However, Mr. Editor, the inhabitants of the Mississippi Valley should not act precipitately and sell their plantations at a sacrifice on account of this prophecy of mine, for I shall proceed to convince them of a great fact in regard to this matter, viz.:  that the tendency of the Mississippi is to rise less and less high every year (with an occasional variation of the rule), that such has been the case for many centuries, and eventually that it will cease to rise at all.  Therefore, I would hint to the planters, as we say in an innocent little parlor game commonly called “draw,” that if they can only “stand the rise” this time they may enjoy the comfortable assurance that the old river’s banks will never hold a “full” again during their natural lives.

In the summer of 1763 I came down the river on the old first Jubilee.  She was new then, however; a singular sort of a single-engine boat, with a Chinese captain and a Choctaw crew, forecastle on her stern, wheels in the center, and the jackstaff “nowhere,” for I steered her with a window-shutter, and when we wanted to land we sent a line ashore and “rounded her to” with a yoke of oxen.

Well, sir, we wooded off the top of the big bluff above Selmathe only dry land visible—­and waited there three weeks, swapping knives and playing “seven up” with the Indians, waiting for the river to fall.  Finally, it fell about a hundred feet, and we went on.  One day we rounded to, and I got in a horse-trough, which my partner borrowed from the Indians up there at Selma while they were at prayers, and went down to sound around No. 8, and while I was gone my partner got aground on the hills at Hickman.  After three days’ labor we finally succeeded in sparring her off with a capstan bar, and went on to Memphis.  By the time we got there the river had subsided to such an extent that we were able to land where the Gayoso House now stands.  We finished loading at Memphis, and loaded part of the stone for the present St. Louis Court House (which was then in process of erection), to be taken up on our return trip.

You can form some conception, by these memoranda, of how high the water was in 1763.  In 1775 it did not rise so high by thirty feet; in 1790 it missed the original mark at least sixty-five feet; in 1797, one hundred and fifty feet; and in 1806, nearly two hundred and fifty feet.  These were “high-water” years.  The “high waters” since then have been so insignificant that I have scarcely taken the trouble to notice them.  Thus, you will perceive that the planters need not feel uneasy.  The river may make an occasional spasmodic effort at a flood, but the time is approaching when it will cease to rise altogether.

In conclusion, sir, I will condescend to hint at the foundation of these arguments:  When me and De Soto discovered the Mississippi I could stand at Bolivar Landing (several miles above “Roaring Waters Bar”) and pitch a biscuit to the main shore on the other side, and in low water we waded across at Donaldsonville.  The gradual widening and deepening of the river is the whole secret of the matter.