Robins, redbirds, jays, woodpeckers, blackbirds, and a variety of still smaller birds abounded; but we did not get any game. The two gentlemen in charge of the levee camp, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Ward, went with us into the woods, but the game was wary. All hands so thoroughly enjoyed the visit at this hospitable camp that for the rest of the trip we talked of it. We were indebted to these gentlemen for a roast of fresh pork. Their task is a difficult one, to keep in order so many negroes, all of the rough and illiterate sort. Quarrels over "craps" and shooting among the negroes are not infrequent, and in one a white man, passing by, was killed. Mr. Rogers has the repute of getting his men to work, and we heard a scrap of a song among them, expressive of their sentiments or impressions:
"Blisters on yo' feet an' co'ns on yo' han',
Wat yo' git for wo'kin' fo' de black-haired man."
A firm hand is absolutely necessary to rule these men, with whom weakness is perilous. Only a few weeks after our visit to one of these camps a negro got in a dispute over a trivial sum in his account, got hold of the pistol the white man in charge had incautiously left in the negro's reach, and shot him dead. If there is anything in the art of physiognomy, many of these levee men are desperadoes.
Dec. 28, 1903.—We left our friendly entertainers at Allison's and ran down to a bar, where Woodruff took in several tons of very good coal, costing nothing but the trouble of shipping. Mr. Rogers accompanied us to Modoc.
Tied up at Mayflower landing, a good moor. A German there told us a trading boat at the landing above took away $6,000 in three days last year. The trader has a large scow, with a cabin, and a steamer to handle it. Every place we stop the people come to inquire what we have to sell. We got off at 7 a. m. today, passed the mouths of the White and Arkansas, and have run at least 60 miles. We have landed after dark, and we are not sure as to where we are. The weather has been most pleasant, temperature about 60 all day, little wind. The river is full of drift, but there is little traffic. Just now a little steamer passed up. At Riverton were several small ones, but otherwise the solitude is unbroken.
The shores are wild, the banks continually crumbling into the river. A prodigious number of snags must be furnished yearly. Very few wild fowl appear. Floaters appear occasionally, but probably there will be fewer now, as many are directed to the White river. This is probably near Monterey Landing. As the landing was narrow and beset with snags we moored with the prow to the bank, two lines to the shore and the anchor out astern. We have much to say about mooring; but it is a matter of supreme importance to the comfort and even the safety of the crew. It is not specially pleasant to turn out of bed in one's nightclothes, with the temperature below freezing, to find the boat adrift in a furious storm and pounding her bottom out on snags.
We bought a new anchor from a trading boat at Allison's. It is 50 pounds, galvanized, with folding flukes and a ring at the end for a guy rope, so that if fouled as the other was, we can pull the flukes together and free it. Paid four dollars for it—same as for the other, but this is a much better anchor, though not as strong as the solid one.
Jim has gone around the cabin and puttied up the cracks, and we hope the next rain will keep out. If not, we will get deck pitch and pay the seams.