Louisville, Ky., August 11th, 1863.
Again in Louisville—eleven hundred miles nearer home than one week ago—and yet how far. Still, it is joy to feel I am comparatively near. We reached Cairo on the evening of the seventh, took on fresh supplies, and left next day at noon for Cincinnati, which place we expect to reach some time tomorrow. We are now—3 p. m.—taking on coal, and will start in a few minutes.
The Ohio is very low—in places not more than three feet deep. We have brought up against sand bars and been forced to back off perhaps fifty times since leaving Cairo. From this place to Cincinnati, I am told, there are no obstructions. The most difficult part of our way was from New Albany to Louisville. We were six hours in making three miles last night. It was nothing but “Back ‘er and try again” for about a mile, and then we had a canal with three locks to pass through.
We have had no deaths since the seventh, and our sick and wounded boys are doing nicely. These fresh northern breezes are more exhilarating than wine, and the hope that they may be sent to their homes to recruit their health is more healing than medicine.
