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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:54 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:54 -0700 |
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diff --git a/388-h/388-h.htm b/388-h/388-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd3d61f --- /dev/null +++ b/388-h/388-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,30557 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Crossing, a novel by Winston Churchill, presented by Project + Gutenberg. + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + body { margin:8%; text-align:justify;} + .center { text-align: center;} + .smcap { font-variant: small-caps;} + .x-small {font-size:x-small;} + .small {font-size:small;} + .large {font-size:large;} + .x-large {font-size:x-large;} + .noindent { text-indent:0em;} + .italic {font-style:italic;} + .caps {text-transform:uppercase;} + .bold { font-weight:bold; } + .neat-left-margin {margin-left:2.5em;} + p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + h1,h2 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + h3 { text-align: center; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + font-variant:small-caps; font-weight:normal; font-size:large; } + hr.minor { width: 30%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major { width: 70%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.tiny { width: 10%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + div.contents { margin-right:5%; margin-left:5%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + .pagenum { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: gray; + text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; + /* To remove the page-numbers, use the hidden visibilty feature */ + /* visibility:hidden; */ + border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; + font-style: normal; + font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;} + .movetoright { text-align:right; position:absolute; text-indent:0em; right:8%;} + p.poem1 { text-indent:0; font-size:small; + margin-left:25%; padding-top:.5em; padding-bottom:.5em; } + p.poem2 { text-indent:0; font-style:italic; font-size:small; + margin-left:25%; padding-top:.5em; padding-bottom:.5em;} + p.communique { font-style:italic; padding-top:.5em; padding-bottom:.5em;} + p.letter-date { font-size:small; text-align:right; font-style:italic;} + a:link, a:visited {text-decoration:none; color:blue;} + a:hover {color:orange;} + /* TITLE PAGE */ + div.titlepage { padding-top:5%; padding-bottom:5%; + margin-right:15%; margin-left:15%; + text-align: center;} + div.footer { border-style:solid; border-color:silver; border-width:thin; + border-top:none; border-bottom:none; + text-indent:0; text-align:left; + font-size:80%; padding-left:10%; padding-right:10%;} + p.letter1 { text-indent:0; font-size:105%; line-height:18pt; + margin:auto; + margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; } + div.chapterhead {padding-top:4em;} + div.boilerplate { margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em;} + div.boilerplate p { text-indent:0em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em;} +/* Table of Contents styling */ +table {margin:0 auto;} +table caption {font-variant:small-caps; font-weight:bold;} +table th {font-size:small; } +table tr td {vertical-align:top;} +table tr td:first-child {text-align:right; padding-right:.5em; } +table tr td:nth-child(even) {font-variant:small-caps;} +table tr td:last-child {padding-left:.75em; text-align:right;} +table tr:nth-child(2) td, table tr:nth-child(24) td, table tr:nth-child(40) td + {text-align:center; font-variant:small-caps; font-weight:bold;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + + +<div class="boilerplate"> +<p> + The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crossing by Winston Churchill. + [The Author is the American Winston Churchill not the British] +</p> + +<p> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org +</p> + +<p> + Title: The Crossing<br /> + Author: Winston Churchill<br /> + Release Date: December 24, 1995 [EBook #388]<br /> + Updated: June 12, 2017.<br /> + Character set encoding: utf-8 <br /> +</p> + +<p> + Produced by Charles Keller, David Widger, and Robert Homa. + <br /> +</p> +</div> +<p class="bold double-space-top"> +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSSING *** +</p> + + +<div class="titlepage"> +<h1>The Crossing</h1> +<p class="center">BY</p> +<h2>WINSTON CHURCHILL</h2> +<hr class="tiny" /> +<p class="center"> +<i>Author of</i><br /> +“Richard Carvel,” “The Crisis,”<br /> +“The Celebrity,” etc., etc. +</p> +<hr class="tiny" /> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</p> +<p class="center">New York<br /> + <span class="large">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br /> + LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.<br /> + 1904<br /> + <span class="x-small"><i>All rights reserved</i></span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p class="center x-small">Copyright, 1903<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> WINSTON CHURCHILL.</p> +<p class="center x-small">Copyright, 1903<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> P. F. COLLIER & SON.</p> +<p class="center x-small">Copyright, 1904<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class="center small">Set up, electrotyped, and published, May, 1904</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="center small">Norwood Press<br /> + J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co.<br /> + Norwood, Mass., U. S. A</p> +<hr class="major" /> + + +<div class="contents"><a name="TOC_001" id="TOC_001"></a> + <h2>CONTENTS</h2> +</div> +<table summary="Table of Contents" > +<tbody> + <tr> + <th>Chapter</th> + <th>Chapter Title</th> + <th>Page</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3">Book I. The Borderland</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td>The Blue Wall</td> + <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td>Wars and Rumors of Wars</td> + <td><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td>Charlestown</td> + <td><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td>Temple Bow</td> + <td><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td>Cram's Hell</td> + <td><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td>Man proposes, but God disposes</td> + <td><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td>In Sight of the Blue Wall once more</td> + <td><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td>The Nollichucky Trace</td> + <td><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td>On the Wilderness Trail</td> + <td><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td>Harrodstown</td> + <td><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td>Fragmentary</td> + <td><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td>The Campaign begins</td> + <td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td>Kaskaskia</td> + <td><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td>How the Kaskaskians were made Citizens</td> + <td><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XV.</td> + <td>Days of Trial</td> + <td><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVI.</td> + <td>Davy goes to Cahokia</td> + <td><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVII.</td> + <td>The Sacrifice</td> + <td><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVIII.</td> + <td>“An' ye had been where I had been”</td> + <td><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIX.</td> + <td>The Hair Buyer trapped</td> + <td><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XX.</td> + <td>The Campaign ends</td> + <td><a href="#Page_242">242</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="height:2em"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3"> + <a name="TOC_002" id="TOC_002"></a> + BOOK II. Flotsam and Jetsam + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td>In the Cabin</td> + <td><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td>“The Beggars are come to Town”</td> + <td><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td>We go to Danville</td> + <td><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td>I cross the Mountains once more</td> + <td><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td>I meet an Old Bedfellow</td> + <td><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td>The Widow Brown's</td> + <td><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td>I meet a Hero</td> + <td><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td>To St. Louis</td> + <td><a href="#Page_329">329</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td>“Cherchez la Femme”</td> + <td><a href="#Page_340">340</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td>The Keel Boat</td> + <td><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td>The Strange City</td> + <td><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td>Les Îles</td> + <td><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td>Monsieur Auguste entrapped</td> + <td><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td>Retribution</td> + <td><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="height:2em"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3"> + <a name="TOC_003" id="TOC_003"></a> + BOOK III. Louisiana + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td>The Rights of Man</td> + <td><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td>The House above the Falls</td> + <td><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td>Louisville celebrates</td> + <td><a href="#Page_455">455</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td>Of a Sudden Resolution</td> + <td><a href="#Page_465">465</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td>The House of the Honeycombed Tiles</td> + <td><a href="#Page_473">473</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td>Madame la Vicomtesse</td> + <td><a href="#Page_483">483</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td>The Disposal of the Sieur de St. Gré</td> + <td><a href="#Page_493">493</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td>At Lamarque's</td> + <td><a href="#Page_510">510</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td>Monsieur le Baron</td> + <td><a href="#Page_524">524</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td>The Scourge</td> + <td><a href="#Page_535">535</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td>“In the Midst of Life”</td> + <td><a href="#Page_548">548</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td>Visions, and an Awakening</td> + <td><a href="#Page_555">555</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td>A Mystery</td> + <td><a href="#Page_565">565</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td>“To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores”</td> + <td><a href="#Page_575">575</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XV.</td> + <td>An Episode in the Life of a Man</td> + <td><a href="#Page_589">589</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td style="height:2em"></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td>Afterword</td> + <td><a href="#Page_596">596</a></td> + </tr> +</tbody> +</table> +<hr class="major" /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE CROSSING + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">BOOK I. THE BORDERLAND</a> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER I</a></h2> + <h3>The Blue Wall</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I was</span> born under the Blue Ridge, and under + that side which is blue in the evening light, in a wild land of game and + forest and rushing waters. There, on the borders of a creek that runs + into the Yadkin River, in a cabin that was chinked with red mud, I came + into the world a subject of King George the Third, in that part of his + realm known as the province of North Carolina. + </p> + <p> + The cabin reeked of corn-pone and bacon, and the odor of pelts. It had two + shakedowns, on one of which I slept under a bearskin. A rough stone + chimney was reared outside, and the fireplace was as long as my father was + tall. There was a crane in it, and a bake kettle; and over it great + buckhorns held my father's rifle when it was not in use. On other horns + hung jerked bear's meat and venison hams, and gourds for drinking cups, + and bags of seed, and my father's best hunting shirt; also, in a neglected + corner, several articles of woman's attire from pegs. These once belonged + to my mother. Among them was a gown of silk, of a fine, faded pattern, + over which I was wont to speculate. The women at the Cross-Roads, twelve + miles away, were dressed in coarse butternut wool and huge sunbonnets. But + when I questioned my father on these matters he would give me no answers. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> + My father was—how shall I say what he was? To this day I can only + surmise many things of him. He was a Scotchman born, and I know now that + he had a slight Scotch accent. At the time of which I write, my early + childhood, he was a frontiersman and hunter. I can see him now, with his + hunting shirt and leggings and moccasins; his powder horn, engraved with + wondrous scenes; his bullet pouch and tomahawk and hunting knife. He was a + tall, lean man with a strange, sad face. And he talked little save when he + drank too many “horns,” as they were called in that country. These lapses + of my father's were a perpetual source of wonder to me,—and, I must + say, of delight. They occurred only when a passing traveller who hit his + fancy chanced that way, or, what was almost as rare, a neighbor. Many a + winter night I have lain awake under the skins, listening to a flow of + language that held me spellbound, though I understood scarce a word of it. + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-.5em"> + "Virtuous and vicious every man must be,</span><br /> + Few in the extreme, but all in a degree." + </p> + <p> + The chance neighbor or traveller was no less struck with wonder. And many + the time have I heard the query, at the Cross-Roads and elsewhere, “Whar + Alec Trimble got his larnin'?” + </p> + <p> + The truth is, my father was an object of suspicion to the frontiersmen. + Even as a child I knew this, and resented it. He had brought me up in + solitude, and I was old for my age, learned in some things far beyond my + years, and ignorant of others I should have known. I loved the man + passionately. In the long winter evenings, when the howl of wolves and + “painters” rose as the wind lulled, he taught me to read from the Bible + and the “Pilgrim's Progress.” I can see his long, slim fingers on the + page. They seemed but ill fitted for the life he led. + </p> + <p> + The love of rhythmic language was somehow born into me, and many's the + time I have held watch in the cabin day and night while my father was away + on his hunts, spelling out the verses that have since become part of my + life. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> + As I grew older I went with him into the mountains, often on his back; and + spent the nights in open camp with my little moccasins drying at the + blaze. So I learned to skin a bear, and fleece off the fat for oil with my + hunting knife; and cure a deerskin and follow a trail. At seven I even + shot the long rifle, with a rest. I learned to endure cold and hunger and + fatigue and to walk in silence over the mountains, my father never saying + a word for days at a spell. And often, when he opened his mouth, it would + be to recite a verse of Pope's in a way that moved me strangely. For a + poem is not a poem unless it be well spoken. + </p> + <p> + In the hot days of summer, over against the dark forest the bright green + of our little patch of Indian corn rippled in the wind. And towards night + I would often sit watching the deep blue of the mountain wall and dream of + the mysteries of the land that lay beyond. And by chance, one evening as I + sat thus, my father reading in the twilight, a man stood before us. So + silently had he come up the path leading from the brook that we had not + heard him. Presently my father looked up from his book, but did not rise. + As for me, I had been staring for some time in astonishment, for he was a + better-looking man than I had ever seen. He wore a deerskin hunting shirt + dyed black, but, in place of a coonskin cap with the tail hanging down, a + hat. His long rifle rested on the ground, and he held a roan horse by the + bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, neighbor?” said he. + </p> + <p> + I recall a fear that my father would not fancy him. In such cases he would + give a stranger food, and leave him to himself. My father's whims were + past understanding. But he got up. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The visitor looked a little surprised, as I had seen many do, at my + father's accent. + </p> + <p> + “Neighbor,” said he, “kin you keep me over night?” + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + We sat down to our supper of corn and beans and venison, of all of which + our guest ate sparingly. He, too, was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> + a silent man, and scarcely a word + was spoken during the meal. Several times he looked at me with such a + kindly expression in his blue eyes, a trace of a smile around his broad + mouth, that I wished he might stay with us always. But once, when my + father said something about Indians, the eyes grew hard as flint. It was + then I remarked, with a boy's wonder, that despite his dark hair he had + yellow eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + After supper the two men sat on the log step, while I set about the task + of skinning the deer my father had shot that day. Presently I felt a heavy + hand on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name, lad?” he said. + </p> + <p> + I told him Davy. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, I'll larn ye a trick worth a little time,” said he, whipping out a + knife. In a trice the red carcass hung between the forked stakes, while I + stood with my mouth open. He turned to me and laughed gently. + </p> + <p> + “Some day you'll cross the mountains and skin twenty of an evening,” he + said. “Ye'll make a woodsman sure. You've got the eye, and the hand.” + </p> + <p> + This little piece of praise from him made me hot all over. + </p> + <p> + “Game rare?” said he to my father. + </p> + <p> + “None sae good, now,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon not. My cabin's on Beaver Creek some forty mile above, and + game's going there, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Settlements,” said my father. But presently, after a few whiffs of his + pipe, he added, “I hear fine things of this land across the mountains, + that the Indians call the Dark and Bluidy Ground.” + </p> + <p> + “And well named,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “But a brave country,” said my father, “and all tramped down with + game. I hear that Daniel Boone and others have gone into it and come back + with marvellous tales. They tell me Boone was there alone three months. + He's saething of a man. D'ye ken him?” + </p> + <p> + The ruddy face of the stranger grew ruddier still. + </p> + <p> + “My name's Boone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried my father, “it wouldn't be Daniel?” + </p> + <p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> + “You've guessed it, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + My father rose without a word, went into the cabin, and immediately + reappeared with a flask and a couple of gourds, one of which he handed to + our visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me aboot it,” said he. + </p> + <p> + That was the fairy tale of my childhood. Far into the night I lay on the + dewy grass listening to Mr. Boone's talk. It did not at first flow in a + steady stream, for he was not a garrulous man, but my father's questions + presently fired his enthusiasm. I recall but little of it, being so small + a lad, but I crept closer and closer until I could touch this superior + being who had been beyond the Wall. Marco Polo was no greater wonder to + the Venetians than Boone to me. + </p> + <p> + He spoke of leaving wife and children, and setting out for the Unknown + with other woodsmen. He told how, crossing over our blue western wall into + a valley beyond, they found a “Warrior's Path” through a gap across + another range, and so down into the fairest of promised lands. And as he + talked he lost himself in the tale of it, and the very quality of his + voice changed. He told of a land of wooded hill and pleasant vale, of + clear water running over limestone down to the great river beyond, the + Ohio—a land of glades, the fields of which were pied with flowers of + wondrous beauty, where roamed the buffalo in countless thousands, where + elk and deer abounded, and turkeys and feathered game, and bear in the + tall brakes of cane. And, simply, he told how, when the others had left + him, he stayed for three months roaming the hills alone with Nature + herself. + </p> + <p> + “But did you no' meet the Indians?” asked my father. + </p> + <p> + “I seed one fishing on a log once,” said our visitor, laughing, + “but he fell into the water. I reckon he was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + My father nodded comprehendingly,—even admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “And again!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said Mr. Boone, “we fell in with a war party of Shawnees + going back to their lands north of the great river. The critters took + away all we had. It was hard,” + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> + he added reflectively; “I had staked my fortune on the + venter, and we'd got enough skins to make us rich. But, neighbor, + there is land enough for you and me, as black and rich as Canaan.” + </p> + <p> + “'The Lord is my shepherd,'” said my father, lapsing into verse. “'The + Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He leadeth me into green pastures, + and beside still waters.'” + </p> + <p> + For a time they were silent, each wrapped in his own thought, while the + crickets chirped and the frogs sang. From the distant forest came the + mournful hoot of an owl. + </p> + <p> + “And you are going back?” asked my father, presently. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, that I am. There are many families on the Yadkin below going, too. + And you, neighbor, you might come with us. Davy is the boy that would + thrive in that country.” + </p> + <p> + My father did not answer. It was late indeed when we lay down to rest, and + the night I spent between waking and dreaming of the wonderland beyond the + mountains, hoping against hope that my father would go. The sun was just + flooding the slopes when our guest arose to leave, and my father bade him + God-speed with a heartiness that was rare to him. But, to my bitter + regret, neither spoke of my father's going. Being a man of understanding, + Mr. Boone knew it were little use to press. He patted me on the head. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wise lad, Davy,” said he. “I hope we shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + He mounted his roan and rode away down the slope, waving his hand to us. + And it was with a heavy heart that I went to feed our white mare, + whinnying for food in the lean-to. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER II</a> + </h2> + <h3> Wars and Rumors of Wars</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">And</span> so our life went on the same, but yet not + the same. For I had the Land of Promise to dream of, and as I went about + my tasks I conjured up in my mind pictures of its beauty. You will forgive + a backwoods boy,—self-centred, for lack of wider interest, and with + a little imagination. Bear hunting with my father, and an occasional + trip on the white mare twelve miles to the Cross-Roads for salt and other + necessaries, were the only diversions to break the routine of my days. + But at the Cross-Roads, too, they were talking of Kaintuckee. For so the + Land was called, the Dark and Bloody Ground. + </p> + <p> + The next year came a war on the Frontier, waged by Lord Dunmore, Governor + of Virginia. Of this likewise I heard at the Cross-Roads, though few from + our part seemed to have gone to it. And I heard there, for rumors spread + over mountains, that men blazing in the new land were in danger, and that + my hero, Boone, was gone out to save them. But in the autumn came tidings + of a great battle far to the north, and of the Indians suing for peace. + </p> + <p> + The next year came more tidings of a sort I did not understand. I remember + once bringing back from the Cross-Roads a crumpled newspaper, which my + father read again and again, and then folded up and put in his pocket. He + said nothing to me of these things. But the next time I went to the + Cross-Roads, the woman asked me:— + </p> + <p> + “Is your Pa for the Congress?” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon he ain't,” said the woman, tartly. I recall + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> + her dimly, a slattern creature in a loose gown and bare feet, wife of the + storekeeper and wagoner, with a swarm of urchins about her. They were all + very natural to me thus. And I remember a battle with one of these urchins + in the briers, an affair which did not add to the love of their family for + ours. There was no money in that country, and the store took our pelts in + exchange for what we needed from civilization. Once a month would I load + these pelts on the white mare, and make the journey by the path down the + creek. At times I met other settlers there, some of them not long from + Ireland, with the brogue still in their mouths. And again, I saw the + wagoner with his great canvas-covered wagon standing at the door, ready to + start for the town sixty miles away. 'Twas he brought the news of this + latest war. + </p> + <p> + One day I was surprised to see the wagoner riding up the path to our + cabin, crying out for my father, for he was a violent man. And a violent + scene followed. They remained for a long time within the house, and when + they came out the wagoner's face was red with rage. My father, too, was + angry, but no more talkative than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Ye say ye'll not help the Congress?” shouted the wagoner. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll live to rue this day, Alec Trimble,” cried the man. “Ye + may think ye're too fine for the likes of us, but there's them in the + settlement that knows about ye.” + </p> + <p> + With that he flung himself on his horse, and rode away. But the next time + I went to the Cross-Roads the woman drove me away with curses, and called + me an aristocrat. Wearily I tramped back the dozen miles up the creek, + beside the mare, carrying my pelts with me; stumbling on the stones, and + scratched by the dry briers. For it was autumn, the woods all red and + yellow against the green of the pines. I sat down beside the old beaver + dam to gather courage to tell my father. But he only smiled bitterly when + he heard it. Nor would he tell me what the word <em>aristocrat</em> meant. + </p> + <p> + That winter we spent without bacon, and our salt gave + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> + out at Christmas. It + was at this season, if I remember rightly, that we had another visitor. He + arrived about nightfall one gray day, his horse jaded and cut, and he was + dressed all in wool, with a great coat wrapped about him, and high boots. + This made me stare at him. When my father drew back the bolt of the door + he, too, stared and fell back a step. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye ken me, Alec?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, spare man like my father, a Scotchman, but his hair was in + a cue. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Duncan,” said my father, quietly. “Davy, run out for + wood.” + </p> + <p> + Loath as I was to go, I obeyed. As I came back dragging a log behind me I + heard them in argument, and in their talk there was much about the + Congress, and a woman named Flora Macdonald, and a British fleet sailing + southward. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have two thousand Highlanders and more to meet the fleet. And + ye'll sit at hame, in this hovel ye've made yeresel” (and he glanced + about disdainfully) “and no help the King?” He brought his fist + down on the pine boards. + </p> + <p> + “Ye did no help the King greatly at Culloden, Duncan,” said + my father, dryly. + </p> + <p> + Our visitor did not answer at once. + </p> + <p> + “The Yankee Rebels ’ll no help the House of Stuart,” + said he, presently. “And Hanover's coom to stay. Are ye, too, a + Rebel, Alec Ritchie?” + </p> + <p> + I remember wondering why he said <em>Ritchie</em>. + </p> + <p> + “I'll no take a hand in this fight,” answered my father. + </p> + <p> + And that was the end of it. The man left with scant ceremony, I guiding + him down the creek to the main trail. He did not open his mouth until I + parted with him. + </p> + <p> + “Puir Davy,” said he, and rode away in the night, for the moon shone + through the clouds. + </p> + <p> + I remember these things, I suppose, because I had nothing else to think + about. And the names stuck in my memory, intensified by later events, + until I began to write a diary. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> + And now I come to my travels. As the spring drew on I had had a feeling + that we could not live thus forever, with no market for our pelts. And one + day my father said to me abruptly:— + </p> + <p> + “Davy, we'll be travelling.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll ken soon enough,” said he. “We'll go at crack o' day.” + </p> + <p> + We went away in the wild dawn, leaving the cabin desolate. We loaded the + white mare with the pelts, and my father wore a woollen suit like that of + our Scotch visitor, which I had never seen before. He had clubbed his + hair. But, strangest of all, he carried in a small parcel the silk gown + that had been my mother's. We had scant other baggage. + </p> + <p> + We crossed the Yadkin at a ford, and climbing the hills to the south of it + we went down over stony traces, down and down, through rain and sun; + stopping at rude cabins or taverns, until we came into the valley of + another river. This I know now was the Catawba. My memories of that ride + are as misty as the spring weather in the mountains. But presently the + country began to open up into broad fields, some of these abandoned to + pines. And at last, splashing through the stiff red clay that was up to + the mare's fetlocks, we came to a place called Charlotte Town. What a day + that was for me! And how I gaped at the houses there, finer than any I had + ever dreamed of! That was my first sight of a town. And how I listened + open-mouthed to the gentlemen at the tavern! One I recall had a fighting + head with a lock awry, and a negro servant to wait on him, and was the + principal spokesman. He, too, was talking of war. The Cherokees had risen + on the western border. He was telling of the massacre of a settlement, in + no mild language. + </p> + <p> + “Sirs,” he cried, “the British have stirred the redskins to this. + Will you sit here while women and children are scalped, and those + devils” (he called them worse names) “Stuart and Cameron go + unpunished?” + </p> + <p> + My father got up from the corner where he sat, and stood beside the man. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> + “I ken Alec Cameron,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The man looked at him with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Ay?” said he, “I shouldn't think you'd own it. Damn him,” he + cried, “if we catch him we'll skin him alive.” + </p> + <p> + “I ken Cameron,” my father repeated, “and I'll gang with you to + skin him alive.” + </p> + <p> + The man seized his hand and wrung it. + </p> + <p> + “But first I must be in Charlestown,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + The next morning we sold our pelts. And though the mare was tired, we + pushed southward, I behind the saddle. I had much to think about, + wondering what was to become of me while my father went to skin Cameron. I + had not the least doubt that he would do it. The world is a storybook to a + lad of nine, and the thought of Charlestown filled me with a delight + unspeakable. Perchance he would leave me in Charlestown. + </p> + <p> + At nightfall we came into a settlement called the Waxhaws. And there being + no tavern there, and the mare being very jaded and the roads heavy, we + cast about for a place to sleep. The sunlight slanting over the pine + forest glistened on the pools in the wet fields. And it so chanced that + splashing across these, swinging a milk-pail over his head, shouting at + the top of his voice, was a red-headed lad of my own age. My father hailed + him, and he came running towards us, still shouting, and vaulted the + rails. He stood before us, eying me with a most mischievous look in his + blue eyes, and dabbling in the red mud with his toes. I remember I thought + him a queer-looking boy. He was lanky, and he had a very long face under + his tousled hair. + </p> + <p> + My father asked him where he could spend the night. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said the boy, “I reckon Uncle Crawford might take you in. And again + he mightn't.” + </p> + <p> + He ran ahead, still swinging the pail. And we, following, came at length + to a comfortable-looking farmhouse. As we stopped at the doorway a stout, + motherly woman filled it. She held her knitting in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You Andy!” she cried, “have you fetched the milk?” + </p> + <p> + Andy tried to look repentant. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> + “I declare I'll tan you,” said the lady. “Git out this instant. What + rascality have you been in?” + </p> + <p> + “I fetched home visitors, Ma,” said Andy. + </p> + <p> + “Visitors!” cried the lady. “What 'll your Uncle + Crawford say?” And she looked at us smiling, but with no great + hostility. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Madam,” said my father, “if we seem to intrude. But my + mare is tired, and we have nowhere to stay.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Crawford did take us in. He was a man of substance in that + country,—a north of Ireland man by birth, if I remember right. + </p> + <p> + I went to bed with the red-headed boy, whose name was Andy Jackson. I + remember that his mother came into our little room under the eaves and + made Andy say his prayers, and me after him. But when she was gone out, + Andy stumped his toe getting into bed in the dark and swore with a + brilliancy and vehemence that astonished me. + </p> + <p> + It was some hours before we went to sleep, he plying me with questions + about my life, which seemed to interest him greatly, and I returning in + kind. + </p> + <p> + “My Pa's dead,” said Andy. “He came from a part of Ireland where + they are all weavers. We're kinder poor relations here. Aunt Crawford's + sick, and Ma keeps house. But Uncle Crawford's good, an' lets me go to + Charlotte Town with him sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + I recall that he also boasted some about his big brothers, who were away + just then. + </p> + <p> + Andy was up betimes in the morning, to see us start. But we didn't start, + because Mr. Crawford insisted that the white mare should have a half day's + rest. Andy, being hustled off unwillingly to the “Old Field” school, + made me go with him. He was a very headstrong boy. + </p> + <p> + I was very anxious to see a school. This one was only a log house in a + poor, piny place, with a rabble of boys and girls romping at the door. But + when they saw us they stopped. Andy jumped into the air, let out a + war-whoop, and flung himself into the midst, scattering them + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> + right and left, and knocking one boy over and over. “I'm Billy Buck!” + he cried. “I'm a hull regiment o' Rangers. Let th' Cherokees mind me!” + </p> + <p> + “Way for Sandy Andy!” cried the boys. “Where'd you get the new boy, + Sandy?” + </p> + <p> + “His name's Davy,” said Andy, “and his Pa's goin' to fight the + Cherokees. He kin lick tarnation out'n any o' you.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I held back, never having been thrown with so many of my own + kind. + </p> + <p> + “He's shot painters and b'ars,” said Andy. “An' skinned 'em. Kin + you lick him, Smally? I reckon not.” + </p> + <p> + Now I had not come to the school for fighting. So I held back. Fortunately + for me, Smally held back also. But he tried skilful tactics. + </p> + <p> + “He kin throw you, Sandy.” + </p> + <p> + Andy faced me in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Kin you?” said he. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to do but try, and in a few seconds we were rolling on + the ground, to the huge delight of Smally and the others, Andy shouting + all the while and swearing. We rolled and rolled and rolled in the mud, + until we both lost our breath, and even Andy stopped swearing, for want of + it. After a while the boys were silent, and the thing became grim earnest. + At length, by some accident rather than my own strength, both his + shoulders touched the ground. I released him. But he was on his feet in an + instant and at me again like a wildcat. + </p> + <p> + “Andy won't stay throwed,” shouted a boy. And before I knew it he + had my shoulders down in a puddle. Then I went for him, and affairs were + growing more serious than a wrestle, when Smally, fancying himself safe, + and no doubt having a grudge, shouted out:— + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he slobbers, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + Andy <em>did</em> slobber. But that was the end of me, and the beginning of Smally. + Andy left me instantly, not without an intimation that he would come back, + and proceeded to cover Smally with red clay and blood. However, in the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> + midst of this turmoil the schoolmaster arrived, haled both into the + schoolhouse, held court, and flogged Andrew with considerable gusto. He + pronounced these words afterwards, with great solemnity:— + </p> + <p> + “Andrew Jackson, if I catch ye fightin' once more, I'll be afther givin' + ye lave to lave the school.” + </p> + <p> + I parted from Andy at noon with real regret. He was the first boy with + whom I had ever had any intimacy. And I admired him: chiefly, I fear, for + his fluent use of profanity and his fighting qualities. He was a merry + lad, with a wondrous quick temper but a good heart. And he seemed sorry to + say good-by. He filled my pockets with June apples—unripe, by the + way—and told me to remember him when I got <em>till</em> Charlestown. + </p> + <p> + I remembered him much longer than that, and usually with a shock of + surprise. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER III</a> + </h2> + <h3>Charlestown</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Down</span> and down we went, crossing great rivers + by ford and ferry, until the hills flattened themselves and the country + became a long stretch of level, broken by the forests only; and I saw many + things I had not thought were on the earth. Once in a while I caught + glimpses of great red houses, with stately pillars, among the trees. + They put me in mind of the palaces in Bunyan, their windows all golden + in the morning sun; and as we jogged ahead, I pondered on the delights + within them. I saw gangs of negroes plodding to work along the road, an + overseer riding behind them with his gun on his back; and there were + whole cotton fields in these domains blazing in primrose flower,—a + new plant here, so my father said. He was willing to talk on such + subjects. But on others, and especially our errand to Charlestown, he + would say nothing. And I knew better than to press him. + </p> + <p> + One day, as we were crossing a dike between rice swamps spread with + delicate green, I saw the white tops of wagons flashing in the sun at the + far end of it. We caught up with them, the wagoners cracking their whips + and swearing at the straining horses. And lo! in front of the wagons was + an army,—at least my boyish mind magnified it to such. Men clad in + homespun, perspiring and spattered with mud, were straggling along the + road by fours, laughing and joking together. The officers rode, and many + of these had blue coats and buff waistcoats,—some the worse for + wear. My father was pushing the white mare into the ditch to ride by, when + one hailed him. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> + “Hullo, my man,” said he, “are you a friend to Congress?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm off to Charlestown to leave the lad,” said my father, “and + then to fight the Cherokees.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said the other. And then, “Where are you from?” + </p> + <p> + “Upper Yadkin,” answered my father. “And you?” + </p> + <p> + The officer, who was a young man, looked surprised. But then he laughed + pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “We're North Carolina troops, going to join Lee in Charlestown,” + said he. “The British are sending a fleet and regiments against it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, aye,” said my father, and would have passed on. But he was made + to go before the Colonel, who plied him with many questions. Then he gave + us a paper and dismissed us. + </p> + <p> + We pursued our journey through the heat that shimmered up from the road, + pausing now and again in the shade of a wayside tree. At times I thought I + could bear the sun no longer. But towards four o'clock of that day a great + bank of yellow cloud rolled up, darkening the earth save for a queer + saffron light that stained everything, and made our very faces yellow. And + then a wind burst out of the east with a high mournful note, as from a + great flute afar, filling the air with leaves and branches of trees. But + it bore, too, a savor that was new to me,—a salt savor, deep and + fresh, that I drew down into my lungs. And I knew that we were near the + ocean. Then came the rain, in great billows, as though the ocean itself + were upon us. + </p> + <p> + The next day we crossed a ferry on the Ashley River, and rode down the + sand of Charlestown neck. And my most vivid remembrance is of the great + trunks towering half a hundred feet in the air, with a tassel of leaves at + the top, which my father said were palmettos. Something lay heavy on his + mind. For I had grown to know his moods by a sort of silent understanding. + And when the roofs and spires of the town shone over the foliage in the + afternoon sun, I felt him give a great sigh that was like a sob. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> + And how shall I describe the splendor of that city? The sandy streets, and + the gardens of flower and shade, heavy with the plant odors; and the great + houses with their galleries and porticos set in the midst of the gardens, + that I remember staring at wistfully. But before long we came to a + barricade fixed across the street, and then to another. And presently, in + an open space near a large building, was a company of soldiers at drill. + </p> + <p> + It did not strike me as strange then that my father asked his way of no + man, but went to a little ordinary in a humbler part of the town. After a + modest meal in a corner of the public room, we went out for a stroll. + Then, from the wharves, I saw the bay dotted with islands, their white + sand sparkling in the evening light, and fringed with strange trees, and + beyond, of a deepening blue, the ocean. And nearer,—greatest of all + delights to me,—riding on the swell was a fleet of ships. My father + gazed at them long and silently, his palm over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Men-o'-war from the old country, lad,” he said after a while. + “They're a brave sight.” + </p> + <p> + “And why are they here?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “They've come to fight,” said he, “and take the town again for + the King.” + </p> + <p> + It was twilight when we turned to go, and then I saw that many of the + warehouses along the wharves were heaps of ruins. My father said this was + that the town might be the better defended. + </p> + <p> + We bent our way towards one of the sandy streets where the great houses + were. And to my surprise we turned in at a gate, and up a path leading to + the high steps of one of these. Under the high portico the door was open, + but the house within was dark. My father paused, and the hand he held to + mine trembled. Then he stepped across the threshold, and raising the big + polished knocker that hung on the panel, let it drop. The sound + reverberated through the house, and then stillness. And then, from within, + a shuffling sound, and an old negro came to the door. For an instant he + stood staring through the dusk, and broke into a cry. + </p> + <p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> + “Marse Alec!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Is your master at home?” said my father. + </p> + <p> + Without another word he led us through a deep hall, and out into a gallery + above the trees of a back garden, where a gentleman sat smoking a long + pipe. The old negro stopped in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Marse John,” said he, his voice shaking, “heah's Marse Alec done + come back.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman got to his feet with a start. His pipe fell to the floor, + and the ashes scattered on the boards and lay glowing there. + </p> + <p> + “Alec!” he cried, peering into my father's face, “Alec! You're not + dead.” + </p> + <p> + “John,” said my father, “can we talk here?” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said the gentleman, “you're just the same. To think of + it—to think of it! Breed, a light in the drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + There was no word spoken while the negro was gone, and the time seemed + very long. But at length he returned, a silver candlestick in each hand. + </p> + <p> + “Careful,” cried the gentleman, petulantly, “you'll drop them.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way into the house, and through the hall to a massive door of + mahogany with a silver door-knob. The grandeur of the place awed me, and + well it might. Boylike, I was absorbed in this. Our little mountain cabin + would almost have gone into this one room. The candles threw their + flickering rays upward until they danced on the high ceiling. Marvel of + marvels, in the oval left clear by the heavy, rounded cornice was a + picture. + </p> + <p> + The negro set down the candles on the marble top of a table. But the air + of the room was heavy and close, and the gentleman went to a window and + flung it open. It came down instantly with a crash, so that the panes + rattled again. + </p> + <p> + “Curse these Rebels,” he shouted, “they've taken our window + weights to make bullets.” + </p> + <p> + Calling to the negro to pry open the window with a walking-stick, he threw + himself into a big, upholstered + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> + chair. 'Twas then I remarked the splendor + of his clothes, which were silk. And he wore a waistcoat all sewed with + flowers. With a boy's intuition, I began to dislike him intensely. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the Rebels!” he began. “They've driven his Lordship away. I + hope his Majesty will hang every mother's son of 'em. All pleasure of life + is gone, and they've folly enough to think they can resist the fleet. And + the worst of it is,” cried he, “the worst of it is, I'm forced to + smirk to them, and give good gold to their government.” Seeing that my + father did not answer, he asked: “Have you joined the Highlanders? You + were always for fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm to be at Cherokee Ford on the twentieth,” said my father. + “We're to scalp the redskins and Cameron, though 'tis not known.” + </p> + <p> + “Cameron!” shrieked the gentleman. “But that's the other side, man! + Against his Majesty?” + </p> + <p> + “One side or t'other,” said my father, “'tis all one against Alec + Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman looked at my father with something like terror in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You'll never forgive Cameron,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'll no forgive anybody who does me a wrong,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “And where have you been all these years, Alec?” he asked presently. + “Since you went off with—” + </p> + <p> + “I've been in the mountains, leading a pure life,” said my father. + “And we'll speak of nothing, if you please, that's gone by.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you have me do?” said the gentleman, helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Little enough,” said my father. “Keep the lad till I come again. + He's quiet. He'll no trouble you greatly. Davy, this is Mr. Temple. + You're to stay with him till I come again.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here, lad,” said the gentleman, and he peered into my face. + “You'll not resemble your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll resemble no one,” said my father, shortly. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> + “Good-by, Davy. Keep this till I come again.” And he gave me the parcel + made of my mother's gown. Then he lifted me in his strong arms and kissed + me, and strode out of the house. We listened in silence as he went down + the steps, and until his footsteps died away on the path. Then the + gentleman rose and pulled a cord hastily. The negro came in. + </p> + <p> + “Put the lad to bed, Breed,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Whah, suh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, anywhere,” said the master. He turned to me. “I'll be better + able to talk to you in the morning, David,” said he. + </p> + <p> + I followed the old servant up the great stairs, gulping down a sob that + would rise, and clutching my mother's gown tight under my arm. Had my + father left me alone in our cabin for a fortnight, I should not have + minded. But here, in this strange house, amid such strange surroundings, I + was heartbroken. The old negro was very kind. He led me into a little + bedroom, and placing the candle on a polished dresser, he regarded me with + sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “So you're Miss Lizbeth's boy,” said he. “An' she dade. An' Marse + Alec rough an' hard es though he been bo'n in de woods. Honey, ol' + Breed 'll tek care ob you. I'll git you one o' dem night rails Marse Nick + has, and some ob his'n close in de mawnin'.” + </p> + <p> + These things I remember, and likewise sobbing myself to sleep in the + four-poster. Often since I have wished that I had questioned Breed of many + things on which I had no curiosity then, for he was my chief companion in + the weeks that followed. He awoke me bright and early the next day. + </p> + <p> + “Heah's some close o' Marse Nick's you kin wear, honey,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Master Nick?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Breed slapped his thigh. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Nick Temple, Marsa's son. He's 'bout you size, but he ain' no mo' + laik you den a jack rabbit's laik an' owl. Dey ain' none laik Marse Nick + fo' gittin' into trouble—and gittin' out agin.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> + “Where is he now?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He at Temple Bow, on de Ashley Ribber. Dat's de Marsa's barony.” + </p> + <p> + “His what?” + </p> + <p> + “De place whah he lib at, in de country.” + </p> + <p> + “And why isn't the master there?” + </p> + <p> + I remember that Breed gave a wink, and led me out of the window onto a + gallery above the one where we had found the master the night before. He + pointed across the dense foliage of the garden to a strip of water + gleaming in the morning sun beyond. + </p> + <p> + “See dat boat?” said the negro. “Sometime de Marse he tek ar ride + in dat boat at night. Sometime gentlemen comes heah in a pow'ful hurry + to git away, out'n de harbor whah de English is at.” + </p> + <p> + By that time I was dressed, and marvellously uncomfortable in Master + Nick's clothes. But as I was going out of the door, Breed hailed me. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave,”—it was the first time I had been called + that,—“Marse Dave, you ain't gwineter tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Bout'n de boat, and Marsa agwine away nights.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed you wahn't,” said Breed. “You don' look as if you'd tell + anything.” + </p> + <p> + We found the master pacing the lower gallery. At first he barely glanced + at me, and nodded. After a while he stopped, and began to put to me many + questions about my life: when and how I had lived. And to some of my + answers he exclaimed, "Good God!" That was all. He was a handsome man, + with hands like a woman's, well set off by the lace at his sleeves. He had + fine-cut features, and the white linen he wore was most becoming. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, at length, and I noted that he lowered his voice, + “David, you seem a discreet lad. Pay attention to what I tell you. And + mark! if you disobey me, you will be well whipped. You have this house and + garden to play in, but you are by no means to go out at the front of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> + the house. And whatever you may see or hear, you are to tell no one. Do + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “For the rest,” said he, “Breed will give you food, and look out + for your welfare.” + </p> + <p> + And so he dismissed me. They were lonely days after that for a boy used to + activity, and only the damp garden paths and lawns to run on. The creek at + the back of the garden was stagnant and marshy when the water fell, and + overhung by leafy boughs. On each side of the garden was a high brick + wall. And though I was often tempted to climb it, I felt that disobedience + was disloyalty to my father. Then there was the great house, dark and + lonely in its magnificence, over which I roamed until I knew every corner + of it. + </p> + <p> + I was most interested of all in the pictures of men and women in quaint, + old-time costumes, and I used during the great heat of the day to sit in + the drawing-room and study these, and wonder who they were and when they + lived. Another amusement I had was to climb into the deep windows and peer + through the blinds across the front garden into the street. Sometimes men + stopped and talked loudly there, and again a rattle of drums would send me + running to see the soldiers. I recall that I had a poor enough notion of + what the fighting was all about. And no wonder. But I remember chiefly my + insatiable longing to escape from this prison, as the great house soon + became for me. And I yearned with a yearning I cannot express for our + cabin in the hills and the old life there. + </p> + <p> + I caught glimpses of the master on occasions only, and then I avoided him; + for I knew he had no wish to see me. Sometimes he would be seated in the + gallery, tapping his foot on the floor, and sometimes pacing the garden + walks with his hands opening and shutting. And one night I awoke with a + start, and lay for a while listening until I heard something like a + splash, and the scraping of the bottom-boards of a boat. Irresistibly I + jumped out of bed, and running to the gallery rail I saw two dark figures + moving among the leaves below. The next + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> + morning I came suddenly on a strange gentleman in the gallery. He wore a + flowered dressing-gown like the one I had seen on the master, and he had + a jolly, round face. I stopped and stared. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil are you?” said he, but not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “My name is David Trimble,” said I, “and I come from the + mountains.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. David Trimble-from-the-mountains, who the devil am I?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir,” and I started to go away, + not wishing to disturb him. + </p> + <p> + “Avast!” he cried. “Stand fast. See that you remember that.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not here of my free will, sir, but because my father wishes it. And + I'll betray nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Then he stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “How old did you say you were?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “And you are of Scotch descent?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a rum one,” said he, laughing again, and he + disappeared into the house. + </p> + <p> + That day, when Breed brought me my dinner on my gallery, he did not speak + of a visitor. You may be sure I did not mention the circumstance. But + Breed always told me the outside news. + </p> + <p> + “Dey's gittin' ready fo' a big fight, Marse Dave,” said he. “Mister + Moultrie in the fo't in de bay, an' Marse Gen'l Lee tryin' for to boss + him. Dey's Rebels. An' Marse Admiral Parker an' de King's reg'ments fixin' + fo' to tek de fo't, an' den Charlesto'n. Dey say Mister Moultrie ain't got + no mo' chance dan a treed 'possum.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Breed?” I asked. I had heard my father talk of England's power + and might, and Mister Moultrie seemed to me a very brave man in his little + fort. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” exclaimed the old negro. “You ain't neber read no + hist'ry books. I knows some of de gentlemen + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> + wid Mister Moultrie. Dey ain't no soldiers. + Some is fine gentlemen, to be suah, but it's jist foolishness to fight dat + fleet an' army. Marse Gen'l Lee hisself, he done sesso. I heerd him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he's on Mister Moultrie's side?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sholy,” said Breed. “He's de Rebel gen'l.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he's a knave and a coward!” I cried with a boy's indignation. + “Where did you hear him say that?” I demanded, incredulous of some + of Breed's talk. + </p> + <p> + “Right heah in dis house,” he answered, and quickly clapped his hand to + his mouth, and showed the whites of his eyes. “You ain't agwineter tell + dat, Marse Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” said I. And then: “I wish I could see Mister + Moultrie in his fort, and the fleet.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, honey, so you kin,” said Breed. + </p> + <p> + The good-natured negro dropped his work and led the way upstairs, I + following expectant, to the attic. A rickety ladder rose to a kind of + tower (cupola, I suppose it would be called), whence the bay spread out + before me like a picture, the white islands edged with the whiter lacing + of the waves. There, indeed, was the fleet, but far away, like toy ships + on the water, and the bit of a fort perched on the sandy edge of an + island. I spent most of that day there, watching anxiously for some + movement. But none came. + </p> + <p> + That night I was again awakened. And running into the gallery, I heard + quick footsteps in the garden. Then there was a lantern's flash, a + smothered oath, and all was dark again. But in the flash I had seen + distinctly three figures. One was Breed, and he held the lantern; another + was the master; and the third, a stout one muffled in a cloak, I made no + doubt was my jolly friend. I lay long awake, with a boy's curiosity, until + presently the dawn broke, and I arose and dressed, and began to wander + about the house. No Breed was sweeping the gallery, nor was there any sign + of the master. The house was as still as a tomb, and the echoes of my + footsteps rolled through the halls and chambers. At last, prompted by + curiosity and fear, I sought the kitchen, where I had often sat with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> + Breed + as he cooked the master's dinner. This was at the bottom and end of the + house. The great fire there was cold, and the pots and pans hung neatly on + their hooks, untouched that day. I was running through the wet garden, + glad to be out in the light, when a sound stopped me. + </p> + <p> + It was a dull roar from the direction of the bay. Almost instantly came + another, and another, and then several broke together. And I knew that the + battle had begun. Forgetting for the moment my loneliness, I ran into the + house and up the stairs two at a time, and up the ladder into the cupola, + where I flung open the casement and leaned out. + </p> + <p> + There was the battle indeed,—a sight so vivid to me after all these + years that I can call it again before me when I will. The toy men-o'-war, + with sails set, ranging in front of the fort. They looked at my distance + to be pressed against it. White puffs, like cotton balls, would dart one + after another from a ship's side, melt into a cloud, float over her spars, + and hide her from my view. And then presently the roar would reach me, and + answering puffs along the line of the fort. And I could see the mortar + shells go up and up, leaving a scorched trail behind, curve in a great + circle, and fall upon the little garrison. Mister Moultrie became a real + person to me then, a vivid picture in my boyish mind—a hero beyond + all other heroes. + </p> + <p> + As the sun got up in the heavens and the wind fell, the cupola became a + bake-oven. But I scarcely felt the heat. My whole soul was out in the bay, + pent up with the men in the fort. How long could they hold out? Why were + they not all killed by the shot that fell like hail among them? Yet puff + after puff sprang from their guns, and the sound of it was like a storm + coming nearer in the heat. But at noon it seemed to me as though some of + the ships were sailing. It was true. Slowly they drew away from the + others, and presently I thought they had stopped again. Surely two of them + were stuck together, then three were fast on a shoal. Boats, like black + bugs in the water, came and went between them and the others. After a long + time + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> + the two that were together got apart and away. But the third stayed + there, immovable, helpless. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the afternoon the fight kept on, the little black boats coming + and going. I saw a mast totter and fall on one of the ships. I saw the + flag shot away from the fort, and reappear again. But now the puffs came + from her walls slowly and more slowly, so that my heart sank with the + setting sun. And presently it grew too dark to see aught save the red + flashes. Slowly, reluctantly, the noise died down until at last a great + silence reigned, broken only now and again by voices in the streets below + me. It was not until then that I realized that I had been all day without + food—that I was alone in the dark of a great house. + </p> + <p> + I had never known fear in the woods at night. But now I trembled as I felt + my way down the ladder, and groped and stumbled through the black attic + for the stairs. Every noise I made seemed louder an hundred fold than the + battle had been, and when I barked my shins, the pain was sharper than a + knife. Below, on the big stairway, the echo of my footsteps sounded again + from the empty rooms, so that I was taken with a panic and fled downward, + sliding and falling, until I reached the hall. Frantically as I tried, I + could not unfasten the bolts on the front door. And so, running into the + drawing-room, I pried open the window, and sat me down in the embrasure to + think, and to try to quiet the thumpings of my heart. + </p> + <p> + By degrees I succeeded. The still air of the night and the heavy, damp + odors of the foliage helped me. And I tried to think what was right for me + to do. I had promised the master not to leave the place, and that promise + seemed in pledge to my father. Surely the master would come back—or + Breed. They would not leave me here alone without food much longer. + Although I was young, I was brought up to responsibility. And I inherited + a conscience that has since given me much trouble. + </p> + <p> + From these thoughts, trying enough for a starved lad, I fell to thinking + of my father on the frontier fighting the Cherokees. And so I dozed away + to dream of him. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> + I remember that he was skinning Cameron,—I had + often pictured it,—and Cameron yelling, when I was awakened with a + shock by a great noise. + </p> + <p> + I listened with my heart in my throat. The noise seemed to come from the + hall,—a prodigious pounding. Presently it stopped, and a man's voice + cried out:— + </p> + <p> + “Ho there, within!” + </p> + <p> + My first impulse was to answer. But fear kept me still. + </p> + <p> + “Batter down the door,” some one shouted. + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of shuffling in the portico, and the same voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Now then, all together, lads!” + </p> + <p> + Then came a straining and splitting of wood, and with a crash the door + gave way. A lantern's rays shot through the hall. + </p> + <p> + “The house is as dark as a tomb,” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + “And as empty, I reckon,” said another. “John Temple and his spy + have got away.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have a search,” answered the first voice. + </p> + <p> + They stood for a moment in the drawing-room door, peering, and then they + entered. There were five of them. Two looked to be gentlemen, and three + were of rougher appearance. They carried lanterns. + </p> + <p> + “That window's open,” said one of the gentlemen. “They must have + been here to-day. Hello, what's this?” He started back in surprise. + </p> + <p> + I slid down from the window-seat, and stood facing them, not knowing what + else to do. They, too, seemed equally confounded. + </p> + <p> + “It must be Temple's son,” said one, at last. “I had thought the + family at Temple Bow. What's your name, my lad?” + </p> + <p> + “David Trimble, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you doing here?” he asked more sternly. + </p> + <p> + “I was left in Mr. Temple's care by my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” he cried. “And where is your father?” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to fight the Cherokees,” I answered soberly. “To skin a + man named Cameron.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> + At that they were silent for an instant, and then the two broke into a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Egad, Lowndes,” said the gentleman, “here is a fine mystery. Do + you think the boy is lying?” + </p> + <p> + The other gentleman scratched his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have you know I don't lie, sir,” I said, ready to cry. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the other gentleman. “A backwoodsman named Trimble + went to Rutledge with credentials from North Carolina, and has gone off to + Cherokee Ford to join McCall.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul!” exclaimed the first gentleman. He came up and laid + his hand on my shoulder, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mr. Temple?” + </p> + <p> + “That I don't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “When did he go away?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer at once. + </p> + <p> + “That I can't tell you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there any one with him?” + </p> + <p> + “That I can't tell you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil you can't!” he cried, taking his hand away. “And why + not?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head, sorely beset. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mathews,” cried the gentleman called Lowndes. “We'll search + first, and attend to the lad after.” + </p> + <p> + And so they began going through the house, prying into every cupboard and + sweeping under every bed. They even climbed to the attic; and noting the + open casement in the cupola, Mr. Lowndes said:— + </p> + <p> + “Some one has been here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “It was I, sir,” I said. “I have been here all day.” + </p> + <p> + “And what doing, pray?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Watching the battle. And oh, sir,” I cried, “can you tell me + whether Mister Moultrie beat the British?” + </p> + <p> + “He did so,” cried Mr. Lowndes. “He did, and soundly.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me. I must have looked my pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Why, David,” says he, “you are a patriot, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a Rebel, sir,” I cried hotly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> + Both gentlemen laughed again, and the men with them. + </p> + <p> + “The lad is a character,” said Mr. Lowndes. + </p> + <p> + We made our way down into the garden, which they searched last. At the + creek's side the boat was gone, and there were footsteps in the mud. + </p> + <p> + “The bird has flown, Lowndes,” said Mr. Mathews. + </p> + <p> + “And good riddance for the Committee,” answered that gentleman, + heartily. “He got to the fleet in fine season to get a round shot in the + middle. David,” said he, solemnly, “remember it never pays to try to + be two things at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll warrant he stayed below water,” said Mr. Mathews. “But what + shall we do with the lad?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take him to my house for the night,” said Mr. Lowndes, “and + in the morning we'll talk to him. I reckon he should be sent to Temple + Bow. He is connected in some way with the Temples.” + </p> + <p> + “God help him if he goes there,” said Mr. Mathews, under his breath. + But I heard him. + </p> + <p> + They locked up the house, and left one of the men to guard it, while I + went with Mr. Lowndes to his residence. I remember that people were + gathered in the streets as we passed, making merry, and that they greeted + Mr. Lowndes with respect and good cheer. His house, too, was set in a + garden and quite as fine as Mr. Temple's. It was ablaze with candles, and + I caught glimpses of fine gentlemen and ladies in the rooms. But he + hurried me through the hall, and into a little chamber at the rear where a + writing-desk was set. He turned and faced me. + </p> + <p> + “You must be tired, David,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And hungry? Boys are always hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You had no dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” I answered, off my guard. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” he said. “It is a long time since breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “I had no breakfast, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” he said, and pulled the velvet handle of a cord. A negro came. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> + “Is the supper for the guests ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Marsa.” + </p> + <p> + “Then bring as much as you can carry here,” said the gentleman. + “And ask Mrs. Lowndes if I may speak with her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lowndes came first. And such a fine lady she was that she frightened + me, this being my first experience with ladies. But when Mr. Lowndes told + her my story, she ran to me impulsively and put her arms about me. + </p> + <p> + “Poor lad!” she said. “What a shame!” + </p> + <p> + I think that the tears came then, but it was small wonder. There were + tears in her eyes, too. + </p> + <p> + Such a supper as I had I shall never forget. And she sat beside me for + long, neglecting her guests, and talking of my life. Suddenly she turned + to her husband, calling him by name. + </p> + <p> + “He is Alec Ritchie's son,” she said, “and Alec has gone against + Cameron.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lowndes did not answer, but nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And must he go to Temple Bow?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Mr. Lowndes, “I fear it is our duty to send him + there.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER IV</a> + </h2> + <h3>Temple Bow</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">In</span> the morning I started for Temple Bow on + horseback behind one of Mr. Lowndes' negroes. Good Mrs. Lowndes had + kissed me at parting, and tucked into my pocket a parcel of sweetmeats. + There had been a few grave gentlemen to see me, and to their questions + I had replied what I could. But tell them of Mr. Temple I would not, + save that he himself had told me nothing. And Mr. Lowndes had presently + put an end to their talk. + </p> + <p> + “The lad knows nothing, gentlemen,” he had said, which was true. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, when he bade me farewell, “I see that your father + has brought you up to fear God. Remember that all you see in this life is + not to be imitated.” + </p> + <p> + And so I went off behind his negro. He was a merry lad, and despite the + great heat of the journey and my misgivings about Temple Bow, he made me + laugh. I was sad at crossing the ferry over the Ashley, through thinking + of my father, but I reflected that it could not be long now ere I saw him + again. In the middle of the day we stopped at a tavern. And at length, in + the abundant shade of evening, we came to a pair of great ornamental gates + set between brick pillars capped with white balls, and turned into a + drive. And presently, winding through the trees, we were in sight of a + long, brick mansion trimmed with white, and a velvet lawn before it all + flecked with shadows. In front of the portico was a saddled horse, craning + his long neck at two panting hounds stretched on the ground. A negro boy + in blue clutched + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> + the bridle. On the horse-block a gentleman in white + reclined. He wore shiny boots, and he held his hat in his hand, and he was + gazing up at a lady who stood on the steps above him. + </p> + <p> + The lady I remember as well—Lord forbid that I should forget her. + And her laugh as I heard it that evening is ringing now in my ears. And + yet it was not a laugh. Musical it was, yet there seemed no pleasure in + it: rather irony, and a great weariness of the amusements of this world: + and a note, too, from a vanity never ruffled. It stopped abruptly as the + negro pulled up his horse before her, and she stared at us haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Mistis,” said the negro, “I'se got a letter from + Marse Lowndes.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Lowndes should instruct his niggers,” she said. “There is a + servants' drive.” The man was turning his horse when she cried: + “Hold! Let's have it.” + </p> + <p> + He dismounted and gave her the letter, and I jumped to the ground, + watching her as she broke the seal, taking her in, as a boy will, from the + flowing skirt and tight-laced stays of her salmon silk to her high and + powdered hair. She must have been about thirty. Her face was beautiful, + but had no particle of expression in it, and was dotted here and there + with little black patches of plaster. While she was reading, a sober + gentleman in black silk breeches and severe coat came out of the house and + stood beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho, parson,” said the gentleman on the horse-block, without + moving, “are you to preach against loo or lansquenet to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Would it make any difference to you, Mr. Riddle?” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer there came a great clatter behind them, and a boy + of my own age appeared. With a leap he landed sprawling on the indolent + gentleman's shoulders, nearly upsetting him. + </p> + <p> + “You young rascal!” exclaimed the gentleman, pitching him on the + drive almost at my feet; then he fell back again to a position where he + could look up at the lady. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> + “Harry Riddle,” cried the boy, “I'll ride steeplechases and beat + you some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Nick,” cried the lady, petulantly, “I'll have no nerves + left me.” She turned to the letter again, holding it very near to + her eyes, and made a wry face of impatience. Then she held the sheet + out to Mr. Riddle. + </p> + <p> + “A pretty piece of news,” she said languidly. “Read it, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman seized her hand instead. The lady glanced at the clergyman, + whose back was turned, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “How tiresome you are!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What's happened?” asked Mr. Riddle, letting go as the parson looked + around. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they've had a battle,” said the lady, “and Moultrie and his + Rebels have beat off the King's fleet.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil they have!” exclaimed Mr. Riddle, while the parson started + forwards. “Anything more?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little.” She hesitated. “That husband of mine has fled + Charlestown. They think he went to the fleet.” And she shot a meaning + look at Mr. Riddle, who in turn flushed red. I was watching them. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the clergyman, “John Temple has run away?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not,” said Mr. Riddle. “One can't live between wind and water + long. And Charlestown's—uncomfortable in summer.” + </p> + <p> + At that the clergyman cast one look at them—such a look as I shall + never forget—and went into the house. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” said the boy, “where has father gone? Has he run away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't bother me, Nick.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it,” cried Nick, his high voice shaking. + “I'd—I'd disown him.” + </p> + <p> + At that Mr. Riddle burst into a hearty laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Nick,” said he, “it isn't so bad as that. Your father's for + his Majesty, like the rest of us. He's merely gone over to fight for + him.” And he looked at the lady and laughed again. But I liked the boy. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> + As for the lady, she curled her lip. “Mr. Riddle, don't be foolish,” + she said. “If we are to play, send your horse to the stables.” + Suddenly her eye lighted on me. “One more brat,” she sighed. “Nick, + take him to the nursery, or the stable. And both of you keep out of my + sight.” + </p> + <p> + Nick strode up to me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind her. She's always saying, 'Keep out of my sight.'” His + voice trembled. He took me by the sleeve and began pulling me around the + house and into a little summer bower that stood there; for he had a + masterful manner. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “David Trimble,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen my father in town?” + </p> + <p> + The intense earnestness of the question surprised an answer out of me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “In his house. My father left me with your father.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it.” + </p> + <p> + I related as much as I dared, leaving out Mr. Temple's double dealing; + which, in truth, I did not understand. But the boy was relentless. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said he, “my father was a friend of Mr. Lowndes and Mr. + Mathews. I have seen them here drinking with him. And in town. And he + ran away?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where he went,” said I, which was the truth. + </p> + <p> + He said nothing, but hid his face in his arms over the rail of the bower. + At length he looked up at me fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “If you ever tell this, I will kill you,” he cried. “Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + That made me angry. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hear,” I said. “But I am not afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + He was at me in an instant, knocking me to the floor, so that the breath + went out of me, and was pounding me vigorously ere I recovered from the + shock and astonishment of it and began to defend myself. He was taller + than I, and wiry, but not so rugged. Yet there was a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> + look about him that + was far beyond his strength. A look that meant, <em>never say die</em>. + Curiously, even as I fought desperately I compared him with that other + lad I had known, Andy Jackson. And this one, though not so powerful, + frightened me the more in his relentlessness. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps we should have been fighting still had not some one pulled us + apart, and when my vision cleared I saw Nick, struggling and kicking, held + tightly in the hands of the clergyman. And it was all that gentleman could + do to hold him. I am sure it was quite five minutes before he forced the + lad, exhausted, on to the seat. And then there was a defiance about his + nostrils that showed he was undefeated. The clergyman, still holding him + with one hand, took out his handkerchief with the other and wiped his + brow. + </p> + <p> + I expected a scolding and a sermon. To my amazement the clergyman said + quietly:— + </p> + <p> + “Now what was the trouble, David?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not be the one to tell it, sir,” I said, and trembled at my + temerity. + </p> + <p> + The parson looked at me queerly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are in the right of it,” he said. “It is as I thought; + I'll not expect Nicholas to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, sir,” said Nicholas. “He was in the house with + my father when—when he ran away. And I said that if he ever spoke + of it to any one, I would kill him.” + </p> + <p> + For a while the clergyman was silent, gazing with a strange tenderness at + the lad, whose face was averted. + </p> + <p> + “And you, David?” he said presently. + </p> + <p> + “I—I never mean to tell, sir. But I was not to be frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, my lad,” said the clergyman, so kindly that it sent a + strange thrill through me. Nicholas looked up quickly. + </p> + <p> + “You won't tell?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You can let me go now, Mr. Mason,” said he. Mr. Mason did. And he + came over and sat beside me, but said nothing more. + </p> + <p> + After a while Mr. Mason cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> + “Nicholas,” said he, “when you grow older you will understand these + matters better. Your father went away to join the side he believes in, the + side we all believe in—the King's side.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ever pretend to like the other side?” asked Nick, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “When you grow older you will know his motives,” answered the clergyman, + gently. “Until then; you must trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “You never pretended,” cried Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God I never was forced to do so,” said the clergyman, fervently. + </p> + <p> + It is wonderful that the conditions of our existence may wholly change + without a seeming strangeness. After many years only vivid snatches of + what I saw and heard and did at Temple Bow come back to me. I understood + but little the meaning of the seigniorial life there. My chief wonder now + is that its golden surface was not more troubled by the winds then + brewing. It was a new life to me, one that I had not dreamed of. + </p> + <p> + After that first falling out, Nick and I became inseparable. Far slower + than he in my likes and dislikes, he soon became a passion with me. Even + as a boy, he did everything with a grace unsurpassed; the dash and daring + of his pranks took one's breath; his generosity to those he loved was + prodigal. Nor did he ever miss a chance to score those under his + displeasure. At times he was reckless beyond words to describe, and again + he would fall sober for a day. He could be cruel and tender in the same + hour; abandoned and freezing in his dignity. He had an old negro mammy + whose worship for him and his possessions was idolatry. I can hear her now + calling and calling, “Marse Nick, honey, yo' supper's done got cole,” + as she searched patiently among the magnolias. And suddenly there would be + a shout, and Mammy's turban go flying from her woolly head, or Mammy + herself would be dragged down from behind and sat upon. + </p> + <p> + We had our supper, Nick and I, at twilight, in the children's dining room. + A little white room, unevenly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> + panelled, the silver candlesticks and yellow + flames fantastically reflected in the mirrors between the deep windows, + and the moths and June-bugs tilting at the lights. We sat at a little + mahogany table eating porridge and cream from round blue bowls, with Mammy + to wait on us. Sometimes there floated in upon us the hum of revelry from + the great drawing-room where Madame had her company. Often the good Mr. + Mason would come in to us (he cared little for the parties), and talk to + us of our day's doings. Nick had his lessons from the clergyman in the + winter time. