Friday, December 13, 1929
The old eventful day blossomed out with a low-lying fog. We churned up against a muddy stream from the Mississippi, a few miles ahead. By a little after nine we had sighted the lighthouse ship at the river’s entrance, and a few minutes later a low strip of land appeared from the mist.
America!—after seventeen months. Not much to see—a low strip of swampy land on either side of the river channel—a couple of light buoys—a few shacks—a wireless outfit—muddy rapids in the shallows. Still it was America.
Didn’t have much time to enjoy it all though for there were guys, leads, and lines to be hauled up from the hatches, etc.
The mate gave me the best job, taking the temperature of the coconut oil in the third hold. It is being heated in preparation to being pumped out of the tanks. The idea is to crawl down in this place where it is 106°, crawl under piles of wood in oil on the floor to the manholes and get the temperature of four tanks with a thermometer and flashlight. The oil is sweet and sickening—has a slightly burnt smell. Is kept at 120° to 143° at present.
Four trips there for the mate and an hour down there for the bos’n, sweeping and cleaning the place out, and I was a real mess. Rotten work—probably more tomorrow.
Narrow strips of land gave way to stretches of flat, low, marshy land that forms the alluvial fan. A few shacks and cottages at intervals along the meandering river’s banks. Saw an old fort and passed some outbound ships.
Fog descended this evening and we had to tie up about sixteen miles south of New Orleans. Eleven now and the fog has thinned. Guess we stay put till morning—if that is clear.
Washed and mended clothes—and won at bridge.