The Southern army was recuperating from great battles, and, used to farm or forest life, the soldiers easily made shelter for themselves against the rain and mud.

The Southern pickets along the river also established good relations with the pickets on the other side.

Why not?
They were of the same blood and the same nation.

There was no battle now, and what was the use of sneaking around like an Indian, trying to kill somebody who was doing you no harm?
That was assassination, not war.
The officers winked at this borderline friendship.

A Yankee picket in a boat near the left shore could knot a newspaper into a tight wad and throw it to the Johnny Reb picket in another boat near the right bank, and there were strong-armed Johnny Reb pickets who could throw a hunk of chewing tobacco all the way to the Yankee side.