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mason took occasion once to question me on what I knew. Some of my + answers, in especial those relating to my knowledge of the Bible, + surprised him. Others made him sad. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, “you are an earnest lad, with a head to learn, + and you will. When your father comes, I shall talk with him.” He + paused—“I knew him,” said he, “I knew him ere you were born. + A just man, and upright, but with a great sorrow. We must never be hasty + in our judgments. But you will never be hasty, David,” he added, + smiling at me. “You are a good companion for Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas and I slept in the same bedroom, at a corner of the long house, + and far removed from his mother. She would not be disturbed by the noise + he made in the mornings. I remember that he had cut in the solid shutters + of that room, folded into the embrasures, “<i>Nicholas Temple, His + Mark,</i>” and a long, flat sword. The first night in that room we + slept but little, near the whole of it being occupied with tales of my + adventures and of my life in the mountains. Over and over again I must + tell him of the “painters” and wildcats, of deer and bear and wolf. + Nor was he ever satisfied. And at length I came to speak of that land + where I had often lived in fancy—the land beyond the mountains of + which Daniel Boone had told. Of its forest and glade, its countless herds + of elk and buffalo, its salt-licks and Indians, until we fell asleep from + sheer exhaustion. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> + “I will go there,” he cried in the morning, as he hurried into his + clothes; “I will go to that land as sure as my name is Nick Temple. And + you shall go with me, David.” + </p> + <p> + “Perchance I shall go before you,” I answered, though I had small hopes of + persuading my father. + </p> + <p> + He would often make his exit by the window, climbing down into the garden + by the protruding bricks at the corner of the house; or sometimes go + shouting down the long halls and through the gallery to the great + stairway, a smothered oath from behind the closed bedroom doors + proclaiming that he had waked a guest. And many days we spent in the wood, + playing at hunting game—a poor enough amusement for me, and one that + Nick soon tired of. They were thick, wet woods, unlike our woods of the + mountains; and more than once we had excitement enough with the snakes + that lay there. + </p> + <p> + I believe that in a week's time Nick was as conversant with my life as I + myself. For he made me tell of it again and again, and of Kentucky. And + always as he listened his eyes would glow and his breast heave with + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think your father will take you there, David, when he comes for + you?” + </p> + <p> + I hoped so, but was doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “I'll run away with you,” he declared. “There is no one here who + cares for me save Mr. Mason and Mammy.” + </p> + <p> + And I believe he meant it. He saw but little of his mother, and nearly + always something unpleasant was coupled with his views. Sometimes we ran + across her in the garden paths walking with a gallant,—oftenest Mr. + Riddle. It was a beautiful garden, with hedge-bordered walks and flowers + wondrously massed in color, a high brick wall surrounding it. Frequently + Mrs. Temple and Mr. Riddle would play at cards there of an afternoon, and + when that musical, unbelieving laugh of hers came floating over the wall, + Nick would say:— + </p> + <p> + “Mamma is winning.” + </p> + <p> + Once we heard high words between the two, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> + running into the garden + found the cards scattered on the grass, and the couple gone. + </p> + <p> + Of all Nick's escapades,—and he was continually in and out of them,—I + recall only a few of the more serious. As I have said, he was a wild lad, + sobered by none of the things which had gone to make my life, and what he + took into his head to do he generally did,—or, if balked, flew into + such a rage as to make one believe he could not live. Life was always war + with him, or some semblance of a struggle. Of his many wild doings I + recall well the time when—fired by my tales of hunting—he went + out to attack the young bull in the paddock with a bow and arrow. It made + small difference to the bull that the arrow was too blunt to enter his + hide. With a bellow that frightened the idle negroes at the slave + quarters, he started for Master Nick. I, who had been taught by my father + never to run any unnecessary risk, had taken the precaution to provide as + large a stone as I could comfortably throw, and took station on the fence. + As the furious animal came charging, with his head lowered, I struck him + by a good fortune between the eyes, and Nicholas got over. We were + standing on the far side, watching him pawing the broken bow, when, in the + crowd of frightened negroes, we discovered the parson beside us. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, patting me with a shaking hand, “I perceive that you + have a cool head. Our young friend here has a hot one. Dr. Johnson may not + care for Scotch blood, and yet I think a wee bit of it is not to be + despised.” + </p> + <p> + I wondered whether Dr. Johnson was staying in the house, too. + </p> + <p> + How many slaves there were at Temple Bow I know not, but we used to see + them coming home at night in droves, the overseers riding beside them with + whips and guns. One day a huge Congo chief, not long from Africa, nearly + killed an overseer, and escaped to the swamp. As the day fell, we heard + the baying of the bloodhounds hot upon his trail. More ominous still, a + sound like a rising wind came from the direction of the quarters. Into our + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> + little dining-room burst Mrs. Temple herself, slamming the door behind + her. Mr. Mason, who was sitting with us, rose to calm her. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_40-T1" id="Page_40-T1"></a> + “The Rebels!” she cried. “The Rebels have taught them this, with their + accursed notions of liberty and equality. We shall all be murdered by the + blacks because of the Rebels. Oh, hell-fire is too good + for them. Have the house barred and a watch set to-night. + What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “I pray you compose yourself, Madame,” said the clergyman. “We can + send for the militia.” + </p> + <p> + “The militia!” she shrieked; “the Rebel militia! They would murder + us as soon as the niggers.” + </p> + <p> + “They are respectable men,” answered Mr. Mason, “and were at + Fanning Hall to-day patrolling.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather be killed by whites than blacks,” said the lady. + “But who is to go for the militia?” + </p> + <p> + “I will ride for them,” said Mr. Mason. It was a dark, lowering night, and + spitting rain. + </p> + <p> + “And leave me defenceless!” she cried. “You do not stir, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity,” said Mr. Mason—he was goaded to it, I + suppose—“'tis a pity Mr. Riddle did not come to-night.” + </p> + <p> + She shot at him a withering look, for even in her fear she would brook no + liberties. Nick spoke up:— + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said he; “I can get through the woods to Fanning + Hall—” + </p> + <p> + “And I will go with him,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Let the brats go,” she said, and cut short Mr. Mason's expostulations. + She drew Nick to her and kissed him. He wriggled away, and without more + ado we climbed out of the dining-room windows into the night. Running + across the lawn, we left the lights of the great house twinkling behind us + in the rain. We had to pass the long line of cabins at the quarters. Three + overseers with lanterns stood guard there; the cabins were dark, the + wretches within silent and cowed. Thence we felt with our feet for the + path across the fields, stumbled over a sty, and took our way through the + black woods. I was at + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> + home here, and Nick was not to be frightened. At + intervals the mournful bay of a bloodhound came to us from a distance. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we should meet the Congo chief,” said Nick, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + The idea had occurred to me. + </p> + <p> + “She needn't have been so frightened,” said he, in scornful + remembrance of his mother's actions. + </p> + <p> + We pressed on. Nick knew the path as only a boy can. Half an hour passed. + It grew brighter. The rain ceased, and a new moon shot out between the + leaves. I seized his arm. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” I whispered. + </p> + <p> + “A deer.” + </p> + <p> + But I, cradled in woodcraft, had heard plainly a man creeping through the + underbrush beside us. Fear of the Congo chief and pity for the wretch tore + at my heart. Suddenly there loomed in front of us, on the path, a great, + naked man. We stood with useless limbs, staring at him. + </p> + <p> + Then, from the trees over our heads, came a chittering and a chattering + such as I had never heard. The big man before us dropped to the earth, his + head bowed, muttering. As for me, my fright increased. The chattering + stopped, and Nick stepped forward and laid his hand on the negro's bare + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We needn't be afraid of him now, Davy,” he said. “I learned that + trick from a Portuguese overseer we had last year.” + </p> + <p> + “You did it!” I exclaimed, my astonishment overcoming my fear. + </p> + <p> + “It's the way the monkeys chatter in the Canaries,” he said. + “Manuel had a tame one, and I heard it talk. Once before I tried + it on the chief, and he fell down. He thinks I'm a god.” + </p> + <p> + It must have been a weird scene to see the great negro following two boys + in the moonlight. Indeed, he came after us like a dog. At length we were + in sight of the lights of Fanning Hall. The militia was there. We were + challenged by the guard, and caused sufficient amazement + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> + when we appeared + in the hall before the master, who was a bachelor of fifty. + </p> + <p> + “‘Sblood, Nick Temple!” he cried, “what are you + doing here with that big Congo for a dog? The sight of him frightens + me.” + </p> + <p> + The negro, indeed, was a sight to frighten one. The black mud of the + swamps was caked on him, and his flesh was torn by brambles. + </p> + <p> + “He ran away,” said Nick; “and I am taking him home.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you are taking him home!” sputtered Mr. Fanning. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to see him act?” said Nick. And without waiting for a reply + he filled the hall with a dozen monkeys. Mr. Fanning leaped back into a + doorway, but the chief prostrated himself on the floor. “Now do you + believe I can take him home?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “'Swounds!” said Mr. Fanning, when he had his breath. “You beat + the devil, Nicholas Temple. The next time you come to call I pray you + leave your travelling show at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma sent me for the militia,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “She did!” said Mr. Fanning, looking grim. “An insurrection is a + bad thing, but there was no danger for two lads in the woods, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no danger anyway,” said Nick. “The niggers are all scared + to death.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fanning burst out into a loud laugh, stopped suddenly, sat down, and + took Nick on his knee. It was an incongruous scene. Mr. Fanning almost + cried. + </p> + <p> + “Bless your soul,” he said, “but you are a lad. Would to God I had you + instead of—” + </p> + <p> + He paused abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I must go home,” said Nick; “she will be worried.” + </p> + <p> + “<em>She</em> will be worried!” cried Mr. Fanning, in a burst of anger. + Then he said: “You shall have the militia. You shall have the militia.” + He rang a bell and sent his steward for the captain, a gawky country + farmer, who gave a gasp when he came upon the scene in the hall. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> + “And mind,” said Nick to the captain, “you are to keep your men + away from him, or he will kill one of them.” + </p> + <p> + The captain grinned at him curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I won't have to tell them to keep away,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fanning started us off for the walk with pockets filled with + sweetmeats, which we nibbled on the way back. We made a queer procession, + Nick and I striding ahead to show the path, followed by the now servile + chief, and after him the captain and his twenty men in single file. It was + midnight when we saw the lights of Temple Bow through the trees. One of + the tired overseers met us near the kitchen. When he perceived the Congo + his face lighted up with rage, and he instinctively reached for his whip. + But the chief stood before him, immovable, with arms folded, and a look on + his face that meant danger. + </p> + <p> + “He will kill you, Emory,” said Nick; “he will kill you if you + touch him.” + </p> + <p> + Emory dropped his hand, limply. + </p> + <p> + “He will go to work in the morning,” said Nick; “but mind you, + not a lash.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, Master Nick,” said the man; “but who's to get him + in his cabin?” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said Nick. He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him + over to quarters and went in at his door without a protest. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Mrs. Temple looked out of her window and saw the + militiamen on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” she said, “are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick + went to fetch?” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER V</a> + </h2> + <h3>Cram's Hell</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">After</span> that my admiration for Nick Temple increased greatly, whether + excited by his courage and presence of mind, or his ability to imitate men + and women and creatures, I know not. One of our amusements, I recall, was + to go to the Congo's cabin to see him fall on his face, until Mr. Mason + put a stop to it. The clergyman let us know that we were encouraging + idolatry, and he himself took the chief in hand. + </p> + <p> + Another incident comes to me from those bygone days. The fear of negro + insurrections at the neighboring plantations being temporarily lulled, the + gentry began to pluck up courage for their usual amusements. There were to + be races at some place a distance away, and Nick was determined to go. Had + he not determined that I should go, all would have been well. The evening + before he came upon his mother in the garden. Strange to say, she was in a + gracious mood and alone. + </p> + <p> + “Come and kiss me, Nick,” she said. “Now, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to go to the races,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You have your pony. You can follow the coach.” + </p> + <p> + “David is to ride the pony,” said Nick, generously. + “May I go in the coach?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “there is no room for you.” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas flared up. “Harry Riddle is going in the coach. I don't see why + you can't take me sometimes. You like him better than me.” + </p> + <p> + The lady flushed very red. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> + “How dare you, Nick!” she cried angrily. “What has Mr. Mason been + putting into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Nick, quite as angrily. “Any one can see that you + like Harry. And I <em>will</em> ride in the coach.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not,” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + I had heard nothing of this. The next morning he led out his pony from the + stables for me to ride, and insisted. And, supposing he was to go in the + coach, I put foot in the stirrup. The little beast would scarce stand + still for me to mount. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not need the whip with her,” said Nick, and led her around by the + side of the house, in view of the portico, and stood there at her bridle. + Presently, with a great noise and clatter of hoofs, the coach rounded the + drive, the powdered negro coachman pulling up the four horses with much + ceremony at the door. It was a wondrous great vehicle, the bright colors + of its body flashing in the morning light. I had examined it more than + once, and with awe, in the coach-house. It had glass windows and a lion on + a blue shield on the door, and within it was all salmon silk, save the + painted design on the ceiling. Great leather straps held up this house on + wheels, to take the jolts of the road. And behind it was a platform. That + morning two young negroes with flowing blue coats stood on it. They leaped + to the ground when the coach stopped, and stood each side of the door, + waiting for my lady to enter. + </p> + <p> + She came down the steps, laughing, with Mr. Riddle, who was in his riding + clothes, for he was to race that day. He handed her in, and got in after + her. The coachman cracked his whip, the coach creaked off down the drive, + I in the trees one side waiting for them to pass, and wondering what Nick + was to do. He had let go my bridle, folded his whip in his hand, and with + a shout of “Come on, Davy,” he ran for the coach, which was going + slowly, caught hold of the footman's platform, and pulled himself up. + </p> + <p> + What possessed the footman I know not. Perchance fear of his mistress was + greater than fear of his young + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> + master; but he took the lad by the shoulders—gently, to be + sure—and pushed him into the road, where he fell and rolled over. + I guessed what would happen. Picking himself up, Nick was at the man + like a hurricane, seizing him swiftly by the leg. The negro fell upon + the platform, clutching wildly, where he lay in a sheer fright, + shrieking for mercy, his cries rivalled by those of the lady within. + The coachman frantically pulled his horses to a stand, the other footman + jumped off, and Mr. Harry Riddle came flying out of the coach door, + to behold Nicholas beating the negro with his riding-whip. + </p> + <p> + “You young devil,” cried Mr. Riddle, angrily, striding forward, + “what are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Keep off, Harry,” said Nicholas. “I am teaching this nigger + that he is not to lay hands on his betters.” With that he gave the + boy one more cut, and turned from him contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Harry?” came in a shrill voice from within the coach. + </p> + <p> + “It's Nick's pranks,” said Mr. Riddle, grinning in spite of his anger; + “he's ruined one of your footmen. You little scoundrel,” cried Mr. Riddle, + advancing again, “you've frightened your mother nearly to a swoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Serves her right,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Mr. Riddle. “Come down from there instantly.” + </p> + <p> + Nick raised his whip. It was not that that stopped Mr. Riddle, but a sign + about the lad's nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “Harry Riddle,” said the boy, “if it weren't for you, I'd be riding in + this coach to-day with my mother. I don't want to ride with her, but I + will go to the races. If you try to take me down, I'll do my best to kill + you,” and he lifted the loaded end of the whip. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple's beautiful face had by this time been thrust out of the door. + </p> + <p> + “For the love of heaven, Harry, let him come in with us. We're late enough + as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Riddle turned on his heel. He tried to glare at Nick, but he broke + into a laugh instead. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> + “Come down, Satan,” says he. “God help the woman you love and + the man you fight.” + </p> + <p> + And so Nicholas jumped down, and into the coach. The footman picked + himself up, more scared than injured, and the vehicle took its lumbering + way for the race-course, I following. + </p> + <p> + I have seen many courses since, but none to equal that in the gorgeous + dress of those who watched. There had been many, many more in former + years, so I heard people say. This was the only sign that a war was in + progress,—the scanty number of gentry present,—for all save + the indifferent were gone to Charlestown or elsewhere. I recall it dimly, + as a blaze of color passing: merrymaking, jesting, feasting,—a rare + contrast, I thought, to the sight I had beheld in Charlestown Bay but a + while before. Yet so runs the world,—strife at one man's home, and + peace and contentment at his neighbor's; sorrow here, and rejoicing not a + league away. + </p> + <p> + Master Nicholas played one prank that evening that was near to costing + dear. My lady Temple made up a party for Temple Bow at the course, two + other coaches to come and some gentlemen riding. As Nick and I were + running through the paddock we came suddenly upon Mr. Harry Riddle and a + stout, swarthy gentleman standing together. The stout gentleman was + counting out big gold pieces in his hand and giving them to Mr. Riddle. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky dog!” said the stout gentleman; “you'll ride back with her, and + you've won all I've got.” And he dug Mr. Riddle in the ribs. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have it again when we play to-night, Darnley,” answered Mr. + Riddle, crossly. “And as for the seat in the coach, you are welcome to it. + That firebrand of a lad is on the front seat.” + </p> + <p> + “D—n the lad,” said the stout gentleman. “I'll take it, and you can + ride my horse. He'll—he'll carry you, I reckon.” His voice had + a way of cracking into a mellow laugh. + </p> + <p> + At that Mr. Riddle went off in a towering bad humor, and afterwards I + heard him cursing the stout gentleman's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> + black groom as he mounted his + great horse. And then he cursed the horse as it reared and plunged, while + the stout gentleman stood at the coach door, cackling at his discomfiture. + The gentleman did ride home with Mrs. Temple, Nick going into another + coach. I afterwards discovered that the gentleman had bribed him with a + guinea. And Mr. Riddle more than once came near running down my pony on + his big charger, and he swore at me roundly, too. + </p> + <p> + That night there was a gay supper party in the big dining room at Temple + Bow. Nick and I looked on from the gallery window. It was a pretty sight. + The long mahogany board reflecting the yellow flames of the candles, and + spread with bright silver and shining dishes loaded with dainties, the + gentlemen and ladies in brilliant dress, the hurrying servants,—all + were of a new and strange world to me. And presently, after the ladies + were gone, the gentlemen tossed off their wine and roared over their + jokes, and followed into the drawing-room. This I noticed, that only Mr. + Harry Riddle sat silent and morose, and that he had drunk more than the + others. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Davy,” said Nick to me, “let's go and watch them again.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” I asked, for the drawing-room windows were up some distance + from the ground, and there was no gallery on that side. + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you,” said he, running into the garden. After searching + awhile in the dark, he found a ladder the gardener had left against a + tree; after much straining, we carried the ladder to the house and set + it up under one of the windows of the drawing-room. Then we both + clambered cautiously to the top and looked in. + </p> + <p> + The company were at cards, silent, save for a low remark now and again. + The little tables were ranged along by the windows, and it chanced that + Mr. Harry Riddle sat so close to us that we could touch him. On his right + sat Mr. Darnley, the stout gentleman, and in the other seats two ladies. + Between Mr. Riddle and Mr. Darnley was a pile of silver and gold pieces. + There was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> + not room for two of us in comfort at the top of the ladder, so I + gave place to Nick, and sat on a lower rung. Presently I saw him raise + himself, reach in, and duck quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Feel that,” he whispered to me, chuckling and holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + It was full of money. + </p> + <p> + “But that's stealing, Nick,” I said, frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll give it back,” he whispered indignantly. + </p> + <p> + Instantly there came loud words and the scraping of chairs within the + room, and a woman's scream. I heard Mr. Riddle's voice say thickly, amid + the silence that followed:— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Darnley, you're a d—d thief, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall answer for this, when you are sober, sir,” said Mr. Darnley. + </p> + <p> + Then there came more scraping of chairs, all the company talking excitedly + at once. Nick and I scrambled to the ground, and we did the very worst + thing we could possibly have done,—we took the ladder away. + </p> + <p> + There was little sleep for me that night. I had first of all besought Nick + to go up into the drawing-room and give the money back. But some strange + obstinacy in him resisted. + </p> + <p> + “'Twill serve Harry well for what he did to-day,” said he. + </p> + <p> + My next thought was to find Mr. Mason, but he was gone up the river to + visit a sick parishioner. I had seen enough of the world to know that + gentlemen fought for less than what had occurred in the drawing-room that + evening. And though I had neither love nor admiration for Mr. Riddle, and + though the stout gentleman was no friend of mine, I cared not to see + either of them killed for a prank. But Nick would not listen to me, and + went to sleep in the midst of my urgings. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, pinching me, “do you know what you are?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “You're a granny,” he said. And that was the last word I could get out of + him. But I lay awake a long + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> + time, thinking. Breed had whiled away for me + one hot morning in Charlestown with an account of the gentry and their + doings, many of which he related in an awed whisper that I could not + understand. They were wild doings indeed to me. But strangest of all + seemed the duels, conducted with a decorum and ceremony as rigorous as the + law. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see a duel, Breed?” I had asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yessah,” said Breed, dramatically, rolling the whites of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “Whah? Down on de riveh bank at Temple Bow in de ea'ly mo'nin'! Dey mos' + commonly fights at de dawn.” + </p> + <p> + Breed had also told me where he was in hiding at the time, and that was + what troubled me. Try as I would, I could not remember. It had sounded + like <i>Clam Shell</i>. That I recalled, and how Breed had looked out at the + sword-play through the cracks of the closed shutters, agonized between + fear of ghosts within and the drama without. At the first faint light that + came into our window I awakened Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” I said; “do you know a place called <i>Clam Shell</i>?” + </p> + <p> + He turned over, but I punched him persistently until he sat up. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce ails you, Davy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. + “Have you nightmare?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know a place called <i>Clam Shell</i>, down on the river bank, + Nick?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he replied, “you must be thinking of Cram's Hell.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's a house that used to belong to Cram, who was an overseer. The + niggers hated him, and he was killed in bed by a big black nigger chief + from Africa. The niggers won't go near the place. They say it's haunted.” + </p> + <p> + “Get up,” said I; “we're going there now.” + </p> + <p> + Nick sprang out of bed and began to get into his clothes. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> + “Is it a game?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” He was always ready for a game. + </p> + <p> + We climbed out of the window, and made our way in the mist through the + long, wet grass, Nick leading. He took a path through a dark forest swamp, + over logs that spanned the stagnant waters, and at length, just as the + mist was growing pearly in the light, we came out at a tumble-down house + that stood in an open glade by the river's bank. + </p> + <p> + “What's to do now?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “We must get into the house,” I answered. But I confess I didn't care for + the looks of it. + </p> + <p> + Nick stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Very good, Davy,” he said; “I'll follow where you go.” + </p> + <p> + It was a Saturday morning. Why I recall this I do not know. It has no + special significance. + </p> + <p> + I tried the door. With a groan and a shriek it gave way, disclosing the + blackness inside. We started back involuntarily. I looked at Nick, and + Nick at me. He was very pale, and so must I have been. But such was the + respect we each held for the other's courage that neither dared flinch. + And so I walked in, although it seemed as if my shirt was made of needle + points and my hair stood on end. The crackings of the old floor were to me + like the shots in Charlestown Bay. Our hearts beating wildly, we made our + way into a farther room. It was like walking into the beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a window here?” I asked Nick, my voice sounding like a shout. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ahead of us.” + </p> + <p> + Groping for it, I suddenly received a shock that set me reeling. Human + nature could stand no more. We both turned tail and ran out of the house + as fast as we could, and stood in the wet grass, panting. Then shame came. + </p> + <p> + “Let's open the window first,” I suggested. So we walked around the house + and pried the solid shutter from its fastenings. Then, gathering our + courage, we went in again at the door. In the dim light let into the + farther + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> + room we saw a four-poster bed, old and cheap, with ragged + curtains. It was this that I had struck in my groping. + </p> + <p> + “The chief killed Cram there,” said Nick, in an awed voice, + “in that bed. What do you want to do here, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” I said, though I had as little mind to wait as ever in my life. + “Stand here by the window.” + </p> + <p> + We waited there. The mist rose. The sun peeped over the bank of dense + green forest and spread rainbow colors on the still waters of the river. + Now and again a fish broke, or a great bird swooped down and slit the + surface. A far-off snatch of melody came to our ears,—the slaves + were going to work. Nothing more. And little by little grave misgivings + gnawed at my soul of the wisdom of coming to this place. Doubtless there + were many other spots. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said Nick, at last, “I'm sorry I took that money. + What are we here for?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” I whispered; “do you hear anything?” + </p> + <p> + I did, and distinctly. For I had been brought up in the forest. + </p> + <p> + “I hear voices,” he said presently, “coming this way.” + </p> + <p> + They were very clear to me by then. Emerging from the forest path were + five gentlemen. The leader, more plainly dressed than the others, carried + a leather case. Behind him was the stout figure of Mr. Darnley, his face + solemn; and last of all came Mr. Harry Riddle, very pale, but cutting the + tops of the long grass with a switch. Nick seized my arm. + </p> + <p> + “They are going to fight,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, “and we are here to stop them, now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not now,” he said, holding me still. “We'll have some more + fun out of this yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Fun?” I echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said excitedly. “Leave it to me. I shan't let + them fight.” + </p> + <p> + And that instant we changed generals, David giving place to Nicholas. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> + Mr. Riddle retired with one gentleman to a side of the little patch of + grass, and Mr. Darnley and a friend to another. The fifth gentleman took a + position halfway between the two, and, opening the leather case, laid it + down on the grass, where its contents glistened. + </p> + <p> + “That's Dr. Ball,” whispered Nick. And his voice shook with excitement. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Riddle stripped off his coat and waistcoat and ruffles, and his + sword-belt, and Mr. Darnley did the same. Both gentlemen drew their swords + and advanced to the middle of the lawn, and stood opposite one another, + with flowing linen shirts open at the throat, and bared heads. They were + indeed a contrast. Mr. Riddle, tall and white, with closed lips, glared at + his opponent. Mr. Darnley cut a merrier figure,—rotund and flushed, + with fat calves and short arms, though his countenance was sober enough. + All at once the two were circling their swords in the air, and then Nick + had flung open the shutter and leaped through the window, and was running + and shouting towards the astonished gentlemen, all of whom wheeled to face + him. He jingled as he ran. + </p> + <p> + “What in the devil's name now?” cried Mr. Riddle, angrily. + “Here's this imp again.” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas stopped in front of him, and, thrusting his hand in his breeches + pocket, fished out a handful of gold and silver, which he held out to the + confounded Mr. Riddle. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” said he, “here's something of yours I found last night.” + </p> + <p> + “You found?” echoed Mr. Riddle, in a strange voice, amidst a dead + silence. “You found where?” + </p> + <p> + “On the table beside you.” + </p> + <p> + “And where the deuce were you?” Mr. Riddle demanded. + </p> + <p> + “In the window behind you,” said Nick, calmly. + </p> + <p> + This piece of information, to Mr. Riddle's plain discomfiture, was greeted + with a roar of laughter, Mr. Darnley himself laughing loudest. Nor were + these gentlemen satisfied with that. They crowded around Mr. Riddle and + slapped him on the back, Mr. Darnley joining in with the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> + rest. And + presently Mr. Riddle flung away his sword, and laughed, too, giving his + hand to Mr. Darnley. + </p> + <p> + At length Mr. Darnley turned to Nick, who had stood all this while behind + them, unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said he, seriously, “such is your regard + for human life, you will probably one day be a pirate or an outlaw. This + time we've had a laugh. The next time somebody will be weeping. I wish + I were your father.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + This took Mr. Darnley's breath. He glanced at the other gentlemen, who + returned his look significantly. He laid his hand kindly on the lad's + head. + </p> + <p> + “Nick,” said he, “I wish to God I were your father.” + </p> + <p> + After that they all went home, very merry, to breakfast, Nick and I coming + after them. Nick was silent until we reached the house. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, then, “how old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten,” I answered. “How old did you believe me?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighty,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The next day, being Sunday, we all gathered in the little church to hear + Mr. Mason preach. Nick and I sat in the high box pew of the family with + Mrs. Temple, who paid not the least attention to the sermon. As for me, + the rhythm of it held me in fascination. Mr. Mason had written it out and + that afternoon read over this part of it to Nick. The quotation I recall, + having since read it many times, and the gist of it was in this wise:— + </p> + <p> + “And he said unto him, ‘What thou wilt have thou wilt have, + despite the sin of it. Blessed are the stolid, and thrice cursed he who + hath imagination,—for that imagination shall devour him. And in thy + life a sin shall be presented unto thee with a great longing. God, who is + in heaven, gird thee for that struggle, my son, for it will surely come. + That it may be said of you, ‘Behold, I have refined thee, but not + with silver, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.’ Seven + days shalt thou wrestle with thy soul; seven nights shall evil haunt thee, + and how thou shalt come forth from that struggle no man may + know.’” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER VI</a> + </h2> + <h3>Man proposes, but God disposes</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">A week</span> passed, and another Sunday came,—a + Sunday so still and hot and moist that steam seemed to rise from the heavy + trees,—an idle day for master and servant alike. A hush was in the + air, and a presage of we knew not what. It weighed upon my spirits, and + even Nick's, and we wandered restlessly under the trees, seeking for + distraction. + </p> + <p> + About two o'clock a black line came on the horizon, and slowly crept + higher until it broke into giant, fantastic shapes. Mutterings arose, but + the sun shone hot as ever. + </p> + <p> + “We're to have a hurricane,” said Nick. “I wish we + might have it and be done with it.” + </p> + <p> + At five the sun went under. I remember that Madame was lolling listless in + the garden, daintily arrayed in fine linen, trying to talk to Mr. Mason, + when a sound startled us. It was the sound of swift hoof beats on the soft + drive. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple got up, an unusual thing. Perchance she was expecting a + message from some of the gentlemen; or else she may well have been tired + of Mr. Mason. Nick and I were before her, and, running through the house, + arrived at the portico in time to see a negro ride up on a horse covered + with lather. + </p> + <p> + It was the same negro who had fetched me hither from Mr. Lowndes. And when + I saw him my heart stood still lest he had brought news of my father. + </p> + <p> + “What's to do, boy?” cried Nicholas to him. + </p> + <p> + The boy held in his hand a letter with a great red seal. + </p> + <p> + “Fo' Mistis Temple,” he said, and, looking at me queerly, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> + he took off his cap as he jumped from the horse. Mistress Temple herself + having arrived, he handed her the letter. She took it, and broke the seal + carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “it's only from Mr. Lowndes. I wonder + what he wishes now.” + </p> + <p> + Every moment of her reading was for me an agony, and she read slowly. The + last words she spoke aloud:— + </p> + <p> + “'If you do not wish the lad, send him to me, as Kate is very fond of + him.' So Kate is very fond of him,” she repeated. And handing the + letter to Mr. Mason, she added, “Tell him, Parson.” + </p> + <p> + The words burned into my soul and seared it. And to this day I tremble + with anger as I think of them. The scene comes before me: the sky, the + darkened portico, and Nicholas running after his mother crying: “Oh, + mamma, how could you! How could you!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mason bent over me in compassion, and smoothed my hair. