And ere the sun had risen greatly we had passed
Twelve Mile Island, and emerging from the narrow channel which divides
Six Mile Island from the northern shore, we beheld, on its terrace above
the Bear Grass, Louisville shining white in the morning sun. Majestic in
its mile of width, calm, as though gathering courage, the river seemed to
straighten for the ordeal to come, and the sound of its waters crying
over the rocks far below came faintly to my ear and awoke memories of a
day gone by. Fearful of the suck, we crept along the Indian shore until
we counted the boats moored in the Bear Grass, and presently above the
trees on our right we saw the Stars and Stripes floating from the log
bastion of Fort Finney. And below the fort, on the gentle sunny slope to
the river's brink, was spread the green garden of the garrison, with its
sprouting vegetables and fruit trees blooming pink and white.
We were greeted by a company of buff and blue officers at the landing,
and I was bidden to breakfast at their mess, Captain Wendell promising to
take me over to Louisville afterwards. He had business in the town, and
about eight of the clock we crossed the wide river in one of the barges
of the fort and made fast at the landing in the Bear Grass. But no
sooner had we entered the town than we met a number of country people on
horseback, with their wives and daughters--ay, and sweethearts--perched
up behind them: the men mostly in butternut linsey hunting shirts and
trousers, slouch hats, and red handkerchiefs stuck into their bosoms; the
women marvellously pretty and fresh in stiff cotton gowns and Quaker
hats, and some in crimped caps with ribbons neatly tied under the chin.
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