The gates of the fort were shut, and the captains summoned. Undaunted woodsmen as they were, they were lukewarm, at first, at the idea of this march through the floods. Who can blame them? They had, indeed, sacrificed much. But in ten minutes they had caught his enthusiasm (which is one of the mysteries of genius). And the men paraded in the snow likewise caught it, and swung their hats at the notion of taking the Hair Buyer.
""Tis no news to me," said Terence, stamping his feet on the flinty ground; "wasn"t it Davy that pointed him out to us and the hair liftin"
from his head six months since?"
"Und you like schwimmin", yes?" said Swein Poulsson, his face like the rising sun with the cold.
"Swimmin", is it?" said Terence, "sure, the divil made worse things than wather. And Hamilton"s beyant."
"I reckon that"ll fetch us through," Bill Cowan put in grimly.
It was a blessed thing that none of us had a bird"s-eye view of that same water. No man of force will listen when his mind is made up, and perhaps it is just as well. For in that way things are accomplished.
Clark would not listen to Monsieur Vigo, and hence the financier had, perforce, to listen to Clark. There were several miracles before we left. Monsieur Vigo, for instance, agreed to pay the expenses of the expedition, though in his heart he thought we should never get to Vincennes. Incidentally, he was never repaid. Then there were the French--yesterday, running hither and thither in paroxysms of fear; to-day, enlisting in whole companies, though it were easier to get to the wild geese of the swamps than to Hamilton. Their ladies st.i.tched colors day and night, and presented them with simple confidence to the Colonel in the church. Twenty stands of colors for 170 men, counting those who had come from Cahokia. Think of the industry of it, of the enthusiasm behind it! Twenty stands of colors! Clark took them all, and in due time it will be told how the colors took Vincennes. This was because Colonel Clark was a man of destiny.
Furthermore, Colonel Clark was off the next morning at dawn to buy a Mississippi keel-boat. He had her rigged up with two four-pounders and four swivels, filled her with provisions, and called her the Willing.
She was the first gunboat on the Western waters. A great fear came into my heart, and at dusk I stole back to the Colonel"s house alone. The snow had turned to rain, and Terence stood guard within the doorway.
"Arrah," he said, "what ails ye, darlin"?"
I gulped and the tears sprang into my eyes; whereupon Terence, in defiance of all military laws, laid his gun against the doorpost and put his arms around me, and I confided my fears. It was at this critical juncture that the door opened and Colonel Clark came out.
"What"s to do here?" he demanded, gazing at us sternly.
"Savin" your Honor"s prisence," said Terence, "he"s afeard your Honor will be sending him on the boat. Sure, he wants to go swimmin" with the rest of us."
Colonel Clark frowned, bit his lip, and Terence seized his gun and stood to attention.
"It were right to leave you in Kaskaskia," said the Colonel; "the water will be over your head."
"The King"s drum would be floatin" the likes of him," said the irrepressible Terence, "and the b"ys would be that lonesome."
The Colonel walked away without a word. In an hour"s time he came back to find me cleaning his accoutrements by the fire. For a while he did not speak, but busied himself with his papers, I having lighted the candles for him. Presently he spoke my name, and I stood before him.
"I will give you a piece of advice, Davy," said he. "If you want a thing, go straight to the man that has it. McChesney has spoken to me about this wild notion of yours of going to Vincennes, and Cowan and McCann and Ray and a dozen others have dogged my footsteps."
"I only spoke to Terence because he asked me, sir," I answered. "I said nothing to any one else."
He laid down his pen and looked at me with an odd expression.
"What a weird little piece you are," he exclaimed; "you seem to have wormed your way into the hearts of these men. Do you know that you will probably never get to Vincennes alive?"
"I don"t care, sir," I said. A happy thought struck me. "If they see a boy going through the water, sir--" I hesitated, abashed.
"What then?" said Clark, shortly.
"It may keep some from going back," I finished.
At that he gave a sort of gasp, and stared at me the more.
"Egad," he said, "I believe the good Lord launched you wrong end to.
Perchance you will be a child when you are fifty."
He was silent a long time, and fell to musing. And I thought he had forgotten.
"May I go, sir?" I asked at length.
He started.
"Come here," said he. But when I was close to him he merely laid his hand on my shoulder. "Yes, you may go, Davy."
He sighed, and presently turned to his writing again, and I went back joyfully to my cleaning.
