Louisiana State Archives, courtesy of Terry Jones
Where the levee broke at Moreauville, LA
Incessant rains during the spring of 1927 caused the Mississippi River and its tributaries to overflow and levees to fail. By June, twenty-five percent of Louisiana was under water, and thousands of people were refugees. The great flood of 1927 still ranks as one of the worst natural disasters in American history.
But the disastrous flood did not just affect people. Myriad species of animals were at grave risk, as well. An Ohio newspaper reported that the “bodies of many animals, drowned before they could reach high land, could be seen floating in the river.”
Despite the distressing scenes, Stanley Arthur, director of the Louisiana Conservation Commission’s Division of Wildlife, was optimistic that most of the animals would survive the flood.
“I am sure that we will find most of the Louisiana deer alive when the floods have passed,” he said. “Large numbers of them are safe on the red hills of Mississippi, and the very fact that so many of them are in that state now gives us ample reason to hope that most of the other deer are still alive on highland in the flood zones.”
“I also believe that we will find most of the bears alive. . . . Some of the cubs probably were drowned, but I think that the older ones had more than an even chance.”
“As for the cougars, wolves, wildcats and other predatory animals,” Arthur declared, “few tears would be shed over their loss. There appears to be a good chance, however, that a very considerable proportion of them have successfully evaded the deluge and that in the course of time they will be as numerous as ever.”
Of more concern to Arthur was the survival of the marsh country’s muskrats, which were critical to the fur industry. In 1927, Louisiana produced twice as much fur as Canada and fifteen times more than Alaska. In fact, more than half of the fur used in the nation’s garment industry came from the Bayou State.
To get a firsthand look at the devastation, Arthur and a colleague took an extended canoe trip through St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes, which he reported were “little more than a great lake.”
Afterwards, Arthur wrote, “In our four-day inspection of the muskrat area, I saw thousands of muskrats in the flood waters. Everything that floated—a log, a piece of plank, anything that was buoyant—was carrying its load of refugee rats.”
Arthur also reported that the muskrats had lost their natural fear of man.
“As [we] paddled our canoe through the flood waters . . . some of the rats . . . weakened by the long struggle for life in the water, headed straight for our boat. They would climb up on the paddles, cling to the side of the canoe, and wait for us to take them in our hands and drop them in the bottom of the canoe.”
Arthur noticed that some of the area trappers had set rafts adrift for the muskrats to climb onto. When he and his companion came across one of the rafts, they transferred their own muskrat cargo to it so they could pick up some more.
All of the marsh’s wildlife had strong survival instincts. Arthur wrote, “I have seen snakes, raccoons, and mink and rats all on the same log each holding on for dear life and past enmities entirely forgotten. . . . On top of one floating hen house, the sight that met our eyes was two big rabbits and a half dozen full-grown rats. They were brothers in distress, and it seemed they knew it.”
“It is a pitiable sight to watch the antics of some of the rats trying to save themselves. We frequently find the mice, as the baby muskrats are called, clinging to the tips of cattails protruding from the water. Often four or five mice will be clinging to a bunch of cattails, while the mother muskrat frantically swims around the water, occasionally diving down and bringing u shreds of grass for her young. Sometimes the mother will turn over on her back next to the cattails, so that her young can feed from her breast.”
Thanks to the trappers’ rafts and the muskrats’ tenacity, Arthur estimated that 50 percent of them survived the flood. The muskrats quickly reproduced and 900,000 were trapped in St. Bernard Parish two years later.
Dr. Terry L. Jones is a professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. For an autographed copy of “Louisiana Pastimes,” a collection of the author’s stories, send $25 to Terry L. Jones, P.O Box 1581, West Monroe, LA 71294.
