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.