The plantations themselves are transformed by the smoke, and look like a part of the sea.

All through your watch you are tortured with the exquisite misery of uncertainty.
You hope you are keeping in the river, but you do not know.

All that you are sure about is that you are likely to be within six feet of the bank and destruction, when you think you are a good half-mile from shore.

And you are sure, also, that if you chance suddenly to fetch up against the embankment and topple your chimneys overboard, you will have the small comfort of knowing that it is about what you were expecting to do.

One of the great Vicksburg packets darted out into a sugar plantation one night, at such a time, and had to stay there a week.