Shiloh Landing, Miss., Jan. 3, 1904.—We lay last night at Wilson's Point, La., and all night we listened to the creaking of our fenders against the side, and felt the heave of the tug as she surged against our side under the influence of a driving northwest wind. Said wind carried us along yesterday for a run of over 44 miles, sometimes with and at others against us, as the river curved. It was a cold wind and made the cabin fire comfortable. Two sailboats passed us going down, one a two-master from Chicago and the other the Delhi, from Michigan City. They made good with the wind. There was a large trading boat with stern wheel above our landing, but we did not visit her.
About 1 p. m. we ran in here, and the tug people stopped because Mr. Rogers' brother was in charge. We found a levee camp with 36 tents, and examined the commissary with interest. Got some canned oysters for the Missis. No milk or eggs, fresh meat or chickens. The men all carry big 44s, and sometimes use them, we hear. It grows colder—at 5 p. m. temperature outside 30—and the cold is harder to bear than a much lower one up north. Every few miles there is a landing, and a pile of cotton bales and bags of seed waiting for the Delta or American, fine steamers that ply between Vicksburg and Greenville.
The great, greedy river, forever eating its banks, which crumble into the current constantly, even now when the water is so low. Every sand bar has its wrecks, and opposite Lake Providence we saw men and teams busy over the coal in sunken barges.
Monday, Jan. 4, we left Shiloh at 7:20, clear and cold, temperature 28, moon shining, but the sun not yet visible from behind the bluff.
Yesterday we passed the steamer City of Wheeling, fast on a bar, and we hear she has been there for two months—grounded on her first trip. But the water is rising and she expects to be soon released.