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Updated: June 3, 2025
It will not be inconsistent with my text if I herewith interpolate an incident connected with Pursley, the second American to cross the desert, for the purpose of trade with New Mexico, which I find in the Magazine of American History: When Zebulon M. Pike was in Mexico, in 1807, he met, at Santa Fe, a carpenter, Pursley by name, from Bardstown, Kentucky, who was working at his trade.
"Probably, suh, I'd tell General Morgan that he could have his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain." "As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the Licking River. You willing to take the flag in when we get there, Rennie?
"General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of it." He shrugged. "No! Well, I'll talk ... listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" he roared at the nearest soldier. They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meet Campbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike.
It was deemed best to have a direct representative of the corporation on the ground, and Harvey qualified himself for the responsible situation by a six-months' apprenticeship, during all of which he wrought as hard as any laborer in the establishment. He made his home in the remote village of Bardstown, where the Rollo Mills had been built.
She'll pay you well for doing it, and it will be yours to use just as if it were your own, a pony! A beautiful little Shetland pony. It was her little grandson's, and they have kept it since he died, because they could not bear to part with anything he had been so fond of. Now they are going away from Bardstown for a long, long time.
At 10 A. M. passed through the small town of Mount Washington. Here was where the skirmish of the day previous had taken place. At 3 o'clock crossed a small stream, called Floyd's Fork. The bridge had been destroyed by the Rebels. We had no difficulty in fording the stream, owing to the low stage of water. This was six miles from Mount Washington, and fourteen miles from Bardstown.
The army moved October 1, 1862, and my division, now a part of the Third Corps, commanded by General C. C. Gilbert, marched directly on Bardstown, where it was thought the enemy would make a stand, but Bragg's troops retreated toward Perryville, only resisting sufficiently to enable the forces of General Kirby Smith to be drawn in closer they having begun a concentration at Frankfort so they could be used in a combined attack on Louisville as soon as the Confederate commander's political projects were perfected.
Somehow they would have to skulk or fight their way down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all the way across Tennessee a tall order, but one which was just possible of accomplishment. "I'll do it, suh." Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding over the rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up by the enemy.
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