“On Louisiana!” I repeated; “what has the Federal government been doing?”

The Captain winked at me and sat down.

“The Federal government is supine, a laughing-stock—­so our friends the Jacobins say, who have been shouting at Mr. Easton’s tavern all winter.  Nay, they declare that all this country west of the mountains, too, will be broken off and set up into a republic, and allied with that most glorious of all republics, France.  Believe me, the Jacobins have not been idle, and there have been strange-looking birds of French plumage dodging between the General’s house at Clarksville and the Bear Grass.”

I was silent, the tears almost forcing themselves to my eyes at the pathetic sordidness of what I had heard.

“It can come to nothing,” continued the Captain, in a changed voice.  “General Clark’s mind is unhinged by—­disappointment.  Mad Anthony[1] is not a man to be caught sleeping, and he has already attended to a little expedition from the Cumberland.  Mad Anthony loves the General, as we all do, and the Federal government is wiser than the Jacobins think.  It may not be necessary to do anything.”  Captain Wendell paused, and looked at me fixedly.  “Ritchie, General Clark likes you, and you have never offended him.  Why not go to his little house in Clarksville when you get to Louisville and talk to him plainly, as I know you can?  Perhaps you might have some influence.”

[1] General Wayne of Revolutionary fame was then in command of that district.

I shook my head sadly.

“I intend to go,” I answered, “but I will have no influence.”

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE ABOVE THE FALLS

It was May-day, and shortly after dawn we slipped into the quiet water which is banked up for many miles above the Falls.  The Captain and I sat forward on the deck, breathing deeply the sharp odor which comes from the wet forest in the early morning, listening to the soft splash of the oars, and watching the green form of Eighteen Mile Island as it gently drew nearer and nearer.  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.