10 | P.M.
We have been going up-stream very quietly, in this dark, soft night, zigzagging up its mighty length to avoid the current. Sometimes we were so near the shores we could almost touch the ghostly willow-trees; while mournful, suppressed night noises fell upon our ears. The mosquitoes are about the size of flies—not the singing variety, but the quiet, biteful kind. My energies are needed to keep them off, so good night; all is quiet along the Mississippi. We have ninety miles from quarantine to New Orleans.