ing of Thursday, by about nine o'clock, we made Eddyville — a small town on the east bank of the river, and distant only about forty-five miles from Smithland.
If one may judge from the demonstrations of those who stood on the shore watching our passage, a more loyal town than Eddyville exists nowhere beneath the sun. The women waved handkerchiefs of all colors, or in lieu of that an apron or bonnet; the men swung their hats and vociferated alternately Hurrah for the Union!
and Hurrah for Lincoln!
until hoarse beyond utterance; even the dogs of Eddyville were loyal, and barked and wagged their tails in patriotic joy at the national inundation.
There was only one case, however, that bore the marks of sincerity.
An old man, whose head was white as a snow-drift, stood on the shore leaning heavily on his cane and watching with seeming apathy the passage of the boats, whose full appearance his faded eyes probably failed to catch.
Just as the Minnehaha passed opposite him the magnific