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, in a thick voice, “you are a brave + boy, David. You will need all your courage now, my son. May God keep + your nature sweet!” + </p> + <p> + He led me gently into the arbor and told me how, under Captain Baskin, the + detachment had been ambushed by the Cherokees; and how my father, with + Ensign Calhoun and another, had been killed, fighting bravely. The rest of + the company had cut their way through and reached the settlements after + terrible hardships. + </p> + <p> + I was left an orphan. + </p> + <p> + I shall not dwell here on the bitterness of those moments. We have all + known sorrows in our lives,—great sorrows. The clergyman was a wise + man, and did not strive to comfort me with words. But he sat there under + the leaves with his arm about me until a blinding bolt split the blackness + of the sky and the thunder rent our ears, and a Caribbean storm broke over + Temple Bow with all the fury of the tropics. Then he led me through the + drenching rain into the house, nor heeded the wet himself on his Sunday + coat. + </p> + <p> + A great anger stayed me in my sorrow. I would no + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> + longer tarry under Mrs. + Temple's roof, though the world without were a sea or a desert. The one + resolution to escape rose stronger and stronger within me, and I + determined neither to eat nor sleep until I had got away. The thought of + leaving Nick was heavy indeed; and when he ran to me in the dark hall and + threw his arms around me, it needed all my strength to keep from crying + aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he said passionately, “Davy, you mustn't mind + what she says. She never means anything she says—she never cares + for anything save her pleasure. You and I will stay here until we are old + enough to run away to Kentucky. Davy! Answer me, Davy!” + </p> + <p> + I could not, try as I would. There were no words that would come with + honesty. But I pulled him down on the mahogany settle near the door which + led into the back gallery, and there we sat huddled together in silence, + while the storm raged furiously outside and the draughts banged the great + doors of the house. In the lightning flashes I saw Nick's face, and it + haunted me afterwards through many years of wandering. On it was written a + sorrow for me greater than my own sorrow. For God had given to this lad + every human passion and compassion. + </p> + <p> + The storm rolled away with the night, and Mammy came through the hall with + a candle. + </p> + <p> + “Whah is you, Marse Nick? Whah is you, honey? You' suppah's ready.” + </p> + <p> + And so we went into our little dining room, but I would not eat. The good + old negress brushed her eyes with her apron as she pressed a cake upon me + she had made herself, for she had grown fond of me. And presently we went + away silently to bed. + </p> + <p> + It was a long, long time before Nick's breathing told me that he was + asleep. He held me tightly clutched to him, and I know that he feared I + would leave him. The thought of going broke my heart, but I never once + wavered in my resolve, and I lay staring into the darkness, pondering what + to do. I thought of good Mr. Lowndes and his wife, and I decided to go to + Charlestown. Some of my boyish motives come back to me now: I should be + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> + near Nick; and even at that age,—having lived a life of + self-reliance,—I thought of gaining an education and of rising to a + place of trust. Yes, I would go to Mr. Lowndes, and ask him to let me work + for him and so earn my education. + </p> + <p> + With a heavy spirit I crept out of bed, slowly disengaging Nick's arm lest + he should wake. He turned over and sighed in his sleep. Carefully I + dressed myself, and after I was dressed I could not refrain from slipping + to the bedside to bend over him once again,—for he was the only one + in my life with whom I had found true companionship. Then I climbed + carefully out of the window, and so down the corner of the house to the + ground. + </p> + <p> + It was starlight, and a waning moon hung in the sky. I made my way through + the drive between the black shadows of the forest, and came at length to + the big gates at the entrance, locked for the night. A strange thought of + their futility struck me as I climbed the rail fence beside them, and + pushed on into the main road, the mud sucking under my shoes as I went. As + I try now to cast my memory back I can recall no fear, only a vast sense + of loneliness, and the very song of it seemed to be sung in never ending + refrain by the insects of the night. I had been alone in the mountains + before. I have crossed great strips of wilderness since, but always there + was love to go back to. Then I was leaving the only being in the world + that remained to me. + </p> + <p> + I must have walked two hours or more before I came to the mire of a + cross-road, and there I stood in a quandary of doubt as to which side led + to Charlestown. + </p> + <p> + As I lingered a light began to tremble in the heavens. A cock crew in the + distance. I sat down on a fallen log to rest. But presently, as the light + grew, I heard shouts which drew nearer and deeper and brought me to my + feet in an uncertainty of expectation. Next came the rattling of chains, + the scramble of hoofs in the mire, and here was a wagon with a big canvas + cover. Beside the straining horses was a great, burly man with a red + beard, cracking his long whip, and calling to the horses in a strange + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> + tongue. He stopped still beside his panting animals when he saw me, his + high boots sunk in the mud. + </p> + <p> + “Gut morning, poy,” he said, wiping his red face with his sleeve; + “what you do here?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to Charlestown,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ach!” he cried, “dot is pad. Mein poy, he run avay. You are ein + gut poy, I know. I vill pay ein gut price to help me vit mein + wagon—<i>ja</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I demanded, with a sudden wavering. + </p> + <p> + “Up country—pack country. You know der Proad River—yes?” + </p> + <p> + No, I did not. But a longing came upon me for the old backwoods life, with + its freedom and self-reliance, and a hatred for this steaming country of + heat and violent storms, and artificiality and pomp. And I had a desire, + even at that age, to make my own way in the world. + </p> + <p> + “What will you give me?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + At that he put his finger to his nose. + </p> + <p> + “Thruppence py the day.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. He looked at me queerly. + </p> + <p> + “How old you pe,—twelve, yes?” + </p> + <p> + Now I had no notion of telling him. So I said: “Is this the Charlestown + road?” + </p> + <p> + “Fourpence!” he cried, “dot is riches.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go for sixpence,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Mein Gott!” he cried, “sixpence. Dot is robbery.” But seeing + me obdurate, he added: “I vill give it, because ein poy I must have. + Vat is your name,—Tavid? You are ein sharp poy, Tavid.” + </p> + <p> + And so I went with him. + </p> + <p> + In writing a biography, the relative value of days and years should hold. + There are days which count in space for years, and years for days. I spent + the time on the whole happily with this Dutchman, whose name was Hans + Köppel. He talked merrily save when he spoke of the war against England, + and then contemptuously, for he was a bitter English partisan. And in + contrast to this he would dwell for hours on a king he called Friedrich + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> + der Grosse, and a war he waged that was a war; and how this mighty king + had fought a mighty queen at Rossbach and Leuthen in his own + country,—battles that were battles. + </p> + <p> + “And you were there, Hans?” I asked him once. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ja</i>,” he said, “but I did not stay.” + </p> + <p> + “You ran away?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ja</i>,” Hans would answer, laughing, “run avay. I love peace, + Tavid. Dot is vy I come here, and now,” bitterly, “and now ve haf + var again once.” + </p> + <p> + I would say nothing; but I must have looked my disapproval, for he went on + to explain that in Saxe-Gotha, where he was born, men were made to fight + whether they would or no; and they were stolen from their wives at night + by soldiers of the great king, or lured away by fair promises. + </p> + <p> + Travelling with incredible slowness, in due time we came to a county + called Orangeburg, where all were Dutchmen like Hans, and very few spoke + English. And they all thought like Hans, and loved peace, and hated the + Congress. On Sundays, as we lay over at the taverns, these would be filled + with a rollicking crowd of fiddlers and dancers, quaintly dressed, the + women bringing their children and babies. At such times Hans would be + drunk, and I would have to feed the tired horses and mount watch over the + cargo. I had many adventures, but none worth the telling here. And at + length we came to Hans's farm, in a prettily rolling country on the Broad + River. Hans's wife spoke no English at all, nor did the brood of children + running about the house. I had small fancy for staying in such a place, + and so Hans paid me two crowns for my three weeks' service; I think, with + real regret, for labor was scarce in those parts, and though I was young, + I knew how to work. And I could at least have guided his plough in the + furrow and cared for his cattle. + </p> + <p> + It was the first money I had earned in my life, and a prouder day than + many I have had since. + </p> + <p> + For the convenience of travellers passing that way, Hans kept a tavern,—if + it could have been dignified by such a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> + name. It was in truth merely a log + house with shakedowns, and stood across the rude road from his log + farmhouse. And he gave me leave to sleep there and to work for my board + until I cared to leave. It so chanced that on the second day after my + arrival a pack-train came along, guided by a nettlesome old man and a + strong, black-haired lass of sixteen or thereabouts. The old man, whose + name was Ripley, wore a nut-brown hunting shirt trimmed with red cotton; + and he had no sooner slipped the packs from his horses than he began to + rail at Hans, who stood looking on. + </p> + <p> + “You damned Dutchmen be all Tories, and worse,” he cried; “you stay + here and till your farms while our boys are off in the hill towns fighting + Cherokees. I wish the devils had every one of your fat sculps. Polly Ann, + water the nags.” + </p> + <p> + Hans replied to this sally with great vigor, lapsing into Dutch. Polly Ann + led the scrawny ponies to the trough, but her eyes snapped with merriment + as she listened. She was a wonderfully comely lass, despite her loose + cotton gown and poke-bonnet and the shoepacks on her feet. She had blue + eyes, the whitest, strongest of teeth, and the rosiest of faces. + </p> + <p> + “Gran'pa hates a Dutchman wuss'n pizen,” she said to me. “So do I. + We've all been burned out and sculped up river—and they never give + us so much as a man or a measure of corn.” + </p> + <p> + I helped her feed the animals, and tether them, and loose their bells for + the night, and carry the packs under cover. + </p> + <p> + “All the boys is gone to join Rutherford and lam the Indians,” she + continued, “so Gran'pa and I had to go to the settlements. There wahn't + any one else. What's your name?” she demanded suddenly. + </p> + <p> + I told her. + </p> + <p> + She sat down on a log at the corner of the house, and pulled me down + beside her. + </p> + <p> + “And whar be you from?” + </p> + <p> + I told her. It was impossible to look into her face and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> + not tell her. She + listened eagerly, now with compassion, and now showing her white teeth in + amusement. And when I had done, much to my discomfiture, she seized me in + her strong arms and kissed me. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Davy,” she cried, “you ain't got a home. + You shall come home with us.” + </p> + <p> + Catching me by the hand, she ran like a deer across the road to where her + grandfather was still quarrelling violently with Hans, and pulled him + backward by the skirts of his hunting shirt. I looked for another and + mightier explosion from the old backwoodsman, but to my astonishment he + seemed to forget Hans's existence, and turned and smiled on her + benevolently. + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann,” said he, “what be you about now?” + </p> + <p> + “Gran'pa,” said she, “here's Davy Trimble, who's a good boy, + and his pa is just killed by the Cherokees along with Baskin, and he + wants work and a home, and he's comin' along with us.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, David,” answered Mr. Ripley, mildly, “ef Polly Ann + says so, you kin come. Whar was you raised?” + </p> + <p> + I told him on the upper Yadkin. + </p> + <p> + “You don't tell me,” said he. “Did ye ever know Dan'l Boone?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, indeed, sir,” I answered, my face lighting up. “Can you tell me + where he is now?” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to Kaintuckee, them new settlements, fer good. And ef I wasn't + eighty years old, I'd go thar, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'll go thar when I'm married,” said Polly Ann, and blushed + redder than ever. Drawing me to her, she said, “I'll take you, too, + Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “When you marry that wuthless Tom McChesney,” said her grandfather, + testily. + </p> + <p> + “He's not wuthless,” said Polly, hotly. “He's the best man in + Rutherford's army. He'll git more sculps then any of 'em,—you + see.” + </p> + <p> + “Tavy is ein gut poy,” Hans put in, for he had recovered his + composure. “I wish much he stay mit me.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> + As for me, Polly Ann never consulted me on the subject—nor had she + need to. I would have followed her to kingdom come, and at the thought of + reaching the mountains my heart leaped with joy. We all slept in the one + flea-infested, windowless room of the “tavern” that night; and before + dawn I was up and untethered the horses, and Polly Ann and I together + lifted the two bushels of alum salt on one of the beasts and the + ploughshare on the other. By daylight we had left Hans and his farm + forever. + </p> + <p> + I can see the lass now, as she strode along the trace by the flowing + river, through sunlight and shadow, straight and supple and strong. + Sometimes she sang like a bird, and the forest rang. Sometimes she would + make fun of her grandfather or of me; and again she would be silent for an + hour at a time, staring ahead, and then I knew she was thinking of that + Tom McChesney. She would wake from those reveries with a laugh, and give + me a push to send me rolling down a bank. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Davy? You look as solemn as a wood-owl. What a little + wiseacre you be!” + </p> + <p> + Once I retorted, “You were thinking of that Tom McChesney.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that she was, I'll warrant,” snapped her grandfather. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann replied, with a merry peal of laughter, “You are both + jealous of Tom—both of you. But, Davy, when you see him you'll + love him as much as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not,” I said sturdily. + </p> + <p> + “He's a man to look upon—” + </p> + <p> + “He's a rip-roarer,” old man Ripley put in. + “Ye're daft about him.” + </p> + <p> + “That I am,” said Polly, flushing and subsiding; + “but he'll not know it.” + </p> + <p> + As we rose into the more rugged country we passed more than one charred + cabin that told its silent story of Indian massacre. Only on the scattered + hill farms women and boys and old men were working in the fields, all save + the scalawags having gone to join Rutherford. There were + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> + plenty of these + around the taverns to make eyes at Polly Ann and open love to her, had she + allowed them; but she treated them in return to such scathing tirades that + they were glad to desist—all but one. He must have been an escaped + redemptioner, for he wore jauntily a swanskin three-cornered hat and + stained breeches of a fine cloth. He was a bold, vain fellow. + </p> + <p> + “My beauty,” says he, as we sat at supper, “silver and Wedgwood better + become you than pewter and a trencher.” + </p> + <p> + “And I reckon a rope would sit better on your neck than a ruff,” retorted + Polly Ann, while the company shouted with laughter. But he was not the + kind to become discomfited. + </p> + <p> + “I'd give a guinea to see you in silk. But I vow your hair looks better as + it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so yours,” said she, like lightning; “'twould look better to me + hanging on the belt of one of them red devils.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning, when he would have lifted the pack of alum salt, Polly Ann + gave him a push that sent him sprawling. But she did it in such good + nature withal that the fellow mistook her. He scrambled to his feet, flung + his arm about her waist, and kissed her. Whereupon I hit him with a + sapling, and he staggered and let her go. + </p> + <p> + “You imp of hell!” he cried, rubbing the bump. He made a vicious dash at + me that boded no good, but I slipped behind the hominy block; and Polly + Ann, who was like a panther on her feet, dashed at him and gave him a + buffet in the cheek that sent him reeling again. + </p> + <p> + After that we were more devoted friends than ever. + </p> + <p> + We travelled slowly, day by day, until I saw the mountains lift blue + against the western sky, and the sight of them was like home once more. I + loved them; and though I thought with sadness of my father, I was on the + whole happier with Polly Ann than I had been in the lonely cabin on the + Yadkin. Her spirits flagged a little as she drew near home, but old Mr. + Ripley's rose. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> + “There's Burr's,” he would say, “and O'Hara's and Williamson's,” + marking the cabins set amongst the stump-dotted corn-fields. “And + thar,” sweeping his hand at a blackened heap of logs lying on the + stones, “thar's whar Nell Tyler and her baby was sculped.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Nell,” said Polly Ann, the tears coming into her eyes as she turned + away. + </p> + <p> + “And Jim Tyler was killed gittin' to the fort. He can't say I didn't warn + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon he'll never say nuthin', now,” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + It was in truth a dismal sight,—the shapeless timbers, the corn, + planted with such care, choked with weeds, and the poor utensils of the + little family scattered and broken before the door-sill. These same + Indians had killed my father; and there surged up in my breast that hatred + of the painted race felt by every backwoods boy in my time. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of the day the trace led into a beautiful green valley, + and in the middle of it was a stream shining in the afternoon sun. Then + Polly Ann fell entirely silent. And presently, as the shadows grew purple, + we came to a cabin set under some spreading trees on a knoll where a woman + sat spinning at the door, three children playing at her feet. She stared + at us so earnestly that I looked at Polly Ann, and saw her redden and + pale. The children were the first to come shouting at us, and then the + woman dropped her wool and ran down the slope straight into Polly Ann's + arms. Mr. Ripley halted the horses with a grunt. + </p> + <p> + The two women drew off and looked into each other's faces. Then Polly Ann + dropped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have ye—?” she said, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “No, Polly Ann, not one word sence Tom and his Pa went. What do folks say + in the settlements?” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann turned up her nose. + </p> + <p> + “They don't know nuthin' in the settlements,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote to Tom and told him you was gone,” said the older woman. + “I knowed he'd wanter hear.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> + And she looked meaningly at Polly Ann, who said nothing. The children had + been pulling at the girl's skirts, and suddenly she made a dash at them. + They scattered, screaming with delight, and she after them. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, Mr. Ripley?” said the woman, smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, Mis' McChesney?” said the old man, shortly. + </p> + <p> + So this was the mother of Tom, of whom I had heard so much. She was, in + truth, a motherly-looking person, her fleshy face creased with strong + character. + </p> + <p> + “Who hev ye brought with ye?” she asked, glancing at me. + </p> + <p> + “A lad Polly Ann took a shine to in the settlements,” said the old + man. “Polly Ann! Polly Ann!” he cried sharply, “we'll hev to be + gittin' home.” And then, as though an afterthought (which it really + was not), he added, “How be ye for salt, Mis' McChesney?” + </p> + <p> + “So-so,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, I reckon a little might come handy,” said he. And to the girl who + stood panting beside him, “Polly, give Mis' McChesney some salt.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann did, and generously,—the salt they had carried with so + much labor threescore and ten miles from the settlements. Then we took our + departure, the girl turning for one last look at Tom's mother, and at the + cabin where he had dwelt. We were all silent the rest of the way, climbing + the slender trail through the forest over the gap into the next valley. + For I was jealous of Tom. I am not ashamed to own it now. + </p> + <p> + In the smoky haze that rises just before night lets her curtain fall, we + descended the farther slope, and came to Mr. Ripley's cabin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER VII</a> + </h2> + <h3>In Sight of the Blue Wall once more</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Polly Ann</span> lived alone with her grandfather, + her father and mother having been killed by Indians some years before. + There was that bond between us, had we needed one. Her father had built + the cabin, a large one with a loft and a ladder climbing to it, and a + sleeping room and a kitchen. The cabin stood on a terrace that nature + had levelled, looking across a swift and shallow stream towards the + mountains. There was the truck patch, with its yellow squashes and + melons, and cabbages and beans, where Polly Ann and I worked through + the hot mornings; and the corn patch, with the great stumps of the + primeval trees standing in it. All around us the silent forest threw + its encircling arms, spreading up the slopes, higher and higher, to + crown the crests with the little pines and hemlocks and balsam fir. + </p> + <p> + There had been no meat save bacon since the McChesneys had left, for of + late game had become scarce, and old Mr. Ripley was too feeble to go on + the long hunts. So one day, when Polly Ann was gone across the ridge, I + took down the long rifle from the buckhorns over the hearth, and the + hunting knife and powder-horn and pouch beside it, and trudged up the + slope to a game trail I discovered. All day I waited, until the forest + light grew gray, when a buck came and stood over the water, raising his + head and stamping from time to time. I took aim in the notch of a sapling, + brought him down, cleaned and skinned and dragged him into the water, and + triumphantly hauled one of his hams down the trail. Polly Ann gave a cry + of joy when she saw me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” she exclaimed, “little Davy, I reckoned you + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> + was gone away from us. Gran'pa, here is Davy back, and he has shot a + deer.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say?” replied Mr. Ripley, surveying me and my booty + with a grim smile. + </p> + <p> + “How could you, Gran'pa?” said Polly Ann, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said Mr. Ripley, “the gun was gone, an' Davy. I reckon + he ain't sich a little rascal after all.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann and I went up the next day, and brought the rest of the buck + merrily homeward. After that I became the hunter of the family; but + oftener than not I returned tired and empty-handed, and ravenously hungry. + Indeed, our chief game was rattlesnakes, which we killed by the dozens in + the corn and truck patches. + </p> + <p> + As Polly Ann and I went about our daily chores, we would talk of Tom + McChesney. Often she would sit idle at the hand-mill, a light in her eyes + that I would have given kingdoms for. One ever memorable morning, early in + the crisp autumn, a grizzled man strode up the trail, and Polly Ann + dropped the ear of corn she was husking and stood still, her bosom + heaving. It was Mr. McChesney, Tom's father—alone. + </p> + <p> + “No, Polly Ann,” he cried, “there ain't nuthin' happened. We've + laid out the hill towns. But the Virginny men wanted a guide, and Tom + volunteered, and so he ain't come back with Rutherford's boys.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann seized him by the shoulders, and looked him in the face. + </p> + <p> + “Be you tellin' the truth, Warner McChesney?” she said in a + hard voice. + </p> + <p> + “As God hears me,” said Warner McChesney, solemnly. + “He sent ye this.” + </p> + <p> + He drew from the bosom of his hunting shirt a soiled piece of birch bark, + scrawled over with rude writing. Polly seized it, and flew into the house. + </p> + <p> + The hickories turned a flaunting yellow, the oaks a copper-red, the leaves + crackled on the Catawba vines, and still Tom McChesney did not come. The + Cherokees were homeless and houseless and subdued,—their hill towns + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> + burned, their corn destroyed, their squaws and children wanderers. One by + one the men of the Grape Vine settlement returned to save what they might + of their crops, and plough for the next year—Burrs, O'Haras, + Williamsons, and Winns. Yes, Tom had gone to guide the Virginia boys. All + had tales to tell of his prowess, and how he had saved Rutherford's men + from ambush at the risk of his life. To all of which Polly Ann listened + with conscious pride, and replied with sallies. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I don't care if he never comes back,” she would cry. + “If he likes the Virginny boys more than me, there be others here + I fancy more than him.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the informant, if he were not bound in matrimony, would begin to + make eyes at Polly Ann. Or, if he were bolder, and went at the wooing in + the more demonstrative fashion of the backwoods—Polly Ann had a way + of hitting him behind the ear with most surprising effect. + </p> + <p> + One windy morning when the leaves were kiting over the valley we were + getting ready for pounding hominy, when a figure appeared on the trail. + Steadying the hood of her sunbonnet with her hand, the girl gazed long and + earnestly, and a lump came into my throat at the thought that the comer + might be Tom McChesney. Polly Ann sat down at the block again in disgust. + </p> + <p> + “It's only Chauncey Dike,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Who's Chauncey Dike?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He reckons he's a buck,” was all that Polly Ann vouchsafed. + </p> + <p> + Chauncey drew near with a strut. He had very long black hair, a new + coonskin cap with a long tassel, and a new blue-fringed hunting shirt. + What first caught my eye was a couple of withered Indian scalps that hung + by their long locks from his girdle. Chauncey Dike was certainly handsome. + </p> + <p> + “Wal, Polly Ann, are ye tired of hanging out fer Tom?” he cried, + when a dozen paces away. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't be if you was the only one left ter choose,” Polly Ann + retorted. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> + Chauncey Dike stopped in his tracks and haw-hawed with laughter. But I + could see that he was not very much pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said he, “I 'low ye won't see Tom very soon. He's gone to + Kaintuckee.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he?” said Polly Ann, with brave indifference. + </p> + <p> + “He met a gal on the trail—a blazin' fine gal,” said Chauncey + Dike. “She was goin' to Kaintuckee. And Tom—he 'lowed he'd + go 'long.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann laughed, and fingered the withered pieces of skin at Chauncey's + girdle. + </p> + <p> + “Did Tom give you them sculps?” she asked innocently. + </p> + <p> + Chauncey drew up stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Tom McChesney? I reckon he ain't got none to give. This here's + from a big brave at Noewee, whar the Virginny boys was surprised.” + And he held up the one with the longest tuft. “He'd liked to tomahawked + me out'n the briers, but I throwed him fust.” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks,” said Polly Ann, pounding the corn, “I reckon you found + him dead.” + </p> + <p> + But that night, as we sat before the fading red of the backlog, the old + man dozing in his chair, Polly Ann put her hand on mine. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” she said softly, “do you reckon he's gone to Kaintuckee?” + </p> + <p> + How could I tell? + </p> + <p> + The days passed. The wind grew colder, and one subdued dawn we awoke to + find that the pines had fantastic white arms, and the stream ran black + between white banks. All that day, and for many days after, the snow added + silently to the thickness of its blanket, and winter was upon us. It was a + long winter and a rare one. Polly Ann sat by the little window of the + cabin, spinning the flax into linsey-woolsey. And she made a hunting shirt + for her grandfather, and another little one for me which she fitted with + careful fingers. But as she spun, her wheel made the only music—for + Polly Ann sang no more. Once I came on her as she was thrusting the + tattered piece of birch + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> + bark into her gown, but she never spoke to me more + of Tom McChesney. When, from time to time, the snow melted on the + hillsides, I sometimes surprised a deer there and shot him with the heavy + rifle. And so the months wore on till spring. + </p> + <p> + The buds reddened and popped, and the briers grew pink and white. Through + the lengthening days we toiled in the truck patch, but always as I bent to + my work Polly Ann's face saddened me—it had once been so bright, and + it should have been so at this season. Old Mr. Ripley grew querulous and + savage and hard to please. In the evening, when my work was done, I often + lay on the banks of the stream staring at the high ridge (its ragged edges + the setting sun burned a molten gold), and the thought grew on me that I + might make my way over the mountains into that land beyond, and find Tom + for Polly Ann. I even climbed the watershed to the east as far as the + O'Hara farm, to sound that big Irishman about the trail. For he had once + gone to Kentucky, to come back with his scalp and little besides. O'Hara, + with his brogue, gave me such a terrifying notion of the horrors of the + Wilderness Trail that I threw up all thought of following it alone, and so + I resolved to wait until I heard of some settlers going over it. But none + went from the Grape Vine settlement that spring. + </p> + <p> + War was a-waging in Kentucky. The great Indian nations were making a + frantic effort to drive from their hunting grounds the little bands of + settlers there, and these were in sore straits. + </p> + <p> + So I waited, and gave Polly Ann no hint of my intention. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she herself would slip away across the notch to see Mrs. + McChesney and the children. She never took me with her on these journeys, + but nearly always when she came back at nightfall her eyes would be red, + and I knew the two women had been weeping together. There came a certain + hot Sunday in July when she went on this errand, and Grandpa Ripley having + gone to spend the day at old man Winn's, I was left alone. I remember I + sat on the squared log of the door-step, wondering whether, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> + if I were to + make my way to Salisbury, I could fall in with a party going across the + mountains into Kentucky. And wondering, likewise, what Polly Ann would do + without me. I was cleaning the long rifle,—a labor I loved,—when + suddenly I looked up, startled to see a man standing in front of me. How + he got there I know not. I stared at him. He was a young man, very spare + and very burned, with bright red hair and blue eyes that had a kind of + laughter in them, and yet were sober. His buckskin hunting shirt was old + and stained and frayed by the briers, and his leggins and moccasins were + wet from fording the stream. He leaned his chin on the muzzle of his gun. + </p> + <p> + “Folks live here, sonny?” said he. + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Whar be they?” + </p> + <p> + “Out,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Comin' back?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” said I, and began to rub the lock. + </p> + <p> + “Be they good folks?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said he, making a move to pass me, “I reckon I'll slip in + and take what I've a mind to, and move on.” + </p> + <p> + Now I liked the man's looks very much, but I did not know what he would + do. So I got in his way and clutched the gun. It was loaded, but not + primed, and I emptied a little powder from the flask in the pan. At that + he grinned. + </p> + <p> + “You're a good boy, sonny,” he said. “Do you reckon you could + hit me if you shot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. But I knew I could scarcely hold the gun out straight + without a rest. + </p> + <p> + “And do you reckon I could hit you fust?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + At that I laughed, and he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Who do you love best in all the world?” said he. + </p> + <p> + It was a queer question. But I told him Polly Ann Ripley. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> + “Oh!” said he, after a pause. “And what's <em>she</em> like?” + </p> + <p> + “She's beautiful,” I said; “she's been very kind to me. She took + me home with her from the settlements when I had no place to go. + She's good.” + </p> + <p> + “And a sharp tongue, I reckon,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “When people need it,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said he. And presently, “She's very merry, I'll warrant.” + </p> + <p> + “She used to be, but that's gone by,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Gone by!” said he, his voice falling, “is she sick?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “she's not sick, she's sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Sad?” said he. It was then I noticed that he had a cut across his temple, + red and barely healed. “Do you reckon your Polly Ann would give me a + little mite to eat?” + </p> + <p> + This time I jumped up, ran into the house, and got down some corn-pone and + a leg of turkey. For that was the rule of the border. He took them in + great bites, but slowly, and he picked the bones clean. + </p> + <p> + “I had breakfast yesterday morning,” said he, “about forty mile from + here.” + </p> + <p> + “And nothing since?” said I, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Fresh air and water and exercise,” said he, and sat down on the + grass. He was silent for a long while, and so was I. For a notion had + struck me, though I hardly dared to give it voice. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going away?” I asked at last. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “If you were going to Kaintuckee—” I began, and faltered. For he + stared at me very hard. + </p> + <p> + “Kaintuckee!” he said. “There's a country! But it's full of blood + and Injun varmints now. Would you leave Polly Ann and go to Kaintuckee?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I am,” he said, “as soon as I kin.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take me?” I asked, breathless. “I—I won't be in + your way, and I can walk—and—shoot game.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> + At that he bent back his head and laughed, which made me redden with + anger. Then he turned and looked at me more soberly. + </p> + <p> + “You're a queer little piece,” said he. “Why do you want to go + thar?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to find Tom McChesney for Polly Ann,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He turned away his face. + </p> + <p> + “A good-for-nothing scamp,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I have long thought so,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He laughed again. It was a laugh that made me want to join him, had I not + been irritated. + </p> + <p> + “And he's a scamp, you say. And why?” + </p> + <p> + “Else he would be coming back to Polly Ann.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap he couldn't,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Chauncey Dike said he went off with another girl, into Kaintuckee.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did Polly Ann say to that?” the stranger demanded. + </p> + <p> + “She asked Chauncey if Tom McChesney gave him the scalps he had on his + belt.” + </p> + <p> + At that he laughed in good earnest, and slapped his breech-clouts + repeatedly. All at once he stopped, and stared up the ridge. + </p> + <p> + “Is that Polly Ann?” said he. + </p> + <p> + I looked, and far up the trail was a speck. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it is,” I answered, and wondered at his eyesight. + “She travels over to see Tom McChesney's Ma once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me queerly. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'll go here and sit down, Davy,” said he, “so's not + to be in the way.” And he walked around the corner of the house. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann sauntered down the trail slowly, as was her wont after such an + occasion. And the man behind the house twice whispered with extreme + caution, "How near is she?" before she came up the path. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been lonesome, Davy?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “I've had a visitor.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> + “It's not Chauncey Dike again?” she said. “He doesn't dare show his face + here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wasn't Chauncey. This man would like to have seen you, Polly Ann. + He—" here I braced myself,—"he knew Tom McChesney. He called + him a good-for-nothing scamp.” + </p> + <p> + “He did—did he!” said Polly Ann, very low. “I reckon it was + good for him I wasn't here.” + </p> + <p> + I grinned. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at, you little monkey,” said Polly Ann, crossly. + “'Pon my soul, sometimes I reckon you are a witch.” + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann,” I said, “did I ever do anything but good to you?” + </p> + <p> + She made a dive at me, and before I could escape caught me in her strong + young arms and hugged me. + </p> + <p> + “You're the best friend I have, little Davy,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that's so,” said the stranger, who had risen and was + standing at the corner. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann looked at him like a frightened doe. And as she stared, + uncertain whether to stay or fly, the color surged into her cheeks and + mounted to her fair forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I've come back, Polly Ann,” said he. But his voice was not so + clear as a while ago. + </p> + <p> + Then Polly Ann surprised me. + </p> + <p> + “What made you come back?” said she, as though she didn't care a + minkskin. Whereat Mr. McChesney shifted his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it was to fetch you, Polly Ann.” + </p> + <p> + “I like that!” cried she. “He's come to fetch me, Davy.” + That was the first time in months her laugh had sounded natural. + “I heerd you fetched one gal acrost the mountains, and now you + want to fetch another.” + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann,” says he, “there was a time when you knew a truthful + man from a liar.” + </p> + <p> + “That time's past,” retorted she; “I reckon all men are liars. + What are ye tom-foolin' about here for, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> + Tom McChesney, when yere Ma's breakin' her + heart? I wonder ye come back at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann,” says he, very serious, “I ain't a boaster. But when + I think what I come through to git here, I wonder that I come back at + all. The folks shut up at Harrod's said it was sure death ter cross the + mountains now. I've walked two hundred miles, and fed seven times, and + my sculp's as near hangin' on a Red Stick's belt as I ever want it to + be.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom McChesney,” said Polly Ann, with her hands on her hips and her + sunbonnet tilted, “that's the longest speech you ever made in your + life.” + </p> + <p> + I declare I lost my temper with Polly Ann then, nor did I blame Tom + McChesney for turning on his heel and walking away. But he had gone no + distance at all before Polly Ann, with three springs, was at his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Tom!” she said very gently. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, stopped, thumped the stock of his gun on the ground, and + wheeled. He looked at her doubtingly, and her eyes fell to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Tom McChesney,” said she, “you're a born fool with wimmen.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God for that,” said he, his eyes devouring her. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said she. And then, “You want me to go to Kaintuckee with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I come for,” he stammered, his assurance all run away again. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” she answered, so gently that her words were all but blown away + by the summer wind. He laid his rifle against a stump at the edge of the + corn-field, but she bounded clear of him. Then she stood, panting, her + eyes sparkling. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” she said, raising her finger, “I'll go for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “That you'll take Davy along with us.” + </p> + <p> + This time Tom had her, struggling like a wild thing in his arms, and + kissing her black hair madly. As for me, I might have been in the next + settlement for all they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> + cared. And then Polly Ann, as red as a holly + berry, broke away from him and ran to me, caught me up, and hid her face + in my shoulder. Tom McChesney stood looking at us, grinning, and that day + I ceased to hate him. + </p> + <p> + “There's no devil ef I don't take him, Polly Ann,” said he. “Why, + he was a-goin' to Kaintuckee ter find me for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said she, raising her head. + </p> + <p> + “That's what he told me afore he knew who I was. He wanted to know ef I'd + fetch him thar.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Davy!” cried Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + The last I saw of them that day they were going off up the trace towards + his mother's, Polly Ann keeping ahead of him and just out of his reach. + And I was very, very happy. For Tom McChesney had come back at last, and + Polly Ann was herself once more. + </p> + <p> + As long as I live I shall never forget Polly Ann's wedding. + </p> + <p> + She was all for delay, and such a bunch of coquetry as I have never seen. + She raised one objection after another; but Tom was a firm man, and his + late experiences in the wilderness had made him impatient of trifling. He + had promised the Kentucky settlers, fighting for their lives in their + blockhouses, that he would come back again. And a resolute man who was a + good shot was sorely missed in the country in those days. + </p> + <p> + It was not the thousand dangers and hardships of the journey across the + Wilderness Trail that frightened Polly Ann. Not she. Nor would she listen + to Tom when he implored her to let him return alone, to come back for her + when the redskins had got over the first furies of their hatred. As for + me, the thought of going with them into that promised land was like wine. + Wondering what the place was like, I could not sleep of nights. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you afeerd to go, Davy?” said Tom to me. + </p> + <p> + “You promised Polly Ann to take me,” said I, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “you ain't over handsome. 'Twouldn't improve + yere looks to be bald. They hev a way of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> + takin' yere ha'r. Better stay behind with + Gran'pa Ripley till I kin fetch ye both.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said Polly Ann, “you kin just go back alone if you + don't take Davy.” + </p> + <p> + So one of the Winn boys agreed to come over to stay with old Mr. Ripley + until quieter times. + </p> + <p> + The preparations for the wedding went on apace that week. I had not + thought that the Grape Vine settlement held so many people. And they came + from other settlements, too, for news spread quickly in that country, + despite the distances. Tom McChesney was plainly a favorite with the men + who had marched with Rutherford. All the week they came, loaded with + offerings, turkeys and venison and pork and bear meat—greatest + delicacy of all—until the cool spring was filled for the feast. From + thirty miles down the Broad, a gaunt Baptist preacher on a fat white pony + arrived the night before. He had been sent for to tie the knot. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann's wedding-day dawned bright and fair, and long before the sun + glistened on the corn tassels we were up and clearing out the big room. + The fiddlers came first—a merry lot. And then the guests from afar + began to arrive. Some of them had travelled half the night. The + bridegroom's friends were assembling at the McChesney place. At last, when + the sun was over the stream, rose such Indian war-whoops and shots from + the ridge trail as made me think the redskins were upon us. The shouts and + hurrahs grew louder and louder, the quickening thud of horses' hoofs was + heard in the woods, and there burst into sight of the assembly by the + truck patch two wild figures on crazed horses charging down the path + towards the house. We scattered to right and left. On they came, leaping + logs and brush and ditches, until one of them pulled up, yelling madly, at + the very door, the foam-flecked sides of his horse moving with quick + heaves. + </p> + <p> + It was Chauncey Dike, and he had won the race for the bottle of “Black + Betty,”—Chauncey Dike, his long, black hair shining with bear's + oil. Amid the cheers of the bride's friends he leaped from his saddle, + mounted a stump + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> + and, flapping his arms, crowed in victory. Before he had done the + vanguard of the groom's friends were upon us, pell-mell, all in the finest + of backwoods regalia,—new hunting shirts, trimmed with bits of + color, and all armed to the teeth—scalping knife, tomahawk, and all. + Nor had Chauncey Dike forgotten the scalp of the brave who leaped at him + out of the briers at Neowee. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann was radiant in a white linen gown, woven and sewed by her own + hands. It was not such a gown as Mrs. Temple, Nick's mother, would have + worn, and yet she was to me an hundred times more beautiful than that lady + in all her silks. Peeping out from under it were the little blue-beaded + moccasins which Tom himself had brought across the mountains in the bosom + of his hunting shirt. Polly Ann was radiant, and yet at times so + rapturously shy that when the preacher announced himself ready to tie the + knot she ran into the house and hid in the cupboard—for Polly Ann + was a child of nature. Thence, coloring like a wild rose, she was dragged + by a boisterous bevy of girls in linsey-woolsey to the spreading maple of + the forest that stood on the high bank over the stream. The assembly fell + solemn, and not a sound was heard save the breathing of Nature in the + heyday of her time. And though I was happy, the sobs rose in my throat. + There stood Polly Ann, as white now as the bleached linen she wore, and + Tom McChesney, tall and spare and broad, as strong a figure of a man as + ever I laid eyes on. God had truly made that couple for wedlock in His + leafy temple. + </p> + <p> + The deep-toned words of the preacher in prayer broke the stillness. They + were made man and wife. And then began a day of merriment, of unrestraint, + such as the backwoods alone knows. The feast was spread out in the long + grass under the trees—sides of venison, bear meat, corn-pone fresh + baked by Mrs. McChesney and Polly Ann herself, and all the vegetables in + the patch. There was no stint, either, of maple beer and rum and “Black + Betty,” and toasts to the bride and groom amidst gusts of laughter + “that they might populate Kaintuckee.” And Polly Ann would have it + that I should sit by her side under the maple. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> + The fiddlers played, and there were foot races and shooting matches. Ay, + and wrestling matches in the severe manner of the backwoods between the + young bucks, more than one of which might have ended seriously were it not + for the high humor of the crowd. Tom McChesney himself was in most of + them, a hot favorite. By a trick he had learned in the Indian country he + threw Chauncey Dike (no mean adversary) so hard that the backwoods dandy + lay for a moment in sleep. Contrary to the custom of many, Tom was not in + the habit of crowing on such occasions, nor did he even smile as he helped + Chauncey to his feet. But Polly Ann knew, and I knew, that he was thinking + of what Chauncey had said to her. + </p> + <p> + So the long summer afternoon wore away into twilight, and the sun fell + behind the blue ridges we were to cross. Pine knots were lighted in the + big room, the fiddlers set to again, and then came jigs and three and four + handed reels that made the puncheons rattle,—chicken-flutter and + cut-the-buckle,—and Polly Ann was the leader now, the young men + flinging the girls from fireplace to window in the reels, and back again; + and when, panting and perspiring, the lass was too tired to stand longer, + she dropped into the hospitable lap of the nearest buck who was perched on + the bench along the wall awaiting his chance. For so it went in the + backwoods in those days, and long after, and no harm in it that ever I + could see. + </p> + <p> + Well, suddenly, as if by concert, the music stopped, and a shout of + laughter rang under the beams as Polly Ann flew out of the door with the + girls after her, as swift of foot as she. They dragged her, a struggling + captive, to the bride-chamber which made the other end of the house, and + when they emerged, blushing and giggling and subdued, the fun began with + Tom McChesney. He gave the young men a pretty fight indeed, and long + before they had him conquered the elder guests had made their escape + through door and window. + </p> + <p> + All night the reels and jigs went on, and the feasting and drinking too. + In the fine rain that came at dawn to hide the crests, the company rode + wearily homeward through the notches. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER VIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Nollichucky Trace</h3> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-2em">Some to endure, and many to quail,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-2em">Some to conquer, and many to fail,</span><br /> + Toiling over the Wilderness Trail. + </p> + <p> + <span class="smcap">As</span> long as I live I shall never forget the + morning we started on our journey across the Blue Wall. Before the sun + chased away the filmy veil of mist from the brooks in the valley, the + McChesneys, father, mother, and children, were gathered to see us + depart. And as they helped us to tighten the packsaddles Tom himself + had made from chosen tree-forks, they did not cease lamenting that we + were going to certain death. Our scrawny horses splashed across the + stream, and we turned to see a gaunt and lonely figure standing apart + against the sun, stern and sorrowful. We waved our hands, and set our + faces towards Kaintuckee. + </p> + <p> + Tom walked ahead, rifle on shoulder, then Polly Ann; and lastly I drove + the two shaggy ponies, the instruments of husbandry we had been able to + gather awry on their packs,—a scythe, a spade, and a hoe. I + triumphantly carried the axe. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before we were in the wilderness, shut in by mountain + crags, and presently Polly Ann forgot her sorrows in the perils of the + trace. Choked by briers and grapevines, blocked by sliding stones and + earth, it rose and rose through the heat and burden of the day until it + lost itself in the open heights. As the sun was wearing down to the + western ridges the mischievous sorrel mare turned her pack on a sapling, + and one of the precious bags burst. In an instant we were on our knees + gathering the golden meal in our hands. Polly Ann baked + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> + journeycakes on a + hot stone from what we saved under the shiny ivy leaves, and scarce had I + spancelled the horses ere Tom returned with a fat turkey he had shot. + </p> + <p> + “Was there ever sech a wedding journey!” said Polly Ann, as we sat about + the fire, for the mountain air was chill. “And Tom and Davy as grave as + parsons. Ye'd guess one of you was Rutherford himself, and the other Mr. + Boone.” + </p> + <p> + No wonder he was grave. I little realized then the task he had set + himself, to pilot a woman and a lad into a country haunted by frenzied + savages, when single men feared to go this season. But now he smiled, and + patted Polly Ann's brown hand. + </p> + <p> + “It's one of yer own choosing, lass,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Of my own choosing!” cried she. “Come, Davy, we'll go back to + Grandpa.” + </p> + <p> + Tom grinned. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon the redskins won't bother us till we git by the Nollichucky and + Watauga settlements,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “The redskins!” said Polly Ann, indignant; “I reckon if one of 'em + did git me he'd kiss me once in a while.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Tom, looking more sheepish still, tried to kiss her, and failed + ignominiously, for she vanished into the dark woods. + </p> + <p> + “If a redskin got you here,” said Tom, when she had slipped back, + “he'd fetch you to Nick-a-jack Cave.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Where all the red and white and yellow scalawags over the mountains is + gathered,” he answered. And he told of a deep gorge between towering + mountains where a great river cried angrily, of a black cave out of which + a black stream ran, where a man could paddle a dugout for miles into the + rock. The river was the Tennessee, and the place the resort of the + Chickamauga bandits, pirates of the mountains, outcasts of all nations. + And Dragging Canoe was their chief. + </p> + <p> + It was on the whole a merry journey, the first part of it, if a rough one. + Often Polly Ann would draw me to her and whisper: “We'll hold out, Davy. + He'll never + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> + know.” When the truth was that the big fellow was going at half + his pace on our account. He told us there was no fear of redskins here, + yet, when the scream of a painter or the hoot of an owl stirred me from my + exhausted slumber, I caught sight of him with his back to a tree, staring + into the forest, his rifle at his side. The day was dawning. + </p> + <p> + “Turn about's fair,” I expostulated. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll need yere sleep, Davy,” said he, “or ye'll never grow any + bigger.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought Kaintuckee was to the west,” I said, “and you're making + north.” For I had observed him day after day. We had left the trails. + Sometimes he climbed tree, and again he sent me to the upper branches, + whence I surveyed a sea of tree-tops waving in the wind, and looked + onward to where a green velvet hollow lay nestling on the western side + of a saddle-backed ridge. + </p> + <p> + “North!” said Tom to Polly Ann, laughing. “The little devil will + beat me at woodcraft soon. Ay, north, Davy. I'm hunting for the + Nollichucky Trace that leads to the Watauga settlement.” + </p> + <p> + It was wonderful to me how he chose his way through the mountains. Once in + a while we caught sight of a yellow blaze in a tree, made by himself + scarce a month gone, when he came southward alone to fetch Polly Ann. + Again, the tired roan shied back from the bleached bones of a traveller, + picked clean by wolves. At sundown, when we loosed our exhausted horses to + graze on the wet grass by the streams, Tom would go off to look for a deer + or turkey, and often not come back to us until long after darkness had + fallen. + </p> + <p> + “Davy'll take care of you, Polly Ann,” he would say as he left us. + </p> + <p> + And she would smile at him bravely and say, “I reckon I kin look out for + Davy awhile yet.” + </p> + <p> + But when he was gone, and the crooning stillness set in, broken only by the + many sounds of the night, we would sit huddled together by the fire. It + was dread for him she felt, not for herself. And in both our minds rose + red images of hideous foes skulking behind his brave + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> + form as he trod the + forest floor. Polly Ann was not the woman to whimper. + </p> + <p> + And yet I have but dim recollections of this journey. It was no hardship + to a lad brought up in woodcraft. Fear of the Indians, like a dog + shivering with the cold, was a deadened pain on the border. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough it was I who chanced upon the Nollichucky Trace, which + follows the meanderings of that river northward through the great Smoky + Mountains. It was made long ago by the Southern Indians as they threaded + their way to the Hunting Lands of Kaintuckee, and shared now by Indian + traders. The path was redolent with odors, and bright with mountain shrubs + and flowers,—the pink laurel bush, the shining rhododendron, and the + grape and plum and wild crab. The clear notes of the mountain birds were + in our ears by day, and the music of the water falling over the ledges, + mingled with that of the leaves rustling in the wind, lulled us to sleep + at night. High above us, as we descended, the gap, from naked crag to + timber-covered ridge, was spanned by the eagle's flight. And virgin + valleys, where future generations were to be born, spread out and narrowed + again,—valleys with a deep carpet of cane and grass, where the deer + and elk and bear fed unmolested. + </p> + <p> + It was perchance the next evening that my eyes fell upon a sight which is + one of the wonders of my boyish memories. The trail slipped to the edge of + a precipice, and at our feet the valley widened. Planted amidst giant + trees, on a shining green lawn that ran down to the racing Nollichucky was + the strangest house it has ever been my lot to see—of no shape, of + huge size, and built of logs, one wing hitched to another by “dog alleys” + (as we called them); and from its wide stone chimneys the pearly smoke + rose upward in the still air through the poplar branches. Beyond it a + setting sun gilded the corn-fields, and horses and cattle dotted the + pastures. We stood for a while staring at this oasis in the wilderness, + and to my boyish fancy it was a fitting introduction to a delectable land. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> + “Glory be to heaven!” exclaimed Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “It's Nollichucky Jack's house,” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “And who may he be?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Who may he be!” cried Tom; “Captain John Sevier, king of the + border, and I reckon the best man to sweep out redskins in the Watauga + settlements.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I was chose as one of his scouts when we fired the Cherokee hill towns + last summer,” said Tom, with pride. “Thar was blood and thunder for + ye! We went down the Great War-path which lies below us, and when we was + through there wasn't a corn-shuck or a wigwam or a war post left. We + didn't harm the squaws nor the children, but there warn't no prisoners + took. When Nollichucky Jack strikes I reckon it's more like a thunderbolt + nor anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he's at home, Tom?” I asked, fearful that I should not + see this celebrated person. + </p> + <p> + “We'll soon l'arn,” said he, as we descended. “I heerd he was + agoin' to punish them Chickamauga robbers by Nick-a-jack.” + </p> + <p> + Just then we heard a prodigious barking, and a dozen hounds came charging + down the path at our horses' legs, the roan shying into the truck patch. A + man's voice, deep, clear, compelling, was heard calling:— + </p> + <p> + “Vi! Flora! Ripper!” + </p> + <p> + I saw him coming from the porch of the house, a tall slim figure in a + hunting shirt—that fitted to perfection—and cavalry boots. His + face, his carriage, his quick movement and stride filled my notion of a + hero, and my instinct told me he was a gentleman born. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my soul, it's Tom McChesney!” he cried, ten paces away, + while Tom grinned with pleasure at the recognition. “But what have you + here?” + </p> + <p> + “A wife,” said Tom, standing on one foot. + </p> + <p> + Captain Sevier fixed his dark blue eyes on Polly Ann with approbation, and + he bowed to her very gracefully. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Ma'am, may I ask?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “To Kaintuckee,” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “To Kaintuckee!” cried Captain Sevier, turning to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> + Tom. “Egad, then, you've + no right to a wife,—and to such a wife,” and he glanced again at + Polly Ann. “Why, McChesney, you never struck me as a rash man. Have you + lost your senses, to take a woman into Kentucky this year?” + </p> + <p> + “So the forts be still in trouble?” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Trouble?” cried Mr. Sevier, with a quick fling of his whip at an + unruly hound, “Harrodstown, Boonesboro, Logan's Fort at St. + Asaph's,—they don't dare stick their noses outside the stockades. + The Indians have swarmed into Kentucky like red ants, I tell you. Ten + days ago, when I was in the Holston settlements, Major Ben Logan came + in. His fort had been shut up since May, they were out of powder and + lead, and somebody had to come. How did he come? As the wolf lopes, + nay, as the crow flies over crag and ford, Cumberland, Clinch, and all, + forty miles a day for five days, and never saw a trace—for the war + parties were watching the Wilderness Road.” And he swung again towards + Polly Ann. “You'll not go to Kaintuckee, ma'am; you'll stay here with + us until the redskins are beaten off there. He may go if he likes.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we didn't come this far to give out, Captain Sevier,” + said she. + </p> + <p> + “You don't look to be the kind to give out, Mrs. McChesney,” said he. + “And yet it may not be a matter of giving out,” he added more + soberly. This mixture of heartiness and gravity seemed to sit well on him. + “Surely you have been enterprising, Tom. Where in the name of the + Continental Congress did you get the lad?” + </p> + <p> + “I married him along with Polly Ann,” said Tom. “That was the + bargain, and I reckon he was worth it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd take a dozen to get her,” declared Mr. Sevier, while Polly Ann + blushed. “Well, well, supper's waiting us, and cider and applejack, for we + don't get a wedding party every day. Some gentlemen are here whose word + may have more weight and whose attractions may be greater than mine.” + </p> + <p> + He whistled to a negro lad, who took our horses, and led us through the + court-yard and the house to the lawn + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> + at the far side of it. A rude table + was set there under a great tree, and around it three gentlemen were + talking. My memory of all of them is more vivid than it might be were + their names not household words in the Western country. Captain Sevier + startled them. + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” said he, “if you have despatches for Kaintuckee, I pray you + get them ready over night.” + </p> + <p> + They looked up at him, one sternly, the other two gravely. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean, Sevier?” said the stern one. + </p> + <p> + “That my friend, Tom McChesney, is going there with his wife, unless we + can stop him,” said Sevier. + </p> + <p> + “Stop him!” thundered the stern gentleman, kicking back his chair and + straightening up to what seemed to me a colossal height. I stared at him, + boylike. He had long, iron-gray hair and a creased, fleshy face and sunken + eyes. He looked as if he might stop anybody as he turned upon Tom. “Who + the devil is this Tom McChesney?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Sevier laughed. + </p> + <p> + “The best scout I ever laid eyes on,” said he. “A deadly man with a + Deckard, an unerring man at choosing a wife” (and he bowed to the + reddening Polly Ann), “and a fool to run the risk of losing her.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut,” said the iron gentleman, who was the famous Captain Evan + Shelby of King's Meadows, “he'll leave her here in our settlements while + he helps us fight Dragging Canoe and his Chickamauga pirates.” + </p> + <p> + “If he leaves me,” said Polly Ann, her eyes flashing, “that's an end to + the bargain. He'll never find me more.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Sevier laughed again. + </p> + <p> + "There's spirit for you," he cried, slapping his whip against his boot. + </p> + <p> + At this another gentleman stood up, a younger counterpart of the first, + only he towered higher and his shoulders were broader. He had a + big-featured face, and pleasant eyes—that twinkled now—sunken + in, with fleshy creases at the corners. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> + “Tom McChesney,” said he, “don't mind my father. If any man besides + Logan can get inside the forts, you can. Do you remember me?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I do, Mr. Isaac Shelby,” said Tom, putting a big hand into Mr. + Shelby's bigger one. “I reckon I won't soon forget how you stepped out of + ranks and tuk command when the boys was runnin', and turned the tide.” + </p> + <p> + He looked like the man to step out of ranks and take command. + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” said Mr. Isaac Shelby, blushing like a girl; “where would I have + been if you and Moore and Findley and the rest hadn't stood 'em off till + we turned round?” + </p> + <p> + By this time the third gentleman had drawn my attention. Not by anything + he said, for he remained silent, sitting with his dark brown head bent + forward, quietly gazing at the scene from under his brows. The instant he + spoke they turned towards him. He was perhaps forty, and broad-shouldered, + not so tall as Mr. Sevier. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you go to Kaintuckee, McChesney?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I give my word to Mr. Harrod and Mr. Clark to come back, Mr. + Robertson,” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “And the wife? If you take her, you run a great risk of losing her.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he leaves me,” said Polly Ann, flinging her head, + “he will lose me sure.” + </p> + <p> + The others laughed, but Mr. Robertson merely smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” cried Captain Sevier, “if those I met coming back + helter-skelter over the Wilderness Trace had been of that stripe, + they'd have more men in the forts now.” + </p> + <p> + With that the Captain called for supper to be served where we sat. He was + a widower, with lads somewhere near my own age, and I recall being shown + about the place by them. And later, when the fireflies glowed and the + Nollichucky sang in the darkness, we listened to the talk of the war of + the year gone by. I needed not to be told that before me were the renowned + leaders of the Watauga settlements. My hero worship cried it aloud within + me. These captains dwelt on the border-land of mystery, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> + conquered the + wilderness, and drove before them its savage tribes by their might. When + they spoke of the Cherokees and told how that same Stuart—the + companion of Cameron—was urging them to war against our people, a + fierce anger blazed within me. For the Cherokees had killed my father. + </p> + <p> + I remember the men,—scarcely what they said: Evan Shelby's words, + like heavy blows on an anvil; Isaac Shelby's, none the less forceful; + James Robertson compelling his listeners by some strange power. He was + perchance the strongest man there, though none of us guessed, after ruling + that region, that he was to repeat untold hardships to found and rear + another settlement farther west. But best I loved to hear Captain Sevier, + whose talk lacked not force, but had a daring, a humor, a lightness of + touch, that seemed more in keeping with that world I had left behind me in + Charlestown. Him I loved, and at length I solved the puzzle. To me he was + Nick Temple grown to manhood. + </p> + <p> + I slept in the room with Captain Sevier's boys, and one window of it was + of paper smeared with bear's grease, through which the sunlight came all + bleared and yellow in the morning. I had a boy's interest in affairs, and + I remember being told that the gentlemen were met here to discuss the + treaty between themselves and the great Oconostota, chief of the + Cherokees, and also to consider the policy of punishing once for all + Dragging Canoe and his bandits at Chickamauga. + </p> + <p> + As we sat at breakfast under the trees, these gentlemen generously dropped + their own business to counsel Tom, and I observed with pride that he had + gained their regard during the last year's war. Shelby's threats and + Robertson's warnings and Sevier's exhortations having no effect upon his + determination to proceed to Kentucky, they began to advise him how to go, + and he sat silent while they talked. And finally, when they asked him, he + spoke of making through Carter's Valley for Cumberland Gap and the + Wilderness Trail. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” cried Captain Sevier, “I have so many times + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> + found the boldest plan + the safest that I have become a coward that way. What do you say to it, + Mr. Robertson?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Robertson leaned his square shoulders over the table. + </p> + <p> + “He may fall in with a party going over,” he answered, without + looking up. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann looked at Tom as if to say that the whole Continental Army could + not give her as much protection. + </p> + <p> + We left that hospitable place about nine o'clock, Mr. Robertson having + written a letter to Colonel Daniel Boone,—shut up in the fort at + Boonesboro,—should we be so fortunate as to reach Kaintuckee: and + another to a young gentleman by the name of George Rogers Clark, + apparently a leader there. Captain Sevier bowed over Polly Ann's hand as + if she were a great lady, and wished her a happy honeymoon, and me he + patted on the head and called a brave lad. And soon we had passed beyond + the corn-field into the Wilderness again. + </p> + <p> + Our way was down the Nollichucky, past the great bend of it below Lick + Creek, and so to the Great War-path, the trail by which countless parties + of red marauders had travelled north and south. It led, indeed, northeast + between the mountain ranges. Although we kept a watch by day and night, we + saw no sign of Dragging Canoe or his men, and at length we forded the + Holston and came to the scattered settlement in Carter's Valley. + </p> + <p> + I have since racked my brain to remember at whose cabin we stopped there. + He was a rough backwoodsman with a wife and a horde of children. But I + recall that a great rain came out of the mountains and down the valley. We + were counting over the powder gourds in our packs, when there burst in at + the door as wild a man as has ever been my lot to see. His brown beard was + grown like a bramble patch, his eye had a violet light, and his hunting + shirt was in tatters. He was thin to gauntness, ate ravenously of the food + that was set before him, and throwing off his soaked moccasins, he spread + his scalded feet to the blaze, and the steaming odor of drying leather + filled the room. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> + “Whar be ye from?” asked Tom. + </p> + <p> + For answer the man bared his arm, then his shoulder, and two angry scars, + long and red, revealed themselves, and around his wrists were deep gouges + where he had been bound. + </p> + <p> + “They killed Sue,” he cried, “sculped her afore my very eyes. And they + chopped my boy outen the hickory withes and carried him to the Creek + Nation. At a place where there was a standin' stone I broke loose from + three of 'em and come here over the mountains, and I ain't had nothin', + stranger, but berries and chainey brier-root for ten days. God damn 'em!" + he cried, standing up and tottering with the pain in his feet, "if I can + get a Deckard—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you go back?” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Go back!” he shouted, “I'll go back and fight 'em while I have blood in + my body.” + </p> + <p> + He fell into a bunk, but his sorrow haunted him even in his troubled + sleep, and his moans awed us as we listened. The next day he told us his + story with more calmness. It was horrible indeed, and might well have + frightened a less courageous woman than Polly Ann. Imploring her not to + go, he became wild again, and brought tears to her eyes when he spoke of + his own wife. “They tomahawked her, ma'am, because she could not walk, and + the baby beside her, and I standing by with my arms tied.” + </p> + <p> + As long as I live I shall never forget that scene, and how Tom pleaded + with Polly Ann to stay behind, but she would not listen to him. + </p> + <p> + “You're going, Tom?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, turning away, “I gave 'em my word.” + </p> + <p> + “And your word to me?” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. + </p> + <p> + We fixed on a Saturday to start, to give the horses time to rest, and in + the hope that we might hear of some relief party going over the Gap. On + Thursday Tom made a trip to the store in the valley, and came back with a + Deckard rifle he had bought for the stranger, whose name + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> + was Weldon. There + was no news from Kaintuckee, but the Carter's Valley settlers seemed to + think that matters were better there. It was that same night, I believe, + that two men arrived from Fort Chiswell. One, whose name was Cutcheon, was + a little man with a short forehead and a bad eye, and he wore a + weather-beaten blue coat of military cut. The second was a big, + light-colored, fleshy man, and a loud talker. He wore a hunting shirt and + leggings. They were both the worse for rum they had had on the road, the + big man talking very loud and boastfully. + </p> + <p> + “Afeard to go to Kaintuckee!” said he. “I've met a parcel o' cowards on + the road, turned back. There ain't nothin' to be afeard of, eh, stranger?” + he added, to Tom, who paid no manner of attention to him. The small man + scarce opened his mouth, but sat with his head bowed forward on his breast + when he was not drinking. We passed a dismal, crowded night in the room + with such companions. When they heard that we were to go over the + mountains, nothing would satisfy the big man but to go with us. + </p> + <p> + “Come, stranger,” said he to Tom, “two good rifles such as we is + ain't to be throwed away.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want to go over?” asked Tom. “Be ye a Tory?” he + demanded suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you go over?” retorted Riley, for that was his name. + “I reckon I'm no more of a Tory than you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whar did ye come from?” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Chiswell's mines, taking out lead for the army o' Congress. But there + ain't excitement enough in it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” said Tom, turning to Cutcheon and eying his military coat. + </p> + <p> + “I got tired of their damned discipline,” the man answered surlily. + He was a deserter. + </p> + <p> + “Look you,” said Tom, sternly, “if you come, what I say is law.” + </p> + <p> + Such was the sacrifice we were put to by our need of company. But in those + days a man was a man, and scarce + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> + enough on the Wilderness Trail in that + year of '77. So we started away from Carter's Valley on a bright Saturday + morning, the grass glistening after a week's rain, the road sodden, and + the smell of the summer earth heavy. Tom and Weldon walked ahead, driving + the two horses, followed by Cutcheon, his head dropped between his + shoulders. The big man, Riley, regaled Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “My pluck is,” said he, “my pluck is to give a redskin no chance. + Shoot 'em down like hogs. It takes a good un to stalk me, Ma'am. Up on the + Kanawha I've had hand-to-hand fights with 'em, and made 'em cry quits.” + </p> + <p> + “Law!” exclaimed Polly Ann, nudging me, “it was a lucky thing we + run into you in the valley.” + </p> + <p> + But presently we left the road and took a mountain trail,—as stiff a + climb as we had yet had. Polly Ann went up it like a bird, talking all the + while to Riley, who blew like a bellows. For once he was silent. + </p> + <p> + We spent two, perchance three, days climbing and descending and fording. + At night Tom would suffer none to watch save Weldon and himself, not + trusting Riley or Cutcheon. And the rascals were well content to sleep. At + length we came to a cabin on a creek, the corn between the stumps around + it choked with weeds, and no sign of smoke in the chimney. Behind it + slanted up, in giant steps, a forest-clad hill of a thousand feet, and in + front of it the stream was dammed and lined with cane. + </p> + <p> + “Who keeps house?” cried Tom, at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + He pushed back the door, fashioned in one great slab from a forest tree. + His welcome was an angry whir, and a huge yellow rattler lay coiled + within, his head reared to strike. Polly Ann leaned back. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy,” she cried, “that's a bad sign.” + </p> + <p> + But Tom killed the snake, and we made ready to use the cabin that night + and the next day. For the horses were to be rested and meat was to be got, + as we could not use our guns so freely on the far side of Cumberland Gap. + In the morning, before he and Weldon left, Tom took me around the end of + the cabin. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> + “Davy,” said he, “I don't trust these rascals. Kin you shoot a + pistol?” + </p> + <p> + I reckoned I could. + </p> + <p> + He had taken one out of the pack he had got from Captain Sevier and pushed + it between the logs where the clay had fallen out. “If they try + anything,” said he, “shoot 'em. And don't be afeard of killing + 'em.” He patted me on the back, and went off up the slope with Weldon. + Polly Ann and I stood watching them until they were out of sight. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_94-T1" id="Page_94-T1"></a> + About eleven o'clock Riley and Cutcheon moved off to the edge of a + cane-brake near the water, and sat there for a while, talking in low + tones. The horses were belled and spancelled near by, feeding on the cane + and wild grass, and Polly Ann was cooking + journey-cakes on a stone. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you so sober, Davy?” she said. + </p> + <p> + I didn't answer. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” she cried, “be happy while you're young. 'Tis a fine day, + and Kaintuckee's over yonder.” She picked up her skirts and sang:— + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"First upon the heeltap,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Then upon the toe."</span> + </p> + <p> + The men by the cane-brake turned and came towards us. + </p> + <p> + “Ye're happy to-day, Mis' McChesney,” said Riley. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't I be?” said Polly Ann; “we're all a-goin' to + Kaintuckee.” + </p> + <p> + “We're a-goin' back to Cyarter's Valley,” said Riley, in his + blustering way. “This here ain't as excitin' as I thought. I reckon + there ain't no redskins nohow.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Polly Ann, in loud scorn, “ye're a-goin' to desert? + There'll be redskins enough by and by, I'll warrant ye.” + </p> + <p> + “How'd you like to come along of us,” says Riley; “that ain't any + place for wimmen, over yonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Along of you!” cried Polly Ann, with flashing eyes. + “Do you hear that, Davy?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> + I did. Meanwhile the man Cutcheon was slowly walking towards her. It took + scarce a second for me to make up my mind. I slipped around the corner of + the house, seized the pistol, primed it with a trembling hand, and came + back to behold Polly Ann, with flaming cheeks, facing them. They did not + so much as glance at me. Riley held a little back of the two, being the + coward. But Cutcheon stood ready, like a wolf. + </p> + <p> + I did not wait for him to spring, but, taking the best aim I could with my + two hands, fired. With a curse that echoed in the crags, he threw up his + arms and fell forward, writhing, on the turf. + </p> + <p> + “Run for the cabin, Polly Ann,” I shouted, “and bar the door.” + </p> + <p> + There was no need. For an instant Riley wavered, and then fled to the + cane. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann and I went to the man on the ground, and turned him over. His + eyes slid upwards. There was a bloody froth on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” cried she, awestricken, “Davy, ye've killed him!” + </p> + <p> + I grew dizzy and sick at the thought, but she caught me and held me to + her. Presently we sat down on the door log, gazing at the corpse. Then I + began to reflect, and took out my powder gourd and loaded the pistol. + </p> + <p> + “What are ye a-doing?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “In case the other one comes back,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh,” said Polly Ann, “<em>he'll</em> not come back.” + Which was true. I have never laid eyes on Riley to this day. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we'd better fetch it out of the sun,” said she, after a + while. And so we dragged it under an oak, covered the face, and left it. + </p> + <p><a id="Page_95-T1" name="Page_95-T1"></a> + He was the first man I ever killed, and the business by no means came + natural to me. And that day the journey-cakes which Polly Ann had made + were untasted by us both. The afternoon dragged interminably. Try as we + would, we could not get out of our minds the Thing that lay under the oak. + </p> + <p> + It was near sundown when Tom and Weldon appeared + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> + on the mountain side + carrying a buck between them. Tom glanced from one to the other of us + keenly. He was very quick to divine. + </p> + <p> + “Whar be they?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Show him, Davy,” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + I took him over to the oak, and Polly Ann told him the story. He gave me + one look, I remember, and there was more of gratitude in it than in a + thousand words. Then he seized a piece of cold cake from the stone. + </p> + <p> + “Which trace did he take?” he demanded of me. + </p> + <p> + But Polly Ann hung on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Tom, Tom!” she cried, “you beant goin' to leave us again. + Tom, he'll die in the wilderness, and we must git to Kaintuckee.” + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + The next vivid thing in my memory is the view of the last barrier Nature + had reared between us and the delectable country. It stood like a lion at + the gateway, and for some minutes we gazed at it in terror from Powell's + Valley below. How many thousands have looked at it with sinking hearts! + How many weaklings has its frown turned back! There seemed to be engraved + upon it the dark history of the dark and bloody land beyond. Nothing in + this life worth having is won for the asking; and the best is fought for, + and bled for, and died for. Written, too, upon that towering wall of white + rock, in the handwriting of God Himself, is the history of the indomitable + Race to which we belong. + </p> + <p> + For fifty miles we travelled under it, towards the Gap, our eyes drawn to + it by a resistless fascination. The sun went over it early in the day, as + though glad to leave the place, and after that a dark scowl would settle + there. At night we felt its presence, like a curse. Even Polly Ann was + silent. And she had need to be now. When it was necessary, we talked in + low tones, and the bell-clappers on the horses were not loosed at night. + It was here, but four years gone, that Daniel Boone's family was attacked, + and his son killed by the Indians. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> + We passed, from time to time, deserted cabins and camps, and some places + that might once have been called settlements: Elk Garden, where the + pioneers of the last four years had been wont to lay in a simple supply of + seed corn and Irish potatoes; and the spot where Henderson and his company + had camped on the way to establish Boonesboro two years before. And at + last we struck the trace that mounted upward to the Gateway itself. