LSU baseball fell to Mississippi State 13-8 on Sunday afternoon, suffering its third straight sweep and its ninth straight SEC loss.

In a similar fashion to Friday and Saturday, LSU scored three runs in the first inning, this time off a three-run homer by Cade Arrambide. That lead was short-lived, however, as the Bulldogs tied it in the second with a three-run shot from Ace Reese.

Steven Milam hit his seventh home run of the season after the Bulldogs made a pitching change ahead in the third, giving the Tigers a 5-3 lead.

Things were quiet in the fourth inning, but the Bulldogs tied it up in the fifth against Santiago Garcia and Dax Dathe, respectively.

Several more attempts were made to blow a hole in the peninsula, but only succeeded in causing a few divots and angering local residents because of the late-night noise and disruptions.

In an April 1909 interview with The Vicksburg Post, former Herald reporter Andy Conklin said landowners south of the city wanted to create the cut-off to increase their property values. Conklin was also a deputy sheriff in 1876.

“Time and again I have heard that powder was being used on the peninsula to blow up the earth and aid the water in tearing through the shorter way,” Conklin said. “Many times pieces of cane, filled with powder, found along the route which the water eventually tore through, were brought to me.”

Whether the explosives sped up the process is debatable, but either way the river continued to eat away at the peninsula. By mid-April the Herald reported that low-draft boats could make it through without trouble.

“Another large slice of the peninsula opposite this city dropped into the river last night,” the Herald reported on April 12. “As the auctioneer says, it is going, going.”

On April 21, The Herald reported that the sound of rushing water had become so loud it was “like the noise of a cataract, and can be distinctly heard in any part of the city during the stillness of night.”

The inevitable finally happened on Wednesday, April 26. In the late morning hours, the river started to move through DeSoto Point. Just after 2 p.m., it cut through the last bit of dry land with a rush and swallowed more than 150 feet of ground. After months of gradual erosion, the final stage of the process took only a few hours.

“In the morning the river was about stationary, and would probably have remained so, but 10 minutes past two o’clock, the last link that held the peninsula, opposite the city, gave way, and the water came rushing through in a torrent,” the Herald reported. “The little cross levee, about 50 yards long, dropped into the river all at once, and opened up a passage for the water through the peninsula, and left an island on the upper side.”

The change happened so suddenly and efficiently that, by the next day, the new channel was calm and could be safely navigated. The coal tug John Bigley was the first to make it through, and pilot Mike Maguire blew the ship’s whistle in triumph before returning the way he came.

According to The Herald a half-dozen riverboats made their way through on April 27, with one reporting a depth in the new channel of at least 28 feet. By the end of the week every captain coming up and down the river was taking the new route.

“The boats don’t pretend to go any other way now except through the cut-off,” The Herald wrote on April 29. “It will soon be as great a novelty to see a steamboat go around the bend as it was a few days ago to see one go across the point.”

After a decade of debate about the creation of the cut-off and its effects on Vicksburg, the Herald reported that the event itself was largely greeted by residents with some curiosity and a sigh of relief that it was done.

“We heard a good deal of speculation concerning the effect of the cut-off on the business of this city, but the subject having been worn thread bare already, there was a silent expression of pleasure that the end had finally come,” The Herald wrote.

In fact, the end was only the beginning of the next chapter in Vicksburg’s history. For the next 27 years the River City was without a river. The old river bed remained navigable for a few months but was soon filled with silt and sediment that prevented boats from reaching the downtown waterfront.

A private landing at Kleinston, on the city’s southern edge at the foot of Mattingly Street, was only usable during high water periods, and it was apparent that the city’s future depended on coming up with a radical solution.

That came in the form of the Yazoo Diversion Canal, which took nearly three decades and an act of Congress to complete. The 9.2-mile canal follows the lower part of the old Mississippi River channel, past downtown Vicksburg, and connects to the Yazoo River. The northern part of the old channel became known as Centennial Lake.

The Yazoo Diversion Canal opened on Jan. 28, 1903, which was a day of celebration in Vicksburg. A dedication ceremony was held at the Walnut Street Theatre, followed by a steamboat parade up and down the newly christened waterway. The festivities were wrapped up by an hour-long fireworks show that night as the River City reclaimed its name.

“Today marks another epoch,” Vicksburg judge Pat Henry said during a speech at the dedication ceremony. “That of having our harbor restored and once more announcing to the world that we have a river at our front.”