On a certain dark 4th of February, picture the village of Kaskaskia a.s.sembled on the river-bank in capote and hood. Ropes are cast off, the keel-boat pushes her blunt nose through the cold, muddy water, the oars churn up dirty, yellow foam, and cheers shake the sodden air. So the Willing left on her long journey: down the Kaskaskia, into the flood of the Mississippi, against many weary leagues of the Ohio"s current, and up the swollen Wabash until they were to come to the mouth of the White River near Vincennes. There they were to await us.
Should we ever see them again? I think that this was the unspoken question in the hearts of the many who were to go by land.
The 5th was a mild, gray day, with the melting snow lying in patches on the brown bluff, and the sun making shift to pierce here and there. We formed the regiment in the fort,--backwoodsman and Creole now to fight for their common country, Jacques and Pierre and Alphonse; and mother and father, sweetheart and wife, waiting to wave a last good-by. Bravely we marched out of the gate and into the church for Father Gibault"s blessing. And then, forming once more, we filed away on the road leading northward to the ferry, our colors flying, leaving the weeping, cheering crowd behind. In front of the tall men of the column was a wizened figure, beating madly on a drum, stepping proudly with head thrown back.
It was Cowan"s voice that snapped the strain.
"Go it, Davy, my little gamec.o.c.k!" he cried, and the men laughed and cheered. And so we came to the bleak ferry landing where we had crossed on that hot July night six months before.
We were soon on the prairies, and in the misty rain that fell and fell they seemed to melt afar into a gray and cheerless ocean. The sodden gra.s.s was matted now and unkempt. Lifeless lakes filled the depressions, and through them we waded mile after mile ankle-deep. There was a little cavalcade mounted on the tiny French ponies, and sometimes I rode with these; but oftenest Cowan or Tom would fling me; drum and all, on his shoulder. For we had reached the forest swamps where the water is the color of the Creole coffee. And day after day as we marched, the soft rain came out of the east and wet us to the skin.
It was a journey of torments, and even that first part of it was enough to discourage the most resolute spirit. Men might be led through it, but never driven. It is ever the mind which suffers through the monotonies of bodily discomfort, and none knew this better than Clark himself.
Every morning as we set out with the wet hide chafing our skin, the Colonel would run the length of the regiment, crying:--
"Who gives the feast to-night, boys?"
Now it was Bowman"s company, now McCarty"s, now Bayley"s. How the hunters vied with each other to supply the best, and spent the days stalking the deer cowering in the wet thickets. We crossed the Saline, and on the plains beyond was a great black patch, a herd of buffalo.
A party of chosen men headed by Tom McChesney was sent after them, and never shall I forget the sight of the mad beasts charging through the water.
That night, when our chilled feet could bear no more, we sought out a patch of raised ground a little firmer than a quagmire, and heaped up the beginnings of a fire with such brush as could be made to burn, robbing the naked thickets. Saddle and steak sizzled, leather steamed and stiffened, hearts and bodies thawed; grievances that men had nursed over miles of water melted. Courage sits best on a full stomach, and as they ate they cared not whether the Atlantic had opened between them and Vincennes. An hour agone, and there were twenty cursing laggards, counting the leagues back to Kaskaskia. Now:--
"C"etait un vieux sauvage Tout noir, tour barbouilla, Ouich" ka!
Avec sa vieill" couverte Et son sac a tabac.
Ouich" ka!
Ah! ah! tenaouich" tenaga, Tenaouich" tenaga, Ouich" ka!"
So sang Antoine, dit le Gris, in the pulsing red light. And when, between the verses, he went through the agonies of a Huron war-dance, the a.s.sembled regiment howled with delight. Some men know cities and those who dwell in the quarters of cities. But grizzled Antoine knew the half of a continent, and the manners of trading and killing of the tribes thereof.
And after Antoine came Gabriel, a marked contrast--Gabriel, five feet six, and the glare showing but a faint dark line on his quivering lip.
Gabriel was a patriot,--a tribute we must pay to all of those brave Frenchmen who went with us. Nay, Gabriel had left at home on his little farm near the village a young wife of a fortnight. And so his lip quivered as he sang:--
"Pet.i.t Rocher de la Haute Montagne, Je vien finir ici cette campagne!
Ah! doux echos, entendez mes soupirs; En languissant je vais bientot mouir!"
We had need of gayety after that, and so Bill Cowan sang "Billy of the Wild Wood," and Terence McCann wailed an Irish jig, stamping the water out of the spongy ground amidst storms of mirth. As he desisted, breathless and panting, he flung me up in the firelight before the eyes of them all, crying:--
"It"s Davy can bate me!"