He felt now, since he was going to the east and the
colonel was remaining in the west, that the parting was likely to be
long--perhaps forever.
It was no morbid feeling. It was the consciousness that a great and
terrible war was at hand. Although but a youth, he had been in the
forefront of things. He had been at Montgomery and Sumter, and he had
seen the fire and zeal of the South. He had been at Frankfort, too,
and he had seen how the gathering force of the massive North had refused
to be moved. His father and his friends, with all their skill and force,
strengthened by the power of kinship and sentiment, had been unable to
take Kentucky out of the Union.
Harry was so thoroughly absorbed in these thoughts that he did not
realize how very long he remained silent. He was sitting in the stern
of the boat, with a face naturally joyous, heavily overcast. Jarvis
and Ike were rowing and with innate delicacy they did not disturb him.
They, too, said nothing. But they were powerful oarsmen, and they sent
the heavy skiff shooting up the stream. The Kentucky, a deep river at
any time, was high from the spring floods, and the current offered but
little resistance.
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