We had unloaded perhaps a quarter of our supplies, when an officer suddenly appeared over the crest of the bank and hailed the captain. There was a tone of authority in his voice which caused us to knock off work and listen.
"Is Captain Corcoran there? Oh, you are Captain Corcoran. Well, I bring orders from headquarters. You are to discontinue unloading, Captain, retain the remainder of the provisions on board, and prepare at once to take on men. What's your capacity?"
"Take on men? Soldiers, you mean?"
"Exactly; we've got to find quarters for about seven hundred. Two of those boats up yonder will take horses. The troops will be along within an hour."
"We are not to return south, then?"
"No; you're going in the other direction—up the Rock. You better get busy."
He wheeled his horse and disappeared, leaving the angry captain venting his displeasure on the vacant air. Kirby, evidently from some position across the deck, broke in with a sharp question.
"What was that, Corcoran? Did the fellow say you were not going back to St. Louis?"
"That's just what he said. Damn this being under military orders. We've got to nose our way up Rock River, with a lot of those measly soldiers aboard. It's simply hell. Here you, Mapes, stop that unloading, and get steam up—we've got to put in a night of it."
"But," insisted Kirby in disgust, "I'm not going up there; aren't there any boats going down?"