Sure enough, on the following morning the river had dropped away from
the nail, and thereafter it continued to fall.
After watching the decline for several days, the Cajun, very much
puzzled, called on his friend, the local levee board member, to talk the
matter over.
"Say," he demanded, "what kinda man dis United States engineer is,
anyhow? Firs' he tell when de water comes. Den he tell jus' how high she
comes. Den he tell jus' when she's agoin' to fall. What kinda man is
dat, anyhow? Is he been one Voodoo?"
* * * * *
The spirit of the people of Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana, who
live, in flood time, in the precarious safety afforded by the levees, is
characterized by the same optimistic fatalism that is to be found among
the inhabitants of the slopes of Vesuvius in time of eruption.
One night, a good many years ago, I ascended Vesuvius at such a time,
and I remember well a talk I had with a man who gave me wine and sausage
in his house, far up on the mountain side, at about two o'clock that
morning.
Seventeen streams of lava were already flowing down, and signs of
imminent disaster were at hand.
"Aren't you afraid to stay here with your family?" I asked the man.
"No," he replied. "Three times I have seen it worse than this.
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