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$Unique_ID{bob01421}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Life On The Mississippi
Appendix A}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{river
water
black
general
stock
miles
off
place
troy
cattle}
$Date{1917}
$Log{}
Title:       Life On The Mississippi
Author:      Twain, Mark
Date:        1917

Appendix A

From the New Orleans Times-Democrat of March 29, 1882

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 Point 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 flatboat, 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 protective 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 had 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 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, housetops barely visible, it is expected.  In
fact, a graveyard, 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 highlands 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
makes 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
driftwood, 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 lookout 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
23d, one and three-quarters 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 outhouses 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 a squirrel can be heard in the solitude.
Sometimes a morose gar will throw his tail aloft and disappear in the river,
but beyond this everything is quiet - the quiet of desolation.  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 -
smokehouses 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 breed 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 bedposts were sawed
off on top, as the ceiling was not more than four feet from the improvised
floor.  The buildings looked very insecure, and threaten 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 flatboat 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 graveyard, and to-day we saw attenuated cows
lying against the marble tombstones, 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.

Down Black River

     Saturday Evening, March 25.

     We started down Black River quite early, under the direction of General
York, to bring out what stock could be reached.  Going down-river a flat in
tow was left in a central locality, and from there men poled her back in the
rear of plantations, picking up the animals wherever found.  In the loft of a
ginhouse there were seventeen head found, and, after a gangway was built, they
were led down into the flat without difficulty.  Taking a skiff with the
general, your reporter was pulled up to a little house of two rooms, in which
the water was standing two feet on the floors.  In one of the large rooms were
huddled the horses and cows of the place, while in the other the Widow Taylor
and her son were seated on a scaffold raised on the floor.  One or two dugouts
were drifting about in the room, ready to be put in service at any time.  When
the flat was brought up, the side of the house was cut away as the only means
of getting the animals out, and the cattle were driven on board the boat.
General York, in this as in every case, inquired if the family desired to
leave, informing them that Major Burke of the Times-Democrat has sent the
Susie up for that purpose.  Mrs. Taylor said she thanked Major Burke, but she
would try and hold out.  The remarkable tenacity of the people here to their
homes is beyond all comprehension.  Just below, at a point sixteen miles from
Troy, information was received that the house of Mr. Tom Ellis was in danger,
and his family were all in it.  We steamed there immediately, and a sad
picture was presented.  Looking out of the half of the window left above water
was Mrs. Ellis, who is in feeble health, while at the door were her seven
children, the oldest not fourteen years.  One side of the house was given up
to the work-animals, some twelve head, besides hogs.  In the next room the
family lived, the water coming within two inches of the bedrail.  The stove
was below water, and the cooking was done on a fire on top of it.  The house
threatened to give way at any moment; one end of it was sinking, and, in fact,
the building looked like a mere shell.  As the boat rounded to, Mr. Ellis came
out in a dugout, and General York told him that he had come to his relief;
that the Times-Democrat boat was at his service and would remove his family at
once to the hills, and on Monday a flat would take out his stock, as, until
that time, they would be busy.  Notwithstanding the deplorable situation
himself and family were in, Mr. Ellis did not want to leave.  He said he
thought he would wait until Monday, and take the risk of his house falling.
The children around the door looked perfectly contented, seeming to care
little for the danger they were in. These are but two instances of the many.
After weeks of privation and suffering people still cling to their houses, and
leave only when there is not room between the water and the ceiling to build a
scaffold on which to stand.  It seemed to be incomprehensible, yet the love
for the old place was stronger than that for safety.

     After leaving the Ellis place, the next spot touched at was the Oswald
place.  Here the flat was towed alongside the ginhouse, where there were
fifteen head standing in water; and yet, as they stood on scaffolds, their
heads were above the top of the entrance.  It was found impossible to get them
out without cutting away a portion of the front; and so axes were brought into
requisition and a gap made.  After much labor the horses and mules were
securely placed on the flat.

     At each place we stop there are always three, four, or more dugouts
arriving, bringing information of stock in other places in need.
Notwithstanding the fact that a great many had driven apart of their stock to
the hills some time ago, there yet remains a large quantity, which General
York, who is working with indomitable energy, will get landed in the pine
hills by Tuesday.

     All along Black River the Susie has been visited by scores of planters,
whose tales are the repetition of those already heard of suffering and loss.
An old planter, who has lived on the river since 1844, said there never was
such a rise, and he was satisfied more than one-quarter of the stock has been
lost.  Luckily the people cared first for their work-stock, and, when they
could find it, horses and mules were housed in a place of safety.  The rise,
which still continues and was two inches last night, compels them to get them
out to the hills; hence it is that the work of General York is of such a great
value.  From daylight to late at night he is going this way and that, cheering
by his kindly words and directing with calm judgment what is to be done.

     One unpleasant story, of a certain merchant in New Orleans, is told all
along the river.  It appears for some years past the planters have been
dealing with this individual, and many of them had balances in his hands.
When the overflow came they wrote for coffee, for meal, and, in fact, for such
little necessities as were required.  No response to these letters came, and
others were written, and yet these old customers, with plantations under
water, were refused even what was necessary to sustain life.  It is needless
to say he is not popular now on Black River.

     The hills spoken of as the place of refuge for the people and stock on
Black River are in Catahoula parish, twenty-four miles from Black River.

     After filling the flat with cattle we took on board the family of T. S.
Hooper, seven in number, who could not longer remain in their dwelling, and we
are now taking them up Little River to the hills.

The Flood Still Rising

     Troy, March 27, 1882, noon.

     The flood here is rising about three and a half inches every twenty- four
hours, and rains have set in which will increase this.  General York feels now
that our efforts ought to be directed toward saving life, as the increase of
the water has jeopardized many houses.  We intend to go up the Tensas in a few
minutes, and then we will return and go down Black River to take off families.
There is a lack of steam transportation here to meet the emergency.  The
general has three boats chartered with flats in tow, but the demand for these
to tow out stock is greater than they can meet with promptness.  All are
working night and day, and the Susie hardly stops for more than an hour
anywhere.  The rise has placed Trinity in a dangerous plight, and momentarily
it is expected that some of the houses will float off.  Troy is a little
higher, yet all are in the water.  Reports have come in that a woman and child
have been washed away below here, and two cabins floated off.  Their occupants
are the same who refused to come off day before yesterday.  One would not
believe the utter passiveness of the people.

     As yet no news has been received of the steamer Delia, which is supposed
to be the one sunk in yesterday's storm on Lake Catahoula.  She is due here
now, but has not arrived.  Even the mail here is most uncertain, and this I
send by skiff to Natchez to get it to you.  It is impossible to get accurate
data as to past crops, etc., as those who know much about the matter have
gone, and those who remain are not well versed in the production of this
section.

     General York desires me to say that the amount of rations formerly sent
should be duplicated and sent at once.  It is impossible to make any estimate,
for the people are fleeing to the hills, so rapid is the rise. The residents
here are in a state of commotion that can only be appreciated when seen, and
complete demoralization has set in.

     If rations are drawn for any particular section hereabouts they would not
be certain to be distributed, so everything should be sent to Troy as a
center, and the general will have it properly disposed of.  He has sent for
one hundred tents, and, if all go to the hills who are in motion now, two
hundred will be required.