of brant appeared in the fog this morning, but refused to listen
to our arguments favoring closer acquaintance.
* * * * *
Red River, Feb. 7, 1904.--That is, we suppose you call it the Red, but
it is now in truth an outlet of the Mississippi. We got to Simmesport,
had lunch, and arranged with a boy there to tow us through to the
Mississippi with a 5-horsepower gasoline. Hitched it behind, our launch
alongside, and started. The wind was as often contrary as favorable, and
we labored up the Atchafalaya till we got to Red River. The water is
decidedly red, but is backed up into the Red by the lordship of the
Great River, which sweeps up the Old River channel with resistless
force. None of the Red water gets past Barbre Landing, either into the
Atchafalaya or the Mississippi. We turned into the Red or Old River
about 2:30, and by 6 had made about three miles, stopping in sight of
Turnbull Island Light No. 2. First the lever of our reversing gear
broke, and here a log swept under the launch and broke the coupling
bolt. This had happened the preceding day, and we had no extra left, so
had to stop as the other boat alone could make no headway against the
swift current. As it was, with both boats we had to coast along as close
as possible to the shore, where the current was slowest, to make any
progress at all. In the middle we were swept back. The boys left us to
return to Simmesport, where they were to make new coupling bolts and
return here this morning. We had a sleepless night. All day it was foggy
and rainy; in the night occasional showers pattered on the roof; and
floating wood rumbled under the boat. The water is full of this stuff
and it is impossible to prevent it going under the scow, where it sticks
and retards progress or emerges to foul our propeller. This morning it
is still sticky, showery and slightly foggy; temperature at 9 a. m., 72.
When the steamer rocked us the other night Jake and Doctor turned out in
their nightgowns to fend off, and then stood leaning over the rail
talking for a time. Catch cold, turning out of a warm bed in January?
Naw! Whatchergivinus? This terrible winter weather!
About 11:30 the boys returned with the tug and new bolts for our
coupler. We had hard work getting through the bridge, where the current
was fierce; but by 2 p. m. we were in the Mississippi and headed down
stream.
* * * * *
Bayou Sara, Feb. 8, 1904.--We tied up last night in Morgan's Bend, after
dark. Started to float all night, but the fog came up, lightning showed
in the east, and we thought it wise to take no chances. We had the
launch hitched behind and when a steamer passed up quite near, it made
her leap and try to get her nose under the overhang, which might have
swamped her. This morning we got off at 5 a. m., floating till after
breakfast, when we set the old churn at work. Now the sun is up
brightly, a breeze freshening up from the east, which is dead ahead
just now, and the town in sight. We talk of loading the boat with
palmettoes for the St. Louis fair market, and getting a tow north, if we
cannot get a fair price for the outfit.
By 9 we reached Bayou Sara, where we increased our crew by three of
Louisiana's fair ladies, and at 11 resumed our journey. The wind had
subsided and we journeyed south over a river smooth as glass. Much
driftwood annoyed us, threatening our propeller blades. The poetry of
travel today, too warm for the folk to stand in the sun. Historic Port
Hudson was soon before us. It is now back from the river, Port Hickey
being its successor. Temperature 80 at 2 p. m. This terrible winter! We
are counting the miles between us and our dear ones at Baton Rouge.
We reached Baton Rouge about 6 p. m., having made over 50 miles, and the
longest run of the trip.