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER IX</a> + </h2> + <h3>On the Wilderness Trail</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">And</span> now we had our hands upon the latch, and + God alone knew what was behind the gate. Toil, with a certainty, but our + lives had known it. Death, perchance. But Death had been near to all of + us, and his presence did not frighten. As we climbed towards the Gap, + I recalled with strange aptness a quaint saying of my father's that + Kaintuckee was the Garden of Eden, and that men were being justly + punished with blood for their presumption. + </p> + <p> + As if to crown that judgment, the day was dark and lowering, with showers + of rain from time to time. And when we spoke,—Polly Ann and + I,—it was in whispers. The trace was very narrow, with Daniel + Boone's blazes, two years old, upon the trees; but the way was not + over steep. Cumberland Mountain was as silent and deserted as when + the first man had known it. + </p> + <p> + Alas, for the vanity of human presage! We gained the top, and entered + unmolested. No Eden suddenly dazzled our eye, no splendor burst upon it. + Nothing told us, as we halted in our weariness, that we had reached the + Promised Land. The mists weighed heavily on the evergreens of the slopes + and hid the ridges, and we passed that night in cold discomfort. It was + the first of many without a fire. + </p> + <p> + The next day brought us to the Cumberland, tawny and swollen from the + rains, and here we had to stop to fell trees to make a raft on which to + ferry over our packs. We bound the logs together with grapevines, and as + we worked my imagination painted for me many a red face peering from the + bushes on the farther shore. And when we got into the river and were + caught and spun by the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> + hurrying stream, I hearkened for a shot from the + farther bank. While Polly Ann and I were scrambling to get the raft + landed, Tom and Weldon swam over with the horses. And so we lay the second + night dolefully in the rain. But not so much as a whimper escaped from + Polly Ann. I have often told her since that the sorest trial she had was + the guard she kept on her tongue,—a hardship indeed for one of Irish + inheritance. Many a pull had she lightened for us by a flash of humor. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the sun relented, and the wine of his dawn was wine + indeed to our flagging hopes. Going down to wash at the river's brink, I + heard a movement in the cane, and stood frozen and staring until a great, + bearded head, black as tar, was thrust out between the stalks and looked + at me with blinking red eyes. The next step revealed the hump of the + beast, and the next his tasselled tail lashing his dirty brown quarters. I + did not tarry longer, but ran to tell Tom. He made bold to risk a shot and + light a fire, and thus we had buffalo meat for some days after. + </p> + <p> + We were still in the mountains. The trail led down the river for a bit + through the worst of canebrakes, and every now and again we stopped while + Tom and Weldon scouted. Once the roan mare made a dash through the brake, + and, though Polly Ann burst through one way to head her off and I another, + we reached the bank of Richland Creek in time to see her nose and the top + of her pack above the brown water. There was nothing for it but to swim + after her, which I did, and caught her quietly feeding in the cane on the + other side. By great good fortune the other horse bore the powder. + </p> + <p> + “Drat you, Nancy,” said Polly Ann to the mare, as she handed me my + clothes, “I'd sooner carry the pack myself than be bothered with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” said I, “the redskins will get us.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann regarded me scornfully as I stood bedraggled before her. + </p> + <p> + “Redskins!” she cried. “Nonsense! I reckon it's all talk about + redskins.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> + But we had scarce caught up ere we saw Tom standing rigid with his hand + raised. Before him, on a mound bared of cane, were the charred remains of + a fire. The sight of them transformed Weldon. His eyes glared again, even + as when we had first seen him, curses escaped under his breath, and he + would have darted into the cane had not Tom seized him sternly by the + shoulder. As for me, my heart hammered against my ribs, and I grew sick + with listening. It was at that instant that my admiration for Tom + McChesney burst bounds, and that I got some real inkling of what woodcraft + might be. Stepping silently between the tree trunks, his eyes bent on the + leafy loam, he found a footprint here and another there, and suddenly he + went into the cane with a sign to us to remain. It seemed an age before he + returned. Then he began to rake the ashes, and, suddenly bending down, + seized something in them,—the broken bowl of an Indian pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Shawnees!” he said; “I reckoned so.” It was at length the + beseeching in Polly Ann's eyes that he answered. + </p> + <p> + “A war party—tracks three days old. They took poplar.” + </p> + <p> + To take poplar was our backwoods expression for embarking in a canoe, the + dugouts being fashioned from the great poplar trees. + </p> + <p> + I did not reflect then, as I have since and often, how great was the + knowledge and resource Tom practised that day. Our feeling for him (Polly + Ann's and mine) fell little short of worship. In company ill at ease, in + the forest he became silent and masterful—an unerring woodsman, + capable of meeting the Indian on his own footing. And, strangest thought + of all, he and many I could name who went into Kentucky, had escaped, by a + kind of strange fate, being born in the north of Ireland. This was so of + Andrew Jackson himself. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the day he led us in silence down the trace, his eye alert to + penetrate every corner of the forest, his hand near the trigger of his + long Deckard. I followed in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> + boylike imitation, searching every thicket for + alien form and color, and yearning for stature and responsibility. As for + poor Weldon, he would stride for hours at a time with eyes fixed ahead, a + wild figure,—ragged and fringed. And we knew that the soul within + him was torn with thoughts of his dead wife and of his child in captivity. + Again, when the trance left him, he was an addition to our little party + not to be despised. + </p> + <p> + At dark Polly Ann and I carried the packs across a creek on a fallen tree, + she taking one end and I the other. We camped there, where the loam was + trampled and torn by countless herds of bison, and had only parched corn + and the remains of a buffalo steak for supper, as the meal was mouldy from + its wetting, and running low. When Weldon had gone a little distance up + the creek to scout, Tom relented from the sternness which his vigilance + imposed and came and sat down on a log beside Polly Ann and me. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a hard journey, little girl,” he said, patting her; + “I reckon I done wrong to fetch you.” + </p> + <p> + I can see him now, as the twilight settled down over the wilderness, his + honest face red and freckled, but aglow with the tenderness it had hidden + during the day, one big hand enfolding hers, and the other on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Hark, Davy!” said Polly Ann, “he's fair tired of us already. + Davy, take me back.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Polly Ann,” he answered, delighted at her raillery. + “But I've a word to say to you. If we come on to the redskins, + you and Davy make for the cane as hard as you kin kilter. Keep + out of sight.” + </p> + <p> + “As hard as we kin kilter!” exclaimed Polly Ann, indignantly. + “I reckon not, Tom McChesney. Davy taught me to shoot long ago, + afore you made up your mind to come back from Kaintuckee.” + </p> + <p> + Tom chuckled. “So Davy taught you to shoot,” he said, and checked + himself. “He ain't such a bad one with a pistol,”—and he + patted me,—“but I allow ye'd better hunt kiver just the same. + And if they ketch ye, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> + Polly Ann, just you go along and pretend to be happy, and tear off a + snatch of your dress now and then, if you get a chance. It wouldn't take + me but a little time to run into Harrodstown or Boone's Station from here, + and fetch a party to follow ye.” + </p> + <p> + Two days went by,—two days of strain in sunlight, and of watching + and fitful sleep in darkness. But the Wilderness Trail was deserted. Here + and there a lean-to—silent remnant of the year gone by—spoke + of the little bands of emigrants which had once made their way so + cheerfully to the new country. Again it was a child's doll, the rags of it + beaten by the weather to a rusty hue. Every hour that we progressed seemed + to justify the sagacity and boldness of Tom's plan, nor did it appear to + have entered a painted skull that a white man would have the hardihood to + try the trail this year. There were neither signs nor sounds save Nature's + own, the hoot of the wood-owl, the distant bark of a mountain wolf, the + whir of a partridge as she left her brood. At length we could stand no + more the repression that silence and watching put upon us, and when a + rotten bank gave way and flung Polly Ann and the sorrel mare into a creek, + even Weldon smiled as we pulled her, bedraggled and laughing, from the + muddy water. This was after we had ferried the Rockcastle River. + </p> + <p> + Our trace rose and fell over height and valley, until we knew that we were + come to a wonderland at last. We stood one evening on a spur as the + setting sun flooded the natural park below us with a crystal light and, + striking a tall sycamore, turned its green to gold. We were now on the + hills whence the water ran down to nourish the fat land, and I could + scarce believe that the garden spot on which our eyes feasted could be the + scene of the blood and suffering of which we had heard. Here at last was + the fairyland of my childhood, the country beyond the Blue Wall. + </p> + <p> + We went down the river that led into it, with awe, as though we were + trespassers against God Himself,—as though He had made it too + beautiful and too fruitful + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> + for the toilers of this earth. And you who read + this an hundred years hence may not believe the marvels of it to the + pioneer, and in particular to one born and bred in the scanty, hard soil + of the mountains. Nature had made it for her park,—ay, and scented + it with her own perfumes. Giant trees, which had watched generations come + and go, some of which mayhap had been saplings when the Norman came to + England, grew in groves,—the gnarled and twisted oak, and that + godsend to the settlers, the sugar-maple; the coffee tree with its + drooping buds; the mulberry, the cherry, and the plum; the sassafras and + the pawpaw; the poplar and the sycamore, slender maidens of the forest, + garbed in daintier colors,—ay, and that resplendent brunette with + the white flowers, the magnolia; and all underneath, in the green shade, + enamelled banks which the birds themselves sought to rival. + </p> + <p> + At length, one afternoon, we came to the grove of wild apple trees so + lovingly spoken of by emigrants as the Crab Orchard, and where formerly + they had delighted to linger. The plain near by was flecked with the brown + backs of feeding buffalo, but we dared not stop, and pressed on to find a + camp in the forest. As we walked in the filtered sunlight we had a great + fright, Polly Ann and I. Shrill, discordant cries suddenly burst from the + branches above us, and a flock of strange, green birds flecked with red + flew over our heads. Even Tom, intent upon the trail, turned and laughed + at Polly Ann as she stood clutching me. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks,” said he, “they're only paroquets.” + </p> + <p> + We made our camp in a little dell where there was short green grass by the + brookside and steep banks overgrown with brambles on either hand. Tom knew + the place, and declared that we were within thirty miles of the station. A + giant oak had blown down across the water, and, cutting out a few branches + of this, we spread our blankets under it on the turf. Tethering our + faithful beasts, and cutting a quantity of pea-vine for their night's + food, we lay down to sleep, Tom taking the first watch. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> + I had the second, for Tom trusted me now, and glorying in that trust I was + alert and vigilant. A shy moon peeped at me between the trees, and was + fantastically reflected in the water. The creek rippled over the + limestone, and an elk screamed in the forest far beyond. When at length I + had called Weldon to take the third watch, I lay down with a sense of + peace, soothed by the sweet odors of the night. + </p> + <p> + I awoke suddenly. I had been dreaming of Nick Temple and Temple Bow, and + my father coming back to me there with a great gash in his shoulder like + Weldon's. I lay for a moment dazed by the transition, staring through the + gray light. Then I sat up, the soft stamping and snorting of the horses in + my ears. The sorrel mare had her nose high, her tail twitching, but there + was no other sound in the leafy wilderness. With a bound of returning + sense I looked for Weldon. He had fallen asleep on the bank above, his + body dropped across the trunk of the oak. I leaped on the trunk and made + my way along it, stepping over him, until I reached and hid myself in the + great roots of the tree on the bank above. The cold shiver of the dawn was + in my body as I waited and listened. Should I wake Tom? The vast forest + was silent, and yet in its shadowy depths my imagination drew moving + forms. I hesitated. + </p> + <p> + The light grew: the boles of the trees came out, one by one, through the + purple. The tangled mass down the creek took on a shade of green, and a + faint breath came from the southward. The sorrel mare sniffed it, and + stamped. Then silence again,—a long silence. Could it be that the + cane moved in the thicket? Or had my eyes deceived me? I stared so hard + that it seemed to rustle all over. Perhaps some deer were feeding there, + for it was no unusual thing, when we rose in the morning, to hear the + whistle of a startled doe near our camping ground. I was thoroughly + frightened now,—and yet I had the speculative Scotch mind. The + thicket was some one hundred and fifty yards above, and on the flooded + lands at a bend. If there were Indians in it, they could not see the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> + sleeping forms of our party under me because of a bend in the stream. They + might have seen me, though I had kept very still in the twisted roots of + the oak, and now I was cramped. If Indians were there, they could + determine our position well enough by the occasional stamping and snorting + of the horses. And this made my fear more probable, for I had heard that + horses and cattle often warned pioneers of the presence of redskins. + </p> + <p> + Another thing: if they were a small party, they would probably seek to + surprise us by coming out of the cane into the creek bed above the bend, + and stalk down the creek. If a large band, they would surround and + overpower us. I drew the conclusion that it must be a small party—if + a party at all. And I would have given a shot in the arm to be able to see + over the banks of the creek. Finally I decided to awake Tom. + </p> + <p> + It was no easy matter to get down to where he was without being seen by + eyes in the cane. I clung to the under branches of the oak, finally + reached the shelving bank, and slid down slowly. I touched him on the + shoulder. He awoke with a start, and by instinct seized the rifle lying + beside him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Davy?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + I told what had happened and my surmise. He glanced then at the restless + horses and nodded, pointing up at the sleeping figure of Weldon, in full + s sight on the log. The Indians must have seen him. + </p> + <p> + Tom picked up the spare rifle. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “you stay here beside Polly Ann, behind the oak. + You kin shoot with a rest; but don't shoot,” said he, earnestly, + “for God's sake don't shoot unless you're sure to kill.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. For a moment he looked at the face of Polly Ann, sleeping + peacefully, and the fierce light faded from his eyes. He brushed her on + the cheek and she awoke and smiled at him, trustfully, lovingly. He put + his finger to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Stay with Davy,” he said. Turning to me, he added: + “When you wake Weldon, wake him easy. So.” He + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> + put his hand in mine, and gradually tightened it. “Wake him that way, + and he won't jump.” + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann asked no questions. She looked at Tom, and her soul was in her + face. She seized the pistol from the blanket. Then we watched him creeping + down the creek on his belly, close to the bank. Next we moved behind the + fallen tree, and I put my hand in Weldon's. He woke with a sigh, started, + but we drew him down behind the log. Presently he climbed cautiously up + the bank and took station in the muddy roots of the tree. Then we waited, + watching Tom with a prayer in our hearts. Those who have not felt it know + not the fearfulness of waiting for an Indian attack. + </p> + <p> + At last Tom reached the bend in the bank, beside some red-bud bushes, and + there he stayed. A level shaft of light shot through the forest. The + birds, twittering, awoke. A great hawk soared high in the blue over our + heads. An hour passed. I had sighted the rifle among the yellow leaves of + the fallen oak an hundred times. But Polly Ann looked not once to the + right or left. Her eyes and her prayers followed the form of her husband. + </p> + <p> + Then, like the cracking of a great drover's whip, a shot rang out in the + stillness, and my hands tightened over the rifle-stock. A piece of bark + struck me in the face, and a dead leaf fluttered to the ground. Almost + instantly there was another shot, and a blue wisp of smoke rose from the + red-bud bushes, where Tom was. The horses whinnied, there was a rustle in + the cane, and silence. Weldon bent over. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he whispered hoarsely, “he hit one. Tom hit one.” + </p> + <p> + I felt Polly Ann's hand on my face. + </p> + <p> + “Davy dear,” she said, “are ye hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, dazed, and wondering why Weldon had not been shot + long ago as he slumbered. I was burning to climb the bank and ask him + whether he had seen the Indian fall. + </p> + <p> + Again there was silence,—a silence even more awful than before. The + sun crept higher, the magic of his rays + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> + turning the creek from black to + crystal, and the birds began to sing again. And still there was no sign of + the treacherous enemy that lurked about us. Could Tom get back? I glanced + at Polly Ann. The same question was written in her yearning eyes, staring + at the spot where the gray of his hunting shirt showed through the bushes + at the bend. Suddenly her hand tightened on mine. The hunting shirt was + gone! + </p> + <p> + After that, in the intervals when my terror left me, I tried to speculate + upon the plan of the savages. Their own numbers could not be great, and + yet they must have known from our trace how few we were. Scanning the + ground, I noted that the forest was fairly clean of undergrowth on both + sides of us. Below, the stream ran straight, but there were growths of + cane and briers. Looking up, I saw Weldon faced about. It was the obvious + move. + </p> + <p> + But where had Tom gone? + </p> + <p> + Next my eye was caught by a little run fringed with bushes that curved + around the cane near the bend. I traced its course, unconsciously, bit by + bit, until it reached the edge of a bank not fifty feet away. + </p> + <p> + All at once my breath left me. Through the tangle of bramble stems at the + mouth of the run, above naked brown shoulders there glared at me, + hideously streaked with red, a face. Had my fancy lied? I stared again + until my eyes were blurred, now tortured by doubt, now so completely + convinced that my fingers almost released the trigger,—for I had + thrown the sights into line over the tree. I know not to this day whether + I shot from determination or nervousness. My shoulder bruised by the kick, + the smoke like a veil before my face, it was some moments ere I knew that + the air was full of whistling bullets; and then the gun was torn from my + hands, and I saw Polly Ann ramming in a new charge. + </p> + <p> + “The pistol, Davy,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + One torture was over, another on. Crack after crack sounded from the + forest—from here and there and everywhere, it seemed—and with + a song that like a hurtling + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> + insect ran the scale of notes, the bullets + buried themselves in the trunk of our oak with a chug. Once in a while I + heard Weldon's answering shot, but I remembered my promise to Tom not to + waste powder unless I were sure. The agony was the breathing space we had + while they crept nearer. Then we thought of Tom, and I dared not glance at + Polly Ann for fear that the sight of her face would unnerve me. + </p> + <p> + Then a longing to kill seized me, a longing so strange and fierce that I + could scarce be still. I know now that it comes in battle to all men, and + with intensity to the hunted, and it explained to me more clearly what + followed. I fairly prayed for the sight of a painted form, and time after + time my fancy tricked me into the notion that I had one. And even as I + searched the brambles at the top of the run a puff of smoke rose out of + them, a bullet burying itself in the roots near Weldon, who fired in + return. I say that I have some notion of what possessed the man, for he + was crazed with passion at fighting the race which had so cruelly wronged + him. Horror-struck, I saw him swing down from the bank, splash through the + water with raised tomahawk, and gain the top of the run. In less time than + it takes me to write these words he had dragged a hideous, naked warrior + out of the brambles, and with an avalanche of crumbling earth they slid + into the waters of the creek. Polly Ann and I stared transfixed at the + fearful fight that followed, nor can I give any adequate description of + it. Weldon had struck through the brambles, but the savage had taken the + blow on his gun-barrel and broken the handle of the tomahawk, and it was + man to man as they rolled in the shallow water, locked in a death embrace. + Neither might reach for his knife, neither was able to hold the other + down, Weldon's curses surcharged with hatred, the Indian straining + silently save for a gasp or a guttural note, the white a bearded madman, + the savage a devil with a glistening, paint-streaked body, his features + now agonized as his muscles strained and cracked, now lighted with a + diabolical joy. But the pent-up rage of months gave the white man + strength. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> + Polly Ann and I were powerless for fear of shooting Weldon, and gazed + absorbed at the fiendish scene with eyes not to be withdrawn. The + tree-trunk shook. A long, bronze arm reached out from above, and a painted + face glowered at us from the very roots where Weldon had lain. That moment + I took to be my last, and in it I seemed to taste all eternity. I heard + but faintly a noise beyond. It was the shock of the heavy Indian falling + on Polly Ann and me as we cowered under the trunk, and even then there was + an instant that we stood gazing at him as at a worm writhing in the clay. + It was she who fired the pistol and made the great hole in his head, and + so he twitched and died. After that a confusion of shots, war-whoops, a + vision of two naked forms flying from tree to tree towards the cane, and + then—God be praised—Tom's voice shouting:— + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann! Polly Ann!” + </p> + <p> + Before she had reached the top of the bank Tom had her in his arms, and a + dozen tall gray figures leaped the six feet into the stream and stopped. + My own eyes turned with theirs to see the body of poor Weldon lying face + downward in the water. But beyond it a tragedy awaited me. Defiant, + immovable, save for the heaving of his naked chest, the savage who had + killed him stood erect with folded arms facing us. The smoke cleared away + from a gleaming rifle-barrel, and the brave staggered and fell and died as + silent as he stood, his feathers making ripples in the stream. It was + cold-blooded, if you like, but war in those days was to the death, and + knew no mercy. The tall backwoodsman who had shot him waded across the + stream, and in the twinkling of an eye seized the scalp-lock and ran it + round with his knife, holding up the bleeding trophy with a shout. + Staggering to my feet, I stretched myself, but I had been cramped so long + that I tottered and would have fallen had not Tom's hand steadied me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” he cried. “Thank God, little Davy! the varmints didn't + get ye.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Tom?” I answered, looking up at him, bewildered with + happiness. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> + “They was nearer than I suspicioned when I went off,” he said, + and looked at me curiously. “Drat the little deevil,” he said + affectionately, and his voice trembled, “he took care of Polly Ann, + I'll warrant.” + </p> + <p> + He carried me to the top of the bank, where we were surrounded by the + whole band of backwoodsmen. + </p> + <p> + “That he did!” cried Polly Ann, “and fetched a redskin yonder as + clean as you could have done it, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “The little deevil!” exclaimed Tom again. + </p> + <p> + I looked up, burning with this praise from Tom (for I had never thought of + praise nor of anything save his happiness and Polly Ann's). I looked up, + and my eyes were caught and held with a strange fascination by fearless + blue ones that gazed down into them. I give you but a poor description of + the owner of these blue eyes, for personal magnetism springs not from one + feature or another. He was a young man,—perhaps five and twenty as I + now know age,—woodsman-clad, square-built, sun-reddened. His hair + might have been orange in one light and sand-colored in another. With a + boy's sense of such things I knew that the other woodsmen were waiting for + him to speak, for they glanced at him expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “You had a near call, McChesney,” said he, at length; “fortunate + for you we were after this band,—shot some of it to pieces yesterday + morning.” He paused, looking at Tom with that quality of tribute which + comes naturally to a leader of men. “By God,” he said, “I didn't + think you'd try it.” + </p> + <p> + “My word is good, Colonel Clark,” answered Tom, simply. + </p> + <p> + Young Colonel Clark glanced at the lithe figure of Polly Ann. He seemed a + man of few words, for he did not add to his praise of Tom's achievement by + complimenting her as Captain Sevier had done. In fact, he said nothing + more, but leaped down the bank and strode into the water where the body of + Weldon lay, and dragged it out himself. We gathered around it silently, + and two great tears rolled down Polly Ann's cheeks as she parted the hair + with tenderness and loosened the clenched hands. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> + Nor did any of the tall + woodsmen speak. Poor Weldon! The tragedy of his life and death was the + tragedy of Kentucky herself. They buried him by the waterside, where he + had fallen. + </p> + <p> + But there was little time for mourning on the border. The burial finished, + the Kentuckians splashed across the creek, and one of them, stooping with + a shout at the mouth of the run, lifted out of the brambles a painted body + with drooping head and feathers trailing. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Mac,” he cried, “here's a sculp for ye.” + </p> + <p> + “It's Davy's,” exclaimed Polly Ann from the top of the bank; + “Davy shot that one.” + </p> + <p> + “Hooray for Davy,” cried a huge, strapping backwoodsman who stood + beside her, and the others laughingly took up the shout. “Hooray for + Davy. Bring him over, Cowan.” The giant threw me on his shoulder as + though I had been a fox, leaped down, and took the stream in two strides. + I little thought how often he was to carry me in days to come, but I + felt a great awe at the strength of him, as I stared into his rough + features and his veined and weathered skin. He stood me down beside the + Indian's body, smiled as he whipped my hunting knife from my belt, and + said, “Now, Davy, take the sculp.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing loath, I seized the Indian by the long scalp-lock, while my big + friend guided my hand, and amid laughter and cheers I cut off my first + trophy of war. Nor did I have any other feeling than fierce hatred of the + race which had killed my father. + </p> + <p> + Those who have known armies in their discipline will find it difficult to + understand the leadership of the border. Such leadership was granted only + to those whose force and individuality compelled men to obey them. I had + my first glimpse of it that day. This Colonel Clark to whom Tom delivered + Mr. Robertson's letter was perchance the youngest man in the company that + had rescued us, saving only a slim lad of seventeen whom I noticed and + envied, and whose name was James Ray. Colonel Clark, so I was told by my + friend Cowan, held that title in Kentucky by reason of his prowess. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> + Clark had been standing quietly on the bank while I had scalped my first + redskin. Then he called Tom McChesney to him and questioned him closely + about our journey, the signs we had seen, and, finally, the news in the + Watauga settlements. While this was going on the others gathered round + them. + </p> + <p> + “What now?” asked Cowan, when he had finished. + </p> + <p> + “Back to Harrodstown,” answered the Colonel, shortly. + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence, followed by a hoarse murmur from a thick-set + man at the edge of the crowd, who shouldered his way to the centre of it. + </p> + <p> + “We set out to hunt a fight, and my pluck is to clean up. We ain't + finished 'em yet.” + </p> + <p> + The man had a deep, coarse voice that was a piece with his roughness. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon this band ain't a-goin' to harry the station any more, + McGary,” cried Cowan. + </p> + <p> + “By Job, what did we come out for? Who'll take the trail with me?” + </p> + <p> + There were some who answered him, and straightway they began to quarrel + among themselves, filling the woods with a babel of voices. While I stood + listening to these disputes with a boy's awe of a man's quarrel, what was + my astonishment to feel a hand on my shoulder. It was Colonel Clark's, and + he was not paying the least attention to the dispute. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “you look as if you could make a fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” I answered, gasping. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “make one.” + </p> + <p> + I lighted a piece of punk with the flint, and, wrapping it up in some dry + brush, soon had a blaze started. Looking up, I caught his eye on me again. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. McChesney,” said Colonel Clark to Polly Ann, “you look as + if you could make johnny-cake. Have you any meal?” + </p> + <p> + “That I have,” cried Polly Ann, “though it's fair mouldy. Davy, + run and fetch it.” + </p> + <p> + I ran to the pack on the sorrel mare. When I returned Mr. Clark said:— + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> + “That seems a handy boy, Mrs. McChesney.” + </p> + <p> + “Handy!” cried Polly Ann, “I reckon he's more than handy. Didn't + he save my life twice on our way out here?” + </p> + <p> + “And how was that?” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Run and fetch some water, Davy,” said Polly Ann, and straightway + launched forth into a vivid description of my exploits, as she mixed the + meal. Nay, she went so far as to tell how she came by me. The young + Colonel listened gravely, though with a gleam now and then in his blue + eyes. Leaning on his long rifle, he paid no manner of attention to the + angry voices near by,—which conduct to me was little short of the + marvellous. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Davy,” said he, at length, “the rest of your history.” + </p> + <p> + “There is little of it, sir,” I answered. “I was born in the Yadkin + country, lived alone with my father, who was a Scotchman. He hated a man + named Cameron, took me to Charlestown, and left me with some kin of his + who had a place called Temple Bow, and went off to fight Cameron and the + Cherokees.” There I gulped. “He was killed at Cherokee Ford, + and—and I ran away from Temple Bow, and found Polly Ann.” + </p> + <p> + This time I caught something of surprise on the Colonel's face. + </p> + <p> + “By thunder, Davy,” said he, “but you have a clean gift for brief + narrative. Where did you learn it?” + </p> + <p> + “My father was a gentleman once, and taught me to speak and read,” I + answered, as I brought a flat piece of limestone for Polly Ann's baking. + </p> + <p> + “And what would you like best to be when you grow up, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Six feet,” said I, so promptly that he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” said Polly Ann, looking at me comically, “he may be many + things, but I'll warrant he'll never be that.” + </p> + <p> + I have often thought since that young Mr. Clark showed much of the wisdom + of the famous king of Israel on that day. Polly Ann cooked a piece of a + deer which one of the woodsmen had with him, and the quarrel died + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> + of itself when we sat down to this and the johnny-cake. By noon we had taken + up the trace for Harrodstown, marching with scouts ahead and behind. Mr. + Clark walked mostly alone, seemingly wrapped in thought. At times he had + short talks with different men, oftenest—I noted with pride—with + Tom McChesney. And more than once when he halted he called me to him, my + answers to his questions seeming to amuse him. Indeed, I became a kind of + pet with the backwoodsmen, Cowan often flinging me to his shoulder as he + swung along. The pack was taken from the sorrel mare and divided among the + party, and Polly Ann made to ride that we might move the faster. + </p> + <p> + It must have been the next afternoon, about four, that the rough stockade + of Harrodstown greeted our eyes as we stole cautiously to the edge of the + forest. And the sight of no roofs and spires could have been more welcome + than that of these logs and cabins, broiling in the midsummer sun. At a + little distance from the fort, a silent testimony of siege, the stumpy, + cleared fields were overgrown with weeds, tall and rank, the corn choked. + Nearer the stockade, where the keepers of the fort might venture out at + times, a more orderly growth met the eye. It was young James Ray whom + Colonel Clark singled to creep with our message to the gates. At six, when + the smoke was rising from the stone chimneys behind the palisades, Ray + came back to say that all was well. Then we went forward quickly, hands + waved a welcome above the logs, the great wooden gates swung open, and at + last we had reached the haven for which we had suffered so much. Mangy + dogs barked at our feet, men and women ran forward joyfully to seize our + hands and greet us. + </p> + <p> + And so we came to Kaintuckee. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER X</a> + </h2> + <h3>Harrodstown</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">The</span> old forts like Harrodstown and Boonesboro + and Logan's at St. Asaph's have long since passed away. It is many, many + years since I lived through that summer of siege in Harrodstown, the + horrors of it are faded and dim, the discomforts lost to a boy thrilled + with a new experience. I have read in my old age the books of travellers + in Kentucky, English and French, who wrote much of squalor and strife + and sin and little of those qualities that go to the conquest of an + empire and the making of a people. Perchance my own pages may be colored + by gratitude and love for the pioneers amongst whom I found myself, and + thankfulness to God that we had reached them alive. + </p> + <p> + I know not how many had been cooped up in the little fort since the early + spring, awaiting the chance to go back to their weed-choked clearings. The + fort at Harrodstown was like an hundred others I have since seen, but + sufficiently surprising to me then. Imagine a great parallelogram made of + log cabins set end to end, their common outside wall being the wall of the + fort, and loopholed. At the four corners of the parallelogram the cabins + jutted out, with ports in the angle in order to give a flanking fire in + case the savages reached the palisade. And then there were huge log gates + with watch-towers on either side where sentries sat day and night + scanning the forest line. Within the fort was a big common dotted with + forest trees, where such cattle as had been saved browsed on the scanty + grass. There had been but the one scrawny horse before our arrival. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> + And the settlers! How shall I describe them as they crowded around us + inside the gate? Some stared at us with sallow faces and eyes brightened + by the fever, yet others had the red glow of health. Many of the men wore + rough beards, unkempt, and yellow, weather-worn hunting shirts, often + stained with blood. The barefooted women wore sunbonnets and loose + homespun gowns, some of linen made from nettles, while the children + swarmed here and there and everywhere in any costume that chance had given + them. All seemingly talking at once, they plied us with question after + question of the trace, the Watauga settlements, the news in the Carolinys, + and how the war went. + </p> + <p> + “A lad is it, this one,” said an Irish voice near me, “and a woman! + The dear help us, and who'd 'ave thought to see a woman come over the + mountain this year! Where did ye find them, Bill Cowan?” + </p> + <p> + “Near the Crab Orchard, and the lad killed and sculped a six-foot + brave.” + </p> + <p> + “The saints save us! And what 'll be his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Davy? Sure his namesake killed a giant, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And is he come along, also?” said another. His shy blue eyes and + stiff blond hair gave him a strange appearance in a hunting shirt. + </p> + <p> + “Hist to him! Who will ye be talkin' about, Poulsson? Is it King David + ye mane?” + </p> + <p> + There was a roar of laughter, and this was my introduction to Terence + McCann and Swein Poulsson. The fort being crowded, we were put into a + cabin with Terence and Cowan and Cowan's wife—a tall, gaunt woman + with a sharp tongue and a kind heart—and her four brats, “All + hugemsmug together,” as Cowan said. And that night we supped upon dried + buffalo meat and boiled nettle-tops, for of such was the fare in + Harrodstown that summer. + </p> + <p> + “Tom McChesney kept his faith.” One other man was to keep his faith + with the little community—George Rogers Clark. And I soon learned + that trustworthiness is held in greater esteem in a border community than + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> + anywhere else. Of course, the love of the frontier was in the grain of + these men. But what did they come back to? Day after day would the sun + rise over the forest and beat down upon the little enclosure in which we + were penned. The row of cabins leaning against the stockade marked the + boundaries of our diminutive world. Beyond them, invisible, lurked a + relentless foe. Within, the greater souls alone were calm, and a man's + worth was set down to a hair's breadth. Some were always to be found + squatting on their door-steps cursing the hour which had seen them depart + for this land; some wrestled and fought on the common, for a fist fight + with a fair field and no favor was a favorite amusement of the + backwoodsmen. My big friend, Cowan, was the champion of these, and often + of an evening the whole of the inhabitants would gather near the spring to + see him fight those who had the courage to stand up to him. His muscles + were like hickory wood, and I have known a man insensible for a quarter of + an hour after one of his blows. Strangely enough, he never fought in + anger, and was the first to the spring for a gourd of water after the + fight was over. But Tom McChesney was the best wrestler of the lot, and + could make a wider leap than any other man in Harrodstown. + </p> + <p> + Tom's reputation did not end there, for he became one of the two + bread-winners of the station. I would better have said <i>meat</i>winners. Woe + be to the incautious who, lulled by a week of fancied security, ventured + out into the dishevelled field for a little food! In the early days of the + siege man after man had gone forth for game, never to return. Until Tom + came, one only had been successful,—that lad of seventeen, whose + achievements were the envy of my boyish soul, James Ray. He slept in the + cabin next to Cowan's, and long before the dawn had revealed the forest + line had been wont to steal out of the gates on the one scrawny horse the + Indians had left them, gain the Salt River, and make his way thence + through the water to some distant place where the listening savages could + not hear his shot. And now Tom took his turn. Often did I sit with Polly + Ann till midnight in the sentry's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> + tower, straining my ears for the owl's + hoot that warned us of his coming. Sometimes he was empty-handed, but + sometimes a deer hung limp and black across his saddle, or a pair of + turkeys swung from his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, darlin',” said Terence to Polly Ann, “'tis yer husband and + James is the jools av the fort. Sure I niver loved me father as I do + thim.” + </p> + <p> + I would have given kingdoms in those days to have been seventeen and James + Ray. When he was in the fort I dogged his footsteps, and listened with a + painful yearning to the stories of his escapes from the roving bands. And + as many a character is watered in its growth by hero-worship, so my own + grew firmer in the contemplation of Ray's resourcefulness. My strange life + had far removed me from lads of my own age, and he took a fancy to me, + perhaps because of the very persistence of my devotion to him. I cleaned + his gun, filled his powder flask, and ran to do his every bidding. + </p> + <p> + I used in the hot summer days to lie under the elm tree and listen to the + settlers' talk about a man named Henderson, who had bought a great part of + Kentucky from the Indians, and had gone out with Boone to found Boonesboro + some two years before. They spoke of much that I did not understand + concerning the discountenance by Virginia of these claims, speculating as + to whether Henderson's grants were good. For some of them held these + grants, and others Virginia grants—a fruitful source of quarrel + between them. Some spoke, too, of Washington and his ragged soldiers going + up and down the old colonies and fighting for a freedom which there seemed + little chance of getting. But their anger seemed to blaze most fiercely + when they spoke of a mysterious British general named Hamilton, whom they + called "the ha'r buyer," and who from his stronghold in the north country + across the great Ohio sent down these hordes of savages to harry us. I + learned to hate Hamilton with the rest, and pictured him with the visage + of a fiend. We laid at his door every outrage that had happened at the + three stations, and put upon him the blood of those who had been carried + off to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> + torture in the Indian villages of the northern forests. And + when—amidst great excitement—a spent runner would arrive from + Boonesboro or St. Asaph's and beg Mr. Clark for a squad, it was commonly + with the first breath that came into his body that he cursed Hamilton. + </p> + <p> + So the summer wore away, while we lived from hand to mouth on such scanty + fare as the two of them shot and what we could venture to gather in the + unkempt fields near the gates. A winter of famine lurked ahead, and men + were goaded near to madness at the thought of clearings made and corn + planted in the spring within reach of their hands, as it were, and they + might not harvest it. At length, when a fortnight had passed, and Tom and + Ray had gone forth day after day without sight or fresh sign of Indians, + the weight lifted from our hearts. There were many things that might yet + be planted and come to maturity before the late Kentucky frosts. