[Dying in his boat.] Mr. Adonis Le Blanc, found upon the person of the dead man a memorandum-book which told of the distances made each day upon the river, while the entries of the closing days showed how the keeper of the log had suffered from the “heavy shakes” occasioned by the malaria and his own imprudence.  The story of the cruise was recorded on the boat.  Men and women had written their names inside the frail shell, with the dates of her arrival at different localities along the route.  I afterwards examined the boat at Biloxi, on the Gulf of Mexico, where it was kept as a curiosity in the boat-house of a citizen of New Orleans.

They buried the unfortunate man upon the plantation, and Mr. Clay Gourrier took charge of his effects.  The most remarkable thing about this rowing match was the credulity of the people along the route.  They accepted Cloud’s statement without stopping to consider that if there were any truth in it, the other side, with their five thousand dollars at stake, would surely take some interest in the matter, and have men posted along the route to see that the bet was fairly won.  The fact that no bet had been made never seemed to dawn upon them; but, like too many, they sympathized without reasoning.

Being forced to abandon all hopes of taking the Bayou Manchac and the interesting country of the Acadians in my route southward, I rowed down the river, past the curious old town of Plaquemine, and by four o’clock in the afternoon commenced to search for an island or creek where a good camping-ground for Sunday might be found.  The buildings of White Castle Plantation soon arose on the right bank, and as I approached the little cooperage-shop of the large estate, which was near the water, a kindly hail came from the master-cooper and his assistant.  Acceding to their desire “to look at the boat,” I let the two men drag her ashore, and while they examined the craft, I studied the representatives of two very different types of laboring-men.  One was from Madison, Indiana; the other belonged to the poor white class of the south.  We built a fire near the boat, and passed half the night in conversation.

These men gave me much valuable information about Louisiana.  The southern cooper had lived much among the bayous and swamps of that region of the state subjected to overflow.  He was an original character, and never so happy as when living a Robinson Crusoe life in the woods.  His favorite expression seemed to be, “Oh, shucks!” and his yarns were so interlarded with this exclamation, that in giving one of his stories I must ask the reader to imagine that expressive utterance about every other word.  Affectionately hugging his knee, and generously expectorating as he made a transfer of his quid from one side of his mouth to the other, he said: