four o’clock
The bright morning , the shady streets , the homelike frame and log houses , the old-time fragrant odor of corn-pone wafted out of the open doorways , the warm greetings , -- all made me happy to be back again . Mr. Crede rushed out and escorted us into his cool store , and while he waited on his country customers bade his negro brew a bowl of toddy , at the mention of which Mr. Bill Whalen , chief habitué , roused himself from a stupor on a tobacco barrel . Presently the customers , having indulged in the toddy , departed for the barbecue , the Captain went to the fort , and Mr. Crede and myself were left alone to talk over the business which had sent me to Philadelphia . At four o'clock , having finished my report and dined with my client , I set out for Clarksville , for Mr. Crede had told me , among other things , that the General was there . Louisville was deserted , the tavern porch vacant ; but tacked on the logs beside the door was a printed bill which drew my curiosity . I stopped , caught by a familiar name in large type at the head of it . `` GEORGE R. CLARK , ESQUIRE , `` MAJOR-GENERAL IN THE ARMIES OF FRANCE AND COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONARY LEGION ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER .