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 has 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 of 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, house-tops barely visible, it is expected.  In fact a grave-yard, 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.