So we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. Once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. A scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing - heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air.

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