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_119-T1" id="Page_119-T1"></a> + The pressure within the fort, like a flood, opened the gates of it, + despite the sturdily disapproving figure of a young man who stood silent + under the sentry box, leaning on his Deckard. He was Colonel George + Rogers Clark,<a href="#footer_1-10-1">¹</a> + Commander-in-chief of the backwoodsmen of Kentucky, + whose power was reënforced by that strange thing called an education. + It was this, no doubt, gave him command of words when he chose to use + them. + </p> + <div class="footer"><a id="footer_1-10-1" name="footer_1-10-1"></a> + <a href="#Page_119-T1">¹</a> It appears that Mr. + Clark had not yet received the title of Colonel, though he held + command.—<span class="smcap">Editor</span>. + </div> + <p> + “Faith,” said Terence, as we passed him, “'tis a foine man he is, + and a gintleman born. Wasn't it him gathered the Convintion here in + Harrodstown last year that chose him and another to go to the Virginia + legislatoor? And him but a lad, ye might say. The divil fly away wid his + caution! Sure the redskins is as toired as us, and gone home to the wives + and childher, bad cess to thim.” + </p> + <p> + And so the first day the gates were opened we went into the fields a + little way; and the next day a little farther. They had once seemed to me + an unexplored and forbidden country as I searched them with my eyes from + the sentry boxes. And yet I felt a shame to go with Polly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> + Ann and Mrs. + Cowan and the women while James Ray and Tom sat with the guard of men + between us and the forest line. Like a child on a holiday, Polly Ann ran + hither and thither among the stalks, her black hair flying and a song on + her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Soon we'll be having a little home of our own, Davy,” she cried; + “Tom has the place chose on a knoll by the river, and the land is rich + with hickory and pawpaw. I reckon we may be going there next week.” + </p> + <p> + Caution being born into me with all the strength of a vice, I said + nothing. Whereupon she seized me in her strong hands and shook me. + </p> + <p> + “Ye little imp!” said she, while the women paused in their work + to laugh at us. + </p> + <p> + “The boy is right, Polly Ann,” said Mrs. Harrod, “and he's got + more sense than most of the men in the fort.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that he has,” the gaunt Mrs. Cowan put in, eying me fiercely, + while she gave one of her own offsprings a slap that sent him spinning. + </p> + <p> + Whatever Polly Ann might have said would have been to the point, but it + was lost, for just then the sound of a shot came down the wind, and a half + a score of women stampeded through the stalks, carrying me down like a + reed before them. When I staggered to my feet Polly Ann and Mrs. Cowan and + Mrs. Harrod were standing alone. For there was little of fear in those + three. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks!” said Mrs. Cowan, “I reckon it's that Jim Ray shooting + at a mark,” and she began to pick nettles again. + </p> + <p> + “Vimmen is a shy critter,” remarked Swein Poulsson, coming up. I + had a shrewd notion that he had run with the others. + </p> + <p> + “Wimmen!” Mrs. Cowan fairly roared. “Wimmen! Tell us how ye went + in March with the boys to fight the varmints at the Sugar Orchard, + Swein!” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed, for we loved him none the less. His little blue eyes were + perfectly solemn as he answered:— + </p> + <p> + “Ve send you fight Injuns mit your tongue, Mrs. Cowan. Then we haf + no more troubles.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> + “Land of Canaan!” cried she, “I reckon I could do more harm with + it than you with a gun.” + </p> + <p> + There were many such false alarms in the bright days following, and never + a bullet sped from the shadow of the forest. Each day we went farther + afield, and each night trooped merrily in through the gates with hopes of + homes and clearings rising in our hearts—until the motionless figure + of the young Virginian met our eye. It was then that men began to scoff at + him behind his back, though some spoke with sufficient backwoods bluntness + to his face. And yet he gave no sign of anger or impatience. Not so the + other leaders. No sooner did the danger seem past than bitter strife + sprang up within the walls. Even the two captains were mortal enemies. One + was Harrod, a tall, spare, dark-haired man of great endurance,—a + type of the best that conquered the land for the nation; the other, that + Hugh McGary of whom I have spoken, coarse and brutal, if you like, but + fearless and a leader of men withal. + </p> + <p> + A certain Sunday morning, I remember, broke with a cloud-flecked sky, and + as we were preparing to go afield with such ploughs as could be got + together (we were to sow turnips) the loud sounds of a quarrel came from + the elm at the spring. With one accord men and women and children flocked + thither, and as we ran we heard McGary's voice above the rest. Worming my + way, boylike, through the crowd, I came upon McGary and Harrod glaring at + each other in the centre of it. + </p> + <p> + “By Job! there's no devil if I'll stand back from my clearing and waste + the rest of the summer for the fears of a pack of cowards. I'll take a + posse and march to Shawanee Springs this day, and see any man a fair fight + that tries to stop me.” + </p> + <p> + “And who's in command here?” demanded Harrod. + </p> + <p> + “I am, for one,” said McGary, with an oath, “and my corn's on the + ear. I've held back long enough, I tell you, and I'll starve this + winter for you nor any one else.” + </p> + <p> + Harrod turned. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Clark?” he said to Bowman. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> + “Clark!” roared McGary, “Clark be d—d. Ye'd think he was a + woman.” He strode up to Harrod until their faces almost touched, and + his voice shook with the intensity of his anger. “By G—d, you + nor Clark nor any one else will stop me, I say!” He swung around and + faced the people. “Come on, boys! We'll fetch that corn, or know the + reason why.” + </p> + <p> + A responding murmur showed that the bulk of them were with him. Weary of + the pent-up life, longing for action, and starved for a good meal, the + anger of his many followers against Clark and Harrod was nigh as great as + his. He started roughly to shoulder his way out, and whether from accident + or design Captain Harrod slipped in front of him, I never knew. The thing + that followed happened quickly as the catching of my breath. I saw McGary + powdering his pan, and Harrod his, and felt the crowd giving back like + buffalo. All at once the circle had vanished, and the two men were + standing not five paces apart with their rifles clutched across their + bodies, each watching, catlike, for the other to level. It was a cry that + startled us—and them. There was a vision of a woman flying across + the common, and we saw the dauntless Mrs. Harrod snatching her husband's + gun from his resisting hands. So she saved his life and McGary's. + </p> + <p> + At this point Colonel Clark was seen coming from the gate. When he got to + Harrod and McGary the quarrel blazed up again, but now it was between the + three of them, and Clark took Harrod's rifle from Mrs. Harrod and held it. + However, it was presently decided that McGary should wait one more day + before going to his clearing; whereupon the gates were opened, the picked + men going ahead to take station as a guard, and soon we were hard at work, + ploughing here and mowing there, and in another place putting seed in the + ground: in the cheer of the work hardships were forgotten, and we paused + now and again to laugh at some sally of Terence McCann's or odd word of + Swein Poulsson's. As the day wore on to afternoon a blue + haze—harbinger of autumn—settled over fort and forest. + Bees hummed in the air as they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> + searched hither and thither amongst the flowers, or shot straight as + a bullet for a distant hive. But presently a rifle cracked, and we raised + our heads. + </p> + <p> + “Hist!” said Terence, “the bhoys on watch is that warlike! Whin + there's no redskins to kill they must be wastin' good powdher on a + three.” + </p> + <p> + I leaped upon a stump and scanned the line of sentries between us and the + woods; only their heads and shoulders appeared above the rank growth. I + saw them looking from one to another questioningly, some shouting words I + could not hear. Then I saw some running; and next, as I stood there + wondering, came another crack, and then a volley like the noise of a great + fire licking into dry wood, and things that were not bees humming round + about. A distant man in a yellow hunting shirt stumbled, and was drowned + in the tangle as in water. Around me men dropped plough-handles and women + baskets, and as we ran our legs grew numb and our bodies cold at a sound + which had haunted us in dreams by night—the war-whoop. The deep and + guttural song of it rose and fell with a horrid fierceness. An agonized + voice was in my ears, and I halted, ashamed. It was Polly Ann's. + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” she cried, “Davy, have ye seen Tom?” + </p> + <p> + Two men dashed by. I seized one by the fringe of his shirt, and he flung + me from my feet. The other leaped me as I knelt. + </p> + <p> + “Run, ye fools!” he shouted. But we stood still, with yearning eyes + staring back through the frantic forms for a sight of Tom's. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go back!” I cried, “I'll go back for him. Do you run to the + fort.” For suddenly I seemed to forget my fear, nor did even the + hideous notes of the scalp halloo disturb me. Before Polly Ann could + catch me I had turned and started, stumbled,—I thought on a + stump,—and fallen headlong among the nettles with a stinging pain + in my leg. Staggering to my feet, I tried to run on, fell again, and + putting down my hand found it smeared with blood. A man came by, paused + an instant while his eye caught me, and ran on again. I shall remember + his face and name + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> + to my dying day; but there is no reason to put it down here. In a few + seconds' space as I lay I suffered all the pains of captivity and of + death by torture, that cry of savage man an hundred times more frightful + than savage beast sounding in my ears, and plainly nearer now by half + the first distance. Nearer, and nearer yet—and then I heard my + name called. I was lifted from the ground, and found myself in the + lithe arms of Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “Set me down!” I screamed, “set me down!” and must have added + some of the curses I had heard in the fort. But she clutched me tightly + (God bless the memory of those frontier women!), and flew like a deer + toward the gates. Over her shoulder I glanced back. A spare three + hundred yards away in a ragged line a hundred red devils were bounding + after us with feathers flying and mouths open as they yelled. Again I + cried to her to set me down; but though her heart beat faster and her + breath came shorter, she held me the tighter. Second by second they + gained on us, relentlessly. Were we near the fort? Hoarse shouts + answered the question, but they seemed distant—too distant. The + savages were gaining, and Polly Ann's breath quicker still. She + staggered, but the brave soul had no thought of faltering. I had a sight + of a man on a plough horse with dangling harness coming up from + somewhere, of the man leaping off, of ourselves being pitched on the + animal's bony back and clinging there at the gallop, the man running at + the side. Shots whistled over our heads, and here was the brown fort. + Its big gates swung together as we dashed through the narrowed opening. + Then, as he lifted us off, I knew that the man who had saved us was + Tom himself. The gates closed with a bang, and a patter of bullets beat + against them like rain. + </p> + <p> + Through the shouting and confusion came a cry in a voice I knew, now + pleading, now commanding. + </p> + <p> + “Open, open! For God's sake open!” + </p> + <p> + “It's Ray! Open for Ray! Ray's out!” + </p> + <p> + Some were seizing the bar to thrust it back when the heavy figure of + McGary crushed into the crowd beside it. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> + “By Job, I'll shoot the man that touches it!” he shouted, as he + tore them away. But the sturdiest of them went again to it, and cursed + him. And while they fought backward and forward, the lad's mother, + Mrs. Ray, cried out to them to open in tones to rend their hearts. But + McGary had gained the bar and swore (perhaps wisely) that he would not + sacrifice the station for one man. Where was Ray? + </p> + <p> + Where was Ray, indeed? It seemed as if no man might live in the hellish + storm that raged without the walls: as if the very impetus of hate and + fury would carry the savages over the stockade to murder us. Into the + turmoil at the gate came Colonel Clark, sending the disputants this way + and that to defend the fort, McGary to command one quarter, Harrod and + Bowman another, and every man that could be found to a loophole, while + Mrs. Ray continued to run up and down, wringing her hands, now facing one + man, now another. Some of her words came to me, shrilly, above the noise. + </p> + <p> + “He fed you—he fed you. Oh, my God, and you are + grateful—grateful! When you were starving he risked his + life—” + </p> + <p> + Torn by anxiety for my friend, I dragged myself into the nearest cabin, + and a man was fighting there in the half-light at the port. The huge + figure I knew to be my friend Cowan's, and when he drew back to load I + seized his arm, shouting Ray's name. Although the lead was pattering on + the other side of the logs, Cowan lifted me to the port. And there, + stretched on the ground behind a stump, within twenty feet of the walls, + was James. Even as I looked the puffs of dust at his side showed that the + savages knew his refuge. I saw him level and fire, and then Bill Cowan set + me down and began to ram in a charge with tremendous energy. + </p> + <p> + Was there no way to save Ray? I stood turning this problem in my mind, + subconsciously aware of Cowan's movements: of his yells when he thought he + had made a shot, when Polly Ann appeared at the doorway. Darting in, she + fairly hauled me to the shake-down in the far corner. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> + “Will ye bleed to death, Davy?” she cried, as she slipped off my + legging and bent over the wound. Her eye lighting on a gourdful of water + on the puncheon table, she tore a strip from her dress and washed and + bound me deftly. The bullet was in the flesh, and gave me no great pain. + </p> + <p> + “Lie there, ye imp!” she commanded, when she had finished. + </p> + <p> + “Some one's under the bed,” said I, for I had heard a movement. + </p> + <p> + In an instant we were down on our knees on the hard dirt floor, and there + was a man's foot in a moccasin! We both grabbed it and pulled, bringing to + life a person with little blue eyes and stiff blond hair. + </p> + <p> + “Swein Poulsson!” exclaimed Polly Ann, giving him an involuntary + kick, “may the devil give ye shame!” + </p> + <p> + Swein Poulsson rose to a sitting position and clasped his knees in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + “I haf one great fright,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Send him into the common with the women in yere place, Mis' + McChesney,” growled Cowan, who was loading. + </p> + <p> + “By tam!” said Swein Poulsson, leaping to his feet, “I vill stay + here und fight. I am prave once again.” Stooping down, he searched + under the bed, pulled out his rifle, powdered the pan, and flying to the + other port, fired. At that Cowan left his post and snatched the rifle + from Poulsson's hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ye're but wasting powder,” he cried angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Then, by tam, I am as vell under the bed,” said Poulsson. + “Vat can I do?” + </p> + <p> + I had it. + </p> + <p> + “Dig!” I shouted; and seizing the astonished Cowan's tomahawk from + his belt I set to work furiously chopping at the dirt beneath the log + wall. “Dig, so that James can get under.” + </p> + <p> + Cowan gave me the one look, swore a mighty oath, and leaping to the port + shouted to Ray in a thundering voice what we were doing. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> + “Dig!” roared Cowan. “Dig, for the love of God, for he can't + hear me.” + </p> + <p> + The three of us set to work with all our might, Poulsson making great + holes in the ground at every stroke, Polly Ann scraping at the dirt with + the gourd. Two feet below the surface we struck the edge of the lowest + log, and then it was Poulsson who got into the hole with his hunting + knife—perspiring, muttering to himself, working as one possessed + with a fury, while we scraped out the dirt from under him. At length, + after what seemed an age of staring at his legs, the ground caved on + him, and he would have smothered if we had not dragged him out by the + heels, sputtering and all powdered brown. But there was the daylight + under the log. + </p> + <p> + Again Cowan shouted at Ray, and again, but he did not understand. It was + then the miracle happened. I have seen brave men and cowards since, and I + am as far as ever from distinguishing them. Before we knew it Poulsson was + in the hole once more—had wriggled out of it on the other side, and + was squirming in a hail of bullets towards Ray. There was a full minute of + suspense—perhaps two—during which the very rifles of the fort + were silent (though the popping in the weeds was redoubled), and then the + barrel of a Deckard was poked through the hole. After it came James Ray + himself, and lastly Poulsson, and a great shout went out from the + loopholes and was taken up by the women in the common. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + Swein Poulsson had become a hero, nor was he willing to lose any of the + glamour which was a hero's right. As the Indians' fire slackened, he went + from cabin to cabin, and if its occupants failed to mention the exploit + (some did fail so to do, out of mischief), Swein would say:— + </p> + <p> + “You did not see me safe James, no? I vill tell you joost how.” + </p> + <p> + It never leaked out that Swein was first of all under the bed, for Polly + Ann and Bill Cowan and myself swore to keep the secret. But they told how + I had thought of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> + digging the hole under the logs—a happy + circumstance which got me a reputation for wisdom beyond my years. There + was a certain Scotchman at Harrodstown called McAndrew, and it was he gave + me the nickname “Canny Davy,” and I grew to have a sort of precocious + fame in the station. Often Captain Harrod or Bowman or some of the others + would pause in their arguments and say gravely, “What does Davy think + of it?” This was not good for a boy, and the wonder of it is that it + did not make me altogether insupportable. One effect it had on me—to + make me long even more earnestly to be a man. + </p> + <p> + The impulse of my reputation led me farther. A fortnight of more + inactivity followed, and then we ventured out into the fields once more. + But I went with the guard this time, not with the women,—thanks to a + whim the men had for humoring me. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, and beant he a man all but two feet,” said Terence, + “wid more brain than me an' Bill Cowan and Poulsson togither? 'Tis a + fox's nose Davy has for the divils, Bill. Sure he can smell thim the + same as you an' me kin see the red paint on their faces.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that's true,” said Bill Cowan, with solemnity, + and so he carried me off. + </p> + <p> + At length the cattle were turned out to browse greedily through the + clearing, while we lay in the woods by the forest and listened to the + sound of their bells, but when they strayed too far, I was often sent to + drive them back. Once when this happened I followed them to the shade at + the edge of the woods, for it was noon, and the sun beat down fiercely. + And there I sat for some time watching them as they lashed their sides + with their tails and pawed the ground, for experience is a good master. + Whether or not the flies were all that troubled them I could not tell, and + no sound save the tinkle of their bells broke the noonday stillness. + Making a circle I drove them back toward the fort, much troubled in mind. + I told Cowan, but he laughed and said it was the flies. Yet I was not + satisfied, and finally stole back again to the place where I had found + them. I sat a long time hidden + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> + at the edge of the forest, listening until + my imagination tricked me into hearing those noises which I feared and yet + longed for. Trembling, I stole a little farther in the shade of the woods, + and then a little farther still. The leaves rustled in the summer's + breeze, patches of sunlight flickered on the mould, the birds twittered, + and the squirrels scolded. A chipmunk frightened me as he flew chattering + along a log. And yet I went on. I came to the creek as it flowed silently + in the shade, stepped in, and made my way slowly down it, I know not how + far, walking in the water, my eye alert to every movement about me. At + length I stopped and caught my breath. Before me, in a glade opening out + under great trees, what seemed a myriad of forked sticks were piled + against one another, three by three, and it struck me all in a heap that I + had come upon a great encampment. But the skeletons of the pyramid tents + alone remained. Where were the skins? Was the camp deserted? + </p> + <p> + For a while I stared through the brier leaves, then I took a venture, + pushed on, and found myself in the midst of the place. It must have held + near a thousand warriors. All about me were gray heaps of ashes, and bones + of deer and elk and buffalo scattered, some picked clean, some with the + meat and hide sticking to them. Impelled by a strong fascination, I went + hither and thither until a sound brought me to a stand—the echoing + crack of a distant rifle. On the heels of it came another, then several + together, and a faint shouting borne on the light wind. Terrorized, I + sought for shelter. A pile of brush underlain by ashes was by, and I crept + into that. The sounds continued, but seemed to come no nearer, and my + courage returning, I got out again and ran wildly through the camp toward + the briers on the creek, expecting every moment to be tumbled headlong by + a bullet. And when I reached the briers, what between panting and the + thumping of my heart I could for a few moments hear nothing. Then I ran on + again up the creek, heedless of cover, stumbling over logs and trailing + vines, when all at once a dozen bronze forms glided with the speed of deer + across my path ahead. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> + They splashed over the creek and were gone. + Bewildered with fear, I dropped under a fallen tree. Shouts were in my + ears, and the noise of men running. I stood up, and there, not twenty + paces away, was Colonel Clark himself rushing toward me. He halted with a + cry, raised his rifle, and dropped it at the sight of my queer little + figure covered with ashes. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he cried, “it's Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “They crossed the creek,” I shouted, pointing the way, + “they crossed the creek, some twelve of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he said, staring at me, and by this time the rest of the guard + were come up. They too stared, with different exclamations on their + lips,—Cowan and Bowman and Tom McChesney and Terence McCann in + front. + </p> + <p> + “And there's a great camp below,” I went on, “deserted, where a + thousand men have been.” + </p> + <p> + “A camp—deserted?” said Clark, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “yes.” But he had already started forward and + seized me by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Lead on,” he cried, “show it to us.” He went ahead with me, + travelling so fast that I must needs run to keep up, and fairly lifting + me over the logs. But when we came in sight of the place he darted + forward alone and went through it like a hound on the trail. The others + followed him, crying out at the size of the place and poking among the + ashes. At length they all took up the trail for a way down the creek. + Presently Clark called a halt. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that they've made for the Ohio,” he said. And at this judgment + from him the guard gave a cheer that might almost have been heard in the + fields around the fort. The terror that had hovered over us all that long + summer was lifted at last. + </p> + <p> + You may be sure that Cowan carried me back to the station. “To think it + was Davy that found it!” he cried again and again, “to think it + was Davy found it!” + </p> + <p> + “And wasn't it me that said he could smell the divils,” said Terence, + as he circled around us in a mimic war dance. And when from the fort they + saw us coming across the fields they opened the gates in astonishment, and + on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> + hearing the news gave themselves over to the wildest rejoicing. For the + backwoodsmen were children of nature. Bill Cowan ran for the fiddle which + he had carried so carefully over the mountain, and that night we had jigs + and reels on the common while the big fellow played “Billy of the Wild + Woods” and “Jump Juba,” with all his might, and the pine knots + threw their fitful, red light on the wild scenes of merriment. I must + have cut a queer little figure as I sat between Cowan and Tom watching + the dance, for presently Colonel Clark came up to us, laughing in his + quiet way. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “there is another great man here who would like + to see you,” and led me away wondering. I went with him toward the + gate, burning all over with pride at this attention, and beside a + torch there a broad-shouldered figure was standing, at sight of whom + I had a start of remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who that is, Davy?” said Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + “It's Mr. Daniel Boone,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “By thunder,” said Clark, “I believe the boy <em>is</em> a + wizard,” while Mr. Boone's broad mouth was creased into a smile, + and there was a trace of astonishment, too, in his kindly eye. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Boone came to my father's cabin on the Yadkin once,” I said; + “he taught me to skin a deer.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that I did,” exclaimed Mr. Boone, “and I said ye'd make a + woodsman sometime.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Boone, it seemed, had come over from Boonesboro to consult with + Colonel Clark on certain matters, and had but just arrived. But so modest + was he that he would not let it be known that he was in the station, for + fear of interrupting the pleasure. He was much the same as I had known + him, only grown older and his reputation now increased to vastness. He and + Clark sat on a door log talking for a long time on Kentucky matters, the + strength of the forts, the prospect of new settlers that autumn, of the + British policy, and finally of a journey which Colonel Clark was soon to + make back to Virginia across the mountains. They seemed not to mind my + presence. At length + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> + Colonel Clark turned to me with that quiet, jocose way he had when + relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “we'll see how much of a general you are. What + would you do if a scoundrel named Hamilton far away at Detroit was + bribing all the redskins he could find north of the Ohio to come down + and scalp your men?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd go for Hamilton,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “By God!” exclaimed Clark, striking Mr. Boone on the knee, + “that's what I'd do.” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XI</a> + </h2> + <h3>Fragmentary</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Mr. Boone's</span> visit lasted but a day. I was a + great deal with Colonel Clark in the few weeks that followed before his + departure for Virginia. He held himself a little aloof (as a leader + should) from the captains in the station, without seeming to offend + them. But he had a fancy for James Ray and for me, and he often took + me into the woods with him by day, and talked with me of an evening. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going away to Virginia, Davy,” he said; “will you not go with + me? We'll see Williamsburg, and come back in the spring, and I'll have + you a little rifle made.” + </p> + <p> + My look must have been wistful. + </p> + <p> + “I can't leave Polly Ann and Tom,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I like that. Faith to your friends is a big + equipment for life.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you going?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because I love Kentucky best of all things in the world,” he + answered, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do?” I insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, “that I can't tell even to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To catch Hamilton?” I ventured at random. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me queerly. + </p> + <p> + “Would you go along, Davy?” said he, laughing now. + </p> + <p> + “Would you take Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “Among the first,” answered Colonel Clark, heartily. + </p> + <p> + We were seated under the elm near the spring, and at that instant I saw + Tom coming toward us. I jumped up, thinking to please him by this + intelligence, when Colonel Clark pulled me down again. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> + “Davy,” said he, almost roughly, I thought, “remember that we + have been joking. Do you understand?—joking. You have a tongue + in your mouth, but sense enough in your head, I believe, to hold it.” + He turned to Tom. “McChesney, this is a queer lad you brought us,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “He's a little deevil,” agreed Tom, for that had become a formula + with him. + </p> + <p> + It was all very mysterious to me, and I lay awake many a night with + curiosity, trying to solve a puzzle that was none of my business. And one + day, to cap the matter, two woodsmen arrived at Harrodstown with clothes + frayed and bodies lean from a long journey. Not one of the hundred + questions with which they were beset would they answer, nor say where they + had been or why, save that they had carried out certain orders of Clark, + who was locked up with them in a cabin for several hours. + </p> + <p> + The first of October, the day of Colonel Clark's departure, dawned crisp + and clear. He was to take with him the disheartened and the cowed, the + weaklings who loved neither work nor exposure nor danger. And before he + set out of the gate he made a little speech to the assembled people. + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” he said, “you know me. I put the interests of Kentucky + before my own. Last year when I left to represent her at Williamsburg + there were some who said I would desert her. It was for her sake I made + that journey, suffered the tortures of hell from scalded feet, was near to + dying in the mountains. It was for her sake that I importuned the governor + and council for powder and lead, and when they refused it I said to them, + 'Gentlemen, a country that is not worth defending is not worth + claiming.'” + </p> + <p> + At these words the settlers gave a great shout, waving their coonskin hats + in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, that ye did,” cried Bill Cowan, “and got the amminition.” + </p> + <p> + “I made that journey for her sake, I say,” Colonel Clark continued, + “and even so I am making this one. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> + I pray you trust me, and God bless and keep you while I am gone.” + </p> + <p> + He did not forget to speak to me as he walked between our lines, and told + me to be a good boy and that he would see me in the spring. Some of the + women shed tears as he passed through the gate, and many of us climbed to + sentry box and cabin roof that we might see the last of the little company + wending its way across the fields. A motley company it was, the refuse of + the station, headed by its cherished captain. So they started back over + the weary road that led to that now far-away land of civilization and + safety. + </p> + <p> + During the balmy Indian summer, when the sharper lines of nature are + softened by the haze, some came to us from across the mountains to make up + for the deserters. From time to time a little group would straggle to the + gates of the station, weary and footsore, but overjoyed at the sight of + white faces again: the fathers walking ahead with watchful eyes, the women + and older children driving the horses, and the babies slung to the pack in + hickory withes. Nay, some of our best citizens came to Kentucky swinging + to the tail of a patient animal. The Indians were still abroad, and in + small war parties darted hither and thither with incredible swiftness. And + at night we would gather at the fire around our new emigrants to listen to + the stories they had to tell,—familiar stories to all of us. + Sometimes it had been the gobble of a wild turkey that had lured to + danger, again a wood-owl had cried strangely in the night. + </p> + <p> + Winter came, and passed—somehow. I cannot dwell here on the + tediousness of it, and the one bright spot it has left in my memory + concerns Polly Ann. Did man, woman, or child fall sick, it was Polly Ann + who nursed them. She had by nature the God-given gift of healing, knew by + heart all the simple remedies that backwoods lore had inherited from the + north of Ireland or borrowed from the Indians. Her sympathy and + loving-kindness did more than these, her never tiring and ever cheerful + watchfulness. She was deft, too, was Polly Ann, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> + spun from nettle bark + many a cut of linen that could scarce be told from flax. Before the sap + began to run again in the maples there was not a soul in Harrodstown who + did not love her, and I truly believe that most of them would have risked + their lives to do her bidding. + </p> + <p> + Then came the sugaring, the warm days and the freezing nights when the + earth stirs in her sleep and the taps drip from red sunrise to red sunset. + Old and young went to the camps, the women and children boiling and + graining, the squads of men posted in guards round about. And after that + the days flew so quickly that it seemed as if the woods had burst suddenly + into white flower, and it was spring again. And then—a joy to be + long remembered—I went on a hunting trip with Tom and Cowan and + three others where the Kentucky tumbles between its darkly wooded cliffs. + And other wonders of that strange land I saw then for the first time: + great licks, trampled down for acres by the wild herds, where the salt + water oozes out of the hoofprints. On the edge of one of these licks we + paused and stared breathless at giant bones sticking here and there in the + black mud, and great skulls of fearful beasts half-embedded. This was + called the Big Bone Lick, and some travellers that went before us had made + their tents with the thighs of these monsters of a past age. + </p> + <p> + A danger past is oft a danger forgotten. Men went out to build the homes + of which they had dreamed through the long winter. Axes rang amidst the + white dogwoods and the crabs and redbuds, and there were riotous + log-raisings in the clearings. But I think the building of Tom's house was + the most joyous occasion of all, and for none in the settlement would men + work more willingly than for him and Polly Ann. The cabin went up as if by + magic. It stood on a rise upon the bank of the river in a grove of oaks + and hickories, with a big persimmon tree in front of the door. It was in + the shade of this tree that Polly Ann sat watching Tom and me through the + mild spring days as we barked the roof, and none ever felt greater joy and + pride in a home than she. We had our first supper on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> + a wide puncheon under + the persimmon tree on the few pewter plates we had fetched across the + mountain, the blue smoke from our own hearth rising in the valley until + the cold night air spread it out in a line above us, while the horses + grazed at the river's edge. + </p> + <p> + After that we went to ploughing, an occupation which Tom fancied but + little, for he loved the life of a hunter best of all. But there was corn + to be raised and fodder for the horses, and a truck-patch to be cleared + near the house. + </p> + <p> + One day a great event happened,—and after the manner of many great + events, it began in mystery. Leaping on the roan mare, I was riding like + mad for Harrodstown to fetch Mrs. Cowan. And she, when she heard the + summons, abandoned a turkey on the spit, pitched her brats out of the + door, seized the mare, and dashing through the gates at a gallop left me + to make my way back afoot. Scenting a sensation, I hurried along the + wooded trace at a dog trot, and when I came in sight of the cabin there + was Mrs. Cowan sitting on the step, holding in her long but motherly arms + something bundled up in nettle linen, while Tom stood sheepishly by, + staring at it. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks,” Mrs. Cowan was saying loudly, “I reckon ye're as little + use to-day as Swein Poulsson,—standin' there on one foot. Ye anger + me—just grinning at it like a fool—and yer own doin'. Have + ye forgot how to talk?” + </p> + <p> + Tom grinned the more, but was saved the effort of a reply by a loud noise + from the bundle. + </p> + <p> + “Here's another,” cried Mrs. Cowan to me. “Ye needn't act as if it + was an animal. Faith, yereself was like that once, all red an' crinkled. + But I warrant ye didn't have the heft,” and she lifted it, judicially. + “A grand baby,” attacking Tom again, “and ye're no more worthy to + be his father than Davy here.” + </p> + <p> + Then I heard a voice calling me, and pushing past Mrs. Cowan, I ran into + the cabin. Polly Ann lay on the log bedstead, and she turned to mine a + face radiant with a happiness I had not imagined. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> + “Oh, Davy, have ye seen him? Have ye seen little Tom? Davy, I reckon + I'll never be so happy again. Fetch him here, Mrs. Cowan.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cowan, with a glance of contempt at Tom and me, put the bundle + tenderly down on the coarse brown sheet beside her. + </p> + <p> + Poor little Tom! Only the first fortnight of his existence was spent in + peace. I have a pathetic memory of it all—of our little home, of our + hopes for it, of our days of labor and nights of planning to make it + complete. And then, one morning when the three of us were turning over the + black loam in the patch, while the baby slept peacefully in the shade, a + sound came to our ears that made us pause and listen with bated breath. It + was the sound of many guns, muffled in the distant forest. With a cry + Polly Ann flew to the hickory cradle under the tree, Tom sprang for the + rifle that was never far from his side, while with a kind of instinct I + ran to catch the spancelled horses by the river. In silence and sorrow we + fled through the tall cane, nor dared to take one last look at the cabin, + or the fields lying black in the spring sunlight. The shots had ceased, + but ere we had reached the little clearing McCann had made they began + again, though as distant as before. Tom went ahead, while I led the mare + and Polly Ann clutched the child to her breast. But when we came in sight + of the fort across the clearings the gates were closed. There was nothing + to do but cower in the thicket, listening while the battle went on afar, + Polly Ann trying to still the cries of the child, lest they should bring + death upon us. At length the shooting ceased; stillness reigned; then came + a faint halloo, and out of the forest beyond us a man rode, waving his hat + at the fort. After him came others. The gates opened, and we rushed + pell-mell across the fields to safety. + </p> + <p> + The Indians had shot at a party shelling corn at Captain Bowman's + plantation, and killed two, while the others had taken refuge in the crib. + Fired at from every brake, James Ray had ridden to Harrodstown for succor, + and the savages had been beaten off. But only the foolhardy + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> + returned to + their clearings now. We were on the edge of another dreaded summer of + siege, the prospect of banishment from the homes we could almost see, + staring us in the face, and the labors of the spring lost again. There was + bitter talk within the gates that night, and many declared angrily that + Colonel Clark had abandoned us. But I remembered what he had said, and had + faith in him. + </p> + <p> + It was that very night, too, I sat with Cowan, who had duty in one of the + sentry boxes, and we heard a voice calling softly under us. Fearing + treachery, Cowan cried out for a sign. Then the answer came back loudly to + open to a runner with a message from Colonel Clark to Captain Harrod. + Cowan let the man in, while I ran for the captain, and in five minutes it + seemed as if every man and woman and child in the fort were awake and + crowding around the man by the gates, their eager faces reddened by the + smoking pine knots. Where was Clark? What had he been doing? Had he + deserted them? + </p> + <p> + “Deserted ye!” cried the runner, and swore a great oath. Wasn't Clark + even then on the Ohio raising a great army with authority from the + Commonwealth of Virginia to rid them of the red scourge? And would they + desert him? Or would they be men and bring from Harrodstown the company he + asked for? Then Captain Harrod read the letter asking him to raise the + company, and before day had dawned they were ready for the word to + march—ready to leave cabin and clearing, and wife and child, + trusting in Clark's judgment for time and place. Never were volunteers + mustered more quickly than in that cool April night by the gates of + Harrodstown Station. + </p> + <p> + “And we'll fetch Davy along, for luck,” cried Cowan, catching sight + of me beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Sure we'll be wanting a dhrummer b'y,” said McCann. + </p> + <p> + And so they enrolled me. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XII</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Campaign begins</h3> + <p> + “<span class="smcap">Davy</span>, take care of my Tom,” cried + Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + I can see her now, standing among the women by the great hewn gateposts, + with little Tom in her arms, holding him out to us as we filed by. And the + vision of his little, round face haunted Tom and me for many weary miles + of our tramp through the wilderness. I have often thought since that that + march of the volunteer company to join Clark at the Falls of the Ohio was + a superb example of confidence in one man, and scarce to be equalled in + history. + </p> + <p> + In less than a week we of Captain Harrod's little company stood on a + forest-clad bank, gazing spellbound at the troubled waters of a mighty + river. That river was the Ohio, and it divided us from the strange north + country whence the savages came. From below, the angry voice of the Great + Falls cried out to us unceasingly. Smoke rose through the tree-tops of the + island opposite, and through the new gaps of its forest cabins could be + seen. And presently, at a signal from us, a big flatboat left its shore, + swung out and circled on the polished current, and grounded at length in + the mud below us. A dozen tall boatmen, buckskin-clad, dropped the big + oars and leaped out on the bank with a yell of greeting. At the head of + them was a man of huge frame, and long, light hair falling down over the + collar of his hunting shirt. He wrung Captain Harrod's hand. + </p> + <p> + “That there's Simon Kenton, Davy,” said Cowan, as we stood watching + them. + </p> + <p> + I ran forward for a better look at the backwoods Hercules, the tales of + whose prowess had helped to while + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> + away many a winter's night in + Harrodstown Station. Big-featured and stern, yet he had the kindly eye of + the most indomitable of frontier fighters, and I doubted not the truth of + what was said of him—that he could kill any redskin hand-to-hand. + </p> + <p> + “Clark's thar,” he was saying to Captain Harrod. “God knows what + his pluck is. He ain't said a word.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't say whar he's going?” said Harrod. + </p> + <p> + “Not a notion,” answered Kenton. “He's the greatest man to keep + his mouth shut I ever saw. He kept at the governor of Virginny till he + gave him twelve hundred pounds in Continentals and power to raise troops. + Then Clark fetched a circle for Fort Pitt, raised some troops thar and in + Virginny and some about Red Stone, and come down the Ohio here with 'em in + a lot of flatboats. Now that ye've got here the Kentucky boys is all in. I + come over with Montgomery, and Dillard's here from the Holston country + with a company.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Captain Harrod, “I reckon we'll report.” + </p> + <p> + I went among the first boat-load, and as the men strained against the + current, Kenton explained that Colonel Clark had brought a number of + emigrants down the river with him; that he purposed to leave them on this + island with a little force, that they might raise corn and provisions + during the summer; and that he had called the place Corn Island. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, there's the Colonel himself,” cried Terence McCann, who was in + the bow, and indeed I could pick out the familiar figure among the hundred + frontiersmen that gathered among the stumps at the landing-place. As our + keel scraped they gave a shout that rattled in the forest behind them, and + Clark came down to the waterside. + </p> + <p> + “I knew that Harrodstown wouldn't fail me,” he said, and called + every man by name as we waded ashore. When I came splashing along after + Tom he pulled me from the water with his two hands. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” said Terence McCann, “we've brought ye a dhrummer + b'y.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> + “We'd have no luck at all without him,” said Cowan, and the men + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Can you walk an hundred miles without food, Davy?” asked Colonel + Clark, eying me gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Faith he's lean as a wolf, and no stomach to hinder him,” said + Terence, seeing me look troubled. “I'll not be missing the bit of food + the likes of him would eat.” + </p> + <p> + “And as for the heft of him,” added Cowan, “Mac and I'll not + feel it.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark laughed. “Well, boys,” he said, “if you must have + him, you must. His Excellency gave me no instructions about a drummer, + but we'll take you, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + In those days he was a man that wasted no time, was Colonel Clark, and + within the hour our little detachment had joined the others, felling trees + and shaping the log-ends for the cabins. That night, as Tom and Cowan and + McCann and James Ray lay around their fire, taking a well-earned rest, a + man broke excitedly into the light with a kettle-shaped object balanced on + his head, which he set down in front of us. The man proved to be Swein + Poulsson, and the object a big drum, and he straightway began to beat upon + it a tattoo with improvised drumsticks. + </p> + <p> + “A Red Stone man,” he cried, “a Red Stone man, he have it in the + flatboat. It is for Tavy.” + </p> + <p> + “The saints be good to us,” said Terence, “if it isn't the King's + own drum he has.” And sure enough, on the head of it gleamed the royal + arms of England, and on the other side, as we turned it over, the device + of a regiment. They flung the sling about my neck, and the next day, when + the little army drew up for parade among the stumps, there I was at the + end of the line, and prouder than any man in the ranks. And Colonel Clark + coming to my end of the line paused and smiled and patted me kindly on + the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Have you put this man on the roll, Harrod?” says he. + </p> + <p> + “No, Colonel,” answers Captain Harrod, amid the laughter of the + men at my end. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> + “What!” says the Colonel, “what an oversight! From this day he is + drummer boy and orderly to the Commander-in-chief. Beat the retreat, + my man.” + </p> + <p> + I did my best, and as the men broke ranks they crowded around me, laughing + and joking, and Cowan picked me up, drum and all, and carried me off, I + rapping furiously the while. + </p> + <p> + And so I became a kind of handy boy for the whole regiment from the + Colonel down, for I was willing and glad to work. I cooked the Colonel's + meals, roasting the turkey breasts and saddles of venison that the hunters + brought in from the mainland, and even made him journey-cake, a trick + which Polly Ann had taught me. And when I went about the island, if a man + were loafing, he would seize his axe and cry, “Here's Davy, he'll tell + the Colonel on me.” Thanks to the jokes of Terence McCann, I gained an + owl-like reputation for wisdom amongst these superstitious backwoodsmen, + and they came verily to believe that upon my existence depended the + success of the campaign. But day after day passed, and no sign from + Colonel Clark of his intentions. + </p> + <p> + “There's a good lad,” said Terence. “He'll be telling us where + we're going.” + </p> + <p> + I was asked the same question by a score or more, but Colonel Clark kept + his own counsel. He himself was everywhere during the days that followed, + superintending the work on the blockhouse we were building, and eying the + men. Rumor had it that he was sorting out the sheep from the goats, + silently choosing those who were to remain on the island and those who + were to take part in the campaign. + </p> + <p> + At length the blockhouse stood finished amid the yellow stumps of the + great trees, the trunks of which were in its walls. And suddenly the order + went forth for the men to draw up in front of it by companies, with the + families of the emigrants behind them. It was a picture to fix itself in a + boy's mind, and one that I have never forgotten. The line of backwoodsmen, + as fine a lot of men as I ever wish to see, bronzed by the June sun, + strong and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> + tireless as the wild animals of the forest, stood expectant + with rifles grounded. And beside the tallest, at the end of the line, was + a diminutive figure with a drum hung in front of it. The early summer wind + rustled in the forest, and the never ending song of the Great Falls + sounded from afar. Apart, square-shouldered and indomitable, stood a young + man of twenty-six. + </p> + <p> + “My friends and neighbors,” he said in a firm voice, “there is + scarce a man standing among you to-day who has not suffered at the hands + of savages. Some of you have seen wives and children killed before your + eyes—or dragged into captivity. None of you can to-day call the home + for which he has risked so much his own. And who, I ask you, is to blame + for this hideous war? Whose gold is it that buys guns and powder and lead + to send the Shawnee and the Iroquois and Algonquin on the warpath?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and a hoarse murmur of anger ran along the ranks. + </p> + <p> + “Whose gold but George's, by the grace of God King of Great Britain and + Ireland? And what minions distribute it? Abbott at Kaskaskia, for one, and + Hamilton at Detroit, the Hair Buyer, for another!” + </p> + <p> + When he spoke Hamilton's name his voice was nearly drowned by + imprecations. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” cried Clark, sternly, and they were silent. “My friends, + the best way for a man to defend himself is to maim his enemy. One year + since, when you did me the honor to choose me Commander-in-chief of your + militia in Kentucky, I sent two scouts to Kaskaskia. A dozen years ago the + French owned that place, and St. Vincent, and Detroit, and the people + there are still French. My men brought back word that the French feared + the Long Knives, as the Indians call us. On the first of October I went to + Virginia, and some of you thought again that I had deserted you. I went to + Williamsburg and wrestled with Governor Patrick Henry and his council, + with Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Mason and Mr. Wythe. Virginia had no troops to + send us, and her men were fighting barefoot with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> + Washington against the + armies of the British king. But the governor gave me twelve hundred pounds + in paper, and with it I have raised the little force that we have here. + And with it we will carry the war into Hamilton's country. On the swift + waters of this great river which flows past us have come tidings to-day, + and God Himself has sent them. To-morrow would have been too late. The + ships and armies of the French king are on their way across the ocean to + help us fight the tyrant, and this is the news that we bear to the + Kaskaskias. When they hear this, the French of those towns will not fight + against us. My friends, we are going to conquer an empire for liberty, and + I can look onward,” he cried in a burst of inspired eloquence, sweeping + his arm to the northward toward the forests on the far side of the Ohio, + “I can look onward to the day when these lands will be filled with the + cities of a Great Republic. And who among you will falter at such a + call?” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence, and then a shout went up from the ranks that + drowned the noise of the Falls, and many fell into antics, some throwing + their coonskin hats in the air, and others cursing and scalping Hamilton + in mockery, while I pounded on the drum with all my might. But when we had + broken ranks the rumor was whispered about that the Holston company had + not cheered, and indeed the rest of the day these men went about plainly + morose and discontented,—some saying openly (and with much justice, + though we failed to see it then) that they had their own families and + settlements to defend from the Southern Indians and Chickamauga bandits, + and could not undertake Kentucky's fight at that time. And when the + enthusiasm had burned away a little the disaffection spread, and some even + of the Kentuckians began to murmur against Clark, for faith or genius was + needful to inspire men to his plan. One of the malcontents from Boonesboro + came to our fire to argue. + </p> + <p> + “He's mad as a medicine man, is Clark, to go into that country with less + than two hundred rifles. And he'll force us, will he? I'd as lief have the + King for a master.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> + He brought every man in our circle to his feet,—Ray, McCann, Cowan, + and Tom. But Tom was nearest, and words not coming easily to him he fell + on the Boonesboro man instead, and they fought it out for ten minutes in + the firelight with half the regiment around them. At the end of it, when + the malcontents were carrying their champion away, they were stopped + suddenly at the sight of one bursting through the circle into the light, + and a hush fell upon the quarrel. It was Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt, McChesney?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon not much, Colonel,” said Tom, grinning, as he wiped his + face. + </p> + <p> + “If any man deserts this camp to-night,” cried Colonel Clark, swinging + around, “I swear by God to have him chased and brought back and punished + as he deserves. Captain Harrod, set a guard.” + </p> + <p> + I pass quickly over the rest of the incident. How the Holston men and some + others escaped in the night in spite of our guard, and swam the river on + logs. How at dawn we found them gone, and Kenton and Harrod and brave + Captain Montgomery set out in pursuit, with Cowan and Tom and Ray. All day + they rode, relentless, and the next evening returned with but eight weary + and sullen fugitives of all those who had deserted. + </p> + <p> + The next day the sun rose on a smiling world, the polished reaches of the + river golden mirrors reflecting the forest's green. And we were astir with + the light, preparing for our journey into the unknown country. At seven we + embarked by companies in the flatboats, waving a farewell to those who + were to be left behind. Some stayed through inclination and disaffection: + others because Colonel Clark did not deem them equal to the task. But + Swein Poulsson came. With tears in his little blue eyes he had begged the + Colonel to take him, and I remember him well on that June morning, his red + face perspiring under the white bristles of his hair as he strained at the + big oar. For we must needs pull a mile up the stream ere we could reach + the passage in which to shoot downward to the Falls. Suddenly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> + Poulsson + dropped his handle, causing the boat to swing round in the stream, while + the men damned him. Paying them no attention, he stood pointing into the + blinding disk of the sun. Across the edge of it a piece was bitten out in + blackness. + </p> + <p> + “Mein Gott!” he cried, “the world is being ended just now.” + </p> + <p><a name="Page_147-T1" id="Page_147-T1"></a> + “The holy saints remember us this day!” said McCann, missing a stroke + to cross himself. “Will ye pull, ye damned Dutchman? Or we'll be the + first to slide into hell. This is no kind of a place at all at all.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the men all along the line of boats had seen it, and many + faltered. Clark's voice could be heard across the waters urging them to + pull, while the bows swept across the current. They obeyed him, but + steadily the blackness ate out the light, and a weird gloaming overspread + the scene. River and forest became stern, the men silent. The more + ignorant were in fear of a cataclysm, the others taking it for an omen. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks!” said Tom, when appealed to, “I've seed it afore, and it + come all right again.” + </p> + <p> + Clark's boat rounded the shoal: next our turn came, and then the whole + line was gliding down the river, the rising roar of the angry waters with + which we were soon to grapple coming to us with an added grimness. And now + but a faint rim of light saved us from utter darkness. Big Bill Cowan, + undaunted in war, stared at me with fright written on his face. + </p> + <p> + “And what 'll ye think of it, Davy?” he said. + </p> + <p> + I glanced at the figure of our commander in the boat ahead, and took + courage. + </p> + <p> + “It's Hamilton's scalp hanging by a lock,” I answered, pointing to what + was left of the sun. “Soon it will be off, and then we'll have light + again.” + </p> + <p> + To my surprise he snatched me from the thwart and held me up with a shout, + and I saw Colonel Clark turn and look back. + </p> + <p> + “Davy says the Ha'r Buyer's sculp hangs by the lock, boys,” he + shouted, pointing at the sun. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> + The word was cried from boat to boat, and we could see the men pointing + upwards and laughing. And then, as the light began to grow, we were in the + midst of the tumbling waters, the steersmen straining now right, now left, + to keep the prows in the smooth reaches between rock and bar. We gained + the still pools below, the sun came out once more and smiled on the + landscape, and the spirits of the men, reviving, burst all bounds. + </p> + <p> + Thus I earned my reputation as a prophet. + </p> + <p> + Four days and nights we rowed down the great river, our oars + double-manned, for fear that our coming might be heralded to the French + towns. We made our first camp on a green little island at the mouth of the + Cherokee, as we then called the Tennessee, and there I set about cooking a + turkey for Colonel Clark, which Ray had shot. Chancing to look up, I saw + the Colonel himself watching me. + </p> + <p> + “How is this, Davy?” said he. “I hear that you have saved my army for me + before we have met the enemy.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know it, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “if you have learned to turn an evil omen into a good + sign, you know more than some generals. What ails you now?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a pirogue, sir,” I cried, staring and pointing. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” said he, alert all at once. “Here, McChesney, take a crew and put + out after them.” + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely spoken ere Tom and his men were rowing into the sunset, + the whole of our little army watching from the bank. Presently the other + boat was seen coming back with ours, and five strange woodsmen stepped + ashore, our men pressing around them. But Clark flew to the spot, the men + giving back. + </p> + <p> + “Who's the leader here?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + A tall man stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said he, bewildered but defiant. + </p> + <p> + “Your name?” + </p> + <p> + “John Duff,” he answered, as though against his will. + </p> + <p> + “Your business?” + </p> + <p> + “Hunters,” said Duff; “and I reckon we're in our rights.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> + “I'll judge of that,” said our Colonel. “Where are you from?” + </p> + <p> + “That's no secret, neither. Kaskasky, ten days gone.” + </p> + <p> + At that there was a murmur of surprise from our companies. Clark turned. + </p> + <p> + “Get your men back,” he said to the captains, who stood about them. And + all of them not moving: “Get your men back, I say. I'll have it known + who's in command here.” + </p> + <p> + At that the men retired. “Who commands at Kaskaskia?” he demanded of Duff. + </p> + <p> + “Monseer Rocheblave, a Frenchy holding a British commission,” said Duff. + “And the British Governor Abbott has left Post St. Vincent and gone to + Detroit. Who be you?” he added suspiciously. “Be you Rebels?” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Clark is my name, and I am in the service of the Commonwealth of + Virginia.” + </p> + <p> + Duff uttered an exclamatory oath and his manner changed. “Be you + Clark?” he said with respect. “And you're going after Kaskasky? + Wal, the mility is prime, and the Injun scouts is keeping a good lookout. + But, Colonel, I'll tell ye something: the Frenchies is etarnal afeard + of the Long Knives. My God! they've got the notion that if you ketch 'em + you'll burn and scalp 'em same as the Red Sticks.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” was all that Clark answered. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I don't know much about what the Rebels is fighting for,” said + John Duff; “but I like your looks, Colonel, and wharever you're going + there'll be a fight. Me and my boys would kinder like to go along.” + </p> + <p> + Clark did not answer at once, but looked John Duff and his men over + carefully. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take the oath of allegiance to Virginia and the Continental + Congress?” he asked at length. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it won't pizen us,” said John Duff. + </p> + <p> + “Hold up your hands,” said Clark, and they took the oath. + “Now, my men,” said he, “you will be assigned to companies. + Does any one among you know the old French trail from Massacre to + Kaskaskia?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> + “Why,” exclaimed John Duff, “why, Johnny Saunders here can tread + it in the dark like the road to the grogshop.” + </p> + <p> + John Saunders, loose limbed, grinning sheepishly, shuffled forward, and + Clark shot a dozen questions at him one after another. Yes, the trail had + been blazed the Lord knew how long ago by the French, and given up when + they left Massacre. + </p> + <p> + “Look you,” said Clark to him, “I am not a man to stand trifling. + If there is any deception in this, you will be shot without mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “And good riddance,” said John Duff. “Boys, we're Rebels now. + Steer clear of the Ha'r Buyer.” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>Kaskaskia</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">For</span> one more day we floated downward on the + face of the waters between the forest walls of the wilderness, and at + length we landed in a little gully on the north shore of the river, + and there we hid our boats. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said Colonel Clark, “let's walk about a bit. Tell me where you + learned to be so silent?” + </p> + <p> + “My father did not like to be talked to,” I answered, “except + when he was drinking.” + </p> + <p> + He gave me a strange look. Many the stroll I took with him afterwards, + when he sought to relax himself from the cares which the campaign had put + upon him. This night was still and clear, the west all yellow with the + departing light, and the mists coming on the river. And presently, as we + strayed down the shore we came upon a strange sight, the same being a huge + fort rising from the waterside, all overgrown with brush and saplings and + tall weeds. The palisades that held its earthenwork were rotten and + crumbling, and the mighty bastions of its corners sliding away. Behind the + fort, at the end farthest from the river, we came upon gravelled walks + hidden by the rank growth, where the soldiers of his most Christian + Majesty once paraded. Lost in thought, Clark stood on the parapet, + watching the water gliding by until the darkness hid it,—nay, until + the stars came and made golden dimples upon its surface. But as we went + back to the camp again he told me how the French had tried once to conquer + this vast country and failed, leaving to the Spaniards the endless stretch + beyond the Mississippi called Louisiana, and this part to the English. And + he told me likewise that this fort in the days of its glory had been + called <i>Massacre</i>, from + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> + a bloody event which had happened there more than + threescore years + before. + </p> + <p> + “Threescore years!” I exclaimed, longing to see the men of this race which + had set up these monuments only to abandon them. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, lad,” he answered, “before you or I were born, and before our fathers + were born, the French missionaries and soldiers threaded this wilderness. + And they called this river 'La Belle Rivière,'—the Beautiful + River.” + </p> + <p> + “And shall I see that race at Kaskaskia?” I asked, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “That you shall,” he cried, with a force that left no doubt in my mind. + </p> + <p> + In the morning we broke camp and started off for the strange place which + we hoped to capture. A hundred miles it was across the trackless wilds, + and each man was ordered to carry on his back provisions for four days + only. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Herr Gott!</i>” cried Swein Poulsson, from the bottom of a flatboat, + whence he was tossing out venison flitches, “four day, und vat is it ve + eat then?” + </p> + <p> + “Frenchies, sure,” said Terence; “there'll be plenty av thim for a season. + Faith, I do hear they're tinder as lambs.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll no set tooth in the Frenchies,” the pessimistic McAndrew put in, + “wi' five thousand redskins aboot, and they lying in wait. The Colonel's + no vera mindful of that, I'm thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Will ye hush, ye ill-omened hound!” cried Cowan, angrily. + “Pitch him in the crick, Mac!” + </p> + <p> + Tom was diverted from this duty by a loud quarrel between Captain Harrod + and five men of the company who wanted scout duty, and on the heels of + that came another turmoil occasioned by Cowan's dropping my drum into the + water. While he and McCann and Tom were fishing it out, Colonel Clark + himself appeared, quelled the mutiny that Harrod had on his hands, and + bade the men sternly to get into ranks. + </p> + <p> + “What foolishness is this?” he said, eying the dripping drum. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> + “Sure, Colonel,” said McCann, swinging it on his back, “we'd have + no heart in us at Kaskasky widout the rattle of it in our ears. Bill + Cowan and me will not be feeling the heft of it bechune us.” + </p> + <p> + “Get into ranks,” said the Colonel, amusement struggling with the + anger in his face as he turned on his heel. His wisdom well knew when + to humor a man, and when to chastise. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah,” said Terence, as he took his place, “I'd as soon l'ave + me gun behind as Davy and the dhrum.” + </p> + <p> + Methinks I can see now, as I write, the long file of woodsmen with their + swinging stride, planting one foot before the other, even as the Indian + himself threaded the wilderness. Though my legs were short, I had both + sinew and training, and now I was at one end of the line and now at the + other. And often with a laugh some giant would hand his gun to a neighbor, + swing me to his shoulder, and so give me a lift for a weary mile or two; + and perchance whisper to me to put down my hand into the wallet of his + shirt, where I would find a choice morsel which he had saved for his + supper. Sometimes I trotted beside the Colonel himself, listening as he + talked to this man or that, and thus I got the gravest notion of the + daring of this undertaking, and of the dangers ahead of us. This north + country was infested with Indians, allies of the English and friends of + the French their subjects; and the fact was never for an instant absent + from our minds that our little band might at any moment run into a + thousand warriors, be overpowered and massacred; or, worst of all, that + our coming might have been heralded to Kaskaskia. + </p> + <p> + For three days we marched in the green shade of the primeval wood, nor saw + the sky save in blue patches here and there. Again we toiled for hours + through the coffee-colored waters of the swamps. But the third day brought + us to the first of those strange clearings which the French call prairies, + where the long grass ripples like a lake in the summer wind. Here we first + knew raging thirst, and longed for the loam-specked water we had scorned, + as our tired feet tore through the grass. For Saunders, our + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> + guide, took a + line across the open in plain sight of any eye that might be watching from + the forest cover. But at length our column wavered and halted by reason of + some disturbance at the head of it. Conjectures in our company, the rear + guard, became rife at once. + </p> + <p> + “Run, Davy darlin,' an' see what the throuble is,” said Terence. + </p> + <p> + Nothing loath, I made my way to the head of the column, where Bowman's + company had broken ranks and stood in a ring up to their thighs in the + grass. In the centre of the ring, standing on one foot before our angry + Colonel, was Saunders. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what does this mean?” demanded Clark; “my eye is on you, + and you've boxed the compass in this last hour.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders' jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “I'm guiding you right,” he answered, with that sullenness which comes to + his kind from fear, “but a man will slip his bearings sometimes in this + country.” + </p> + <p> + Clark's eyes shot fire, and he brought down the stock of his rifle with a + thud. + </p> + <p> + “By the eternal God!” he cried, “I believe you are a traitor. I've + been watching you every step, and you've acted strangely this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” came from the men round him. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” cried Clark, and turned again to the cowering Saunders. “You + pretend to know the way to Kaskaskia, you bring us to the middle of the + Indian country where we may be wiped out at any time, and now you have the + damned effrontery to tell me that you have lost your way. I am a man of my + word,” he added with a vibrant intensity, and pointed to the limbs of a + giant tree which stood at the edge of the distant forest. “I will give you + half an hour, but as I live, I will leave you hanging there.” + </p> + <p> + The man's brown hand trembled as he clutched his rifle barrel. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a hard country, sir,” he said. “I'm lost. I swear it on the + evangels.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> + “A hard country!” cried Clark. “A man would have to walk over it but once + to know it. I believe you are a damned traitor and perjurer,—in + spite of your oath, a British spy.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders wiped the sweat from his brow on his buckskin sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I could get the trace, Colonel, if you'd let me go a little way + into the prairie.” + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour,” said Clark, “and you'll not go alone.” Sweeping + his eye over Bowman's company, he picked out a man here and a man there + to go with Saunders. Then his eye lighted on me. “Where's McChesney?” + he said. “Fetch McChesney.” + </p> + <p> + I ran to get Tom, and seven of them went away, with Saunders in the + middle, Clark watching them like a hawk, while the men sat down in the + grass to wait. Fifteen minutes went by, and twenty, and twenty-five, and + Clark was calling for a rope, when some one caught sight of the squad in + the distance returning at a run. And when they came within hail it was + Saunders' voice we heard, shouting brokenly:— + </p> + <p> + “I've struck it, Colonel, I've struck the trace. There's a pecan at the + edge of the bottom with my own blaze on it.” + </p> + <p> + “May you never be as near death again,” said the Colonel, grimly, as he + gave the order to march. + </p> + <p> + The fourth day passed, and we left behind us the patches of forest and + came into the open prairie,—as far as the eye could reach a long, + level sea of waving green. The scanty provisions ran out, hunger was added + to the pangs of thirst and weariness, and here and there in the straggling + file discontent smouldered and angry undertone was heard. Kaskaskia was + somewhere to the west and north; but how far? Clark had misled them. And + in addition it were foolish to believe that the garrison had not been + warned. English soldiers and French militia and Indian allies stood ready + for our reception. Of such was the talk as we lay down in the grass under + the stars on the fifth night. For in the rank and file an empty stomach is + not hopeful. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> + The next morning we took up our march silently with the dawn, the prairie + grouse whirring ahead of us. At last, as afternoon drew on, a dark line of + green edged the prairie to the westward, and our spirits rose. From mouth + to mouth ran the word that these were the woods which fringed the bluff + above Kaskaskia itself. We pressed ahead, and the destiny of the new + Republic for which we had fought made us walk unseen. Excitement keyed us + high; we reached the shade, plunged into it, and presently came out + staring at the bastioned corners of a fort which rose from the centre of a + clearing. It had once defended the place, but now stood abandoned and + dismantled. Beyond it, at the edge of the bluff, we halted, astonished. + The sun was falling in the west, and below us was the goal for the sight + of which we had suffered so much. At our feet, across the wooded bottom, + was the Kaskaskia River, and beyond, the peaceful little French village + with its low houses and orchards and gardens colored by the touch of the + evening light. In the centre of it stood a stone church with its belfry; + but our searching eyes alighted on the spot to the southward of it, near + the river. There stood a rambling stone building with the shingles of its + roof weathered black, and all around it a palisade of pointed sticks + thrust in the ground, and with a pair of gates and watch-towers. Drooping + on its staff was the standard of England. North and south of the village + the emerald common gleamed in the slanting light, speckled red and white + and black by grazing cattle. Here and there, in untidy brown patches, were + Indian settlements, and far away to the westward the tawny Father of + Waters gleamed through the cottonwoods. + </p> + <p> + Through the waning day the men lay resting under the trees, talking in + undertones. Some cleaned their rifles, and others lost themselves in + conjectures of the attack. But Clark himself, tireless, stood with folded + arms gazing at the scene below, and the sunlight on his face illumined him + (to the lad standing at his side) as the servant of destiny. At length, at + eventide, the sweet-toned bell of the little cathedral rang to + vespers,—a gentle message of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> + peace to war. Colonel Clark looked into my upturned face. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, do you know what day this is?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Two years have gone since the bells pealed for the birth of a new + nation—your nation, Davy, and mine—the nation that is to + be the refuge of the oppressed of this earth—the nation which + is to be made of all peoples, out of all time. And this land for which + you and I shall fight to-night will belong to it, and the lands + beyond,” he pointed to the west, “until the sun sets on the sea + again.” He put his hand on my head. “You will remember this when + I am dead and gone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I was silent, awed by the power of his words. + </p> + <p> + Darkness fell, and still we waited, impatient for the order. And when at + last it came the men bustled hither and thither to find their commands, + and we picked our way on the unseen road that led down the bluff, our + hearts thumping. The lights of the village twinkled at our feet, and now + and then a voice from below was caught and borne upward to us. Once + another noise startled us, followed by an exclamation, + “<i>Donnerblitzen</i>” and a volley of low curses from the company. + Poor Swein Poulsson had loosed a stone, which had taken a + reverberating flight riverward. + </p> + <p> + We reached the bottom, and the long file turned and hurried silently + northward, searching for a crossing. I try to recall my feelings as I + trotted beside the tall forms that loomed above me in the night. The sense + of protection they gave me stripped me of fear, and I was not troubled + with that. My thoughts were chiefly on Polly Ann and the child we had left + in the fort now so far to the south of us, and in my fancy I saw her + cheerful, ever helpful to those around her, despite the load that must + rest on her heart. I saw her simple joy at our return. But should we + return? My chest tightened, and I sped along the ranks to Harrod's company + and caught Tom by the wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he murmured, and, seizing my hand in his strong grip, pulled me + along with him. For it was not + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> + given to him to say what he felt; but as I + hurried to keep pace with his stride, Polly Ann's words rang in my ears, + “Davy, take care of my Tom,” and I knew that he, too, was thinking of her. + </p> + <p> + A hail aroused me, the sound of a loud rapping, and I saw in black relief + a cabin ahead. The door opened, a man came out with a horde of children + cowering at his heels, a volley of frightened words pouring from his mouth + in a strange tongue. John Duff was plying him with questions in French, + and presently the man became calmer and lapsed into broken English. + </p> + <p> + “Kaskaskia—yes, she is prepare. Many spy is gone out—cross + <i>la rivière</i>. But now they all sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke a shout came faintly from the distant town. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” demanded Clark, sharply. + </p> + <p> + The man shrugged his shoulders. “<i>Une fête des nègres, + peut-être</i>,—the negro, he dance maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you the ferryman?” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui</i>—I have some boat.” + </p> + <p> + We crossed the hundred and fifty yards of sluggish water, squad by squad, + and in the silence of the night stood gathered, expectant, on the farther + bank. Midnight was at hand. Commands were passed about, and men ran this + way and that, jostling one another to find their places in a new order. + But at length our little force stood in three detachments on the river's + bank, their captains repeating again and again the part which each was to + play, that none might mistake his duty. The two larger ones were to + surround the town, while the picked force under Simon Kenton himself was + to storm the fort. Should he gain it by surprise and without battle, three + shots were to be fired in quick succession, the other detachments were to + start the war-whoop, while Duff and some with a smattering of French were + to run up and down the streets proclaiming that every <i>habitan</i> who left his + house would be shot. No provision being made for the drummer boy (I had + left my drum on the heights above), I chose the favored column, at the + head of which Tom and Cowan + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> + and Ray and McCann were striding behind Kenton + and Colonel Clark. Not a word was spoken. There was a kind of cow-path + that rose and fell and twisted along the river-bank. This we followed, and + in ten minutes we must have covered the mile to the now darkened village. + The starlight alone outlined against the sky the houses of it as we + climbed the bank. Then we halted, breathless, in a street, but there was + no sound save that of the crickets and the frogs. Forward again, and + twisting a corner, we beheld the indented edge of the stockade. Still no + hail, nor had our moccasined feet betrayed us as we sought the river side + of the fort and drew up before the big river gates of it. Simon Kenton + bore against them, and tried the little postern that was set there, but + both were fast. The spikes towered a dozen feet overhead. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” muttered Clark, “a light man to go over and open the + postern.” + </p> + <p> + Before I guessed what was in his mind, Cowan seized me. + </p> + <p> + “Send the lad, Colonel,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said Simon Kenton, hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + In a second Tom was on Kenton's shoulders, and they passed me up with as + little trouble as though I had been my own drum. Feverishly searching with + my foot for Tom's shoulder, I seized the spikes at the top, clambered over + them, paused, surveyed the empty area below me, destitute even of a + sentry, and then let myself down with the aid of the cross-bars inside. As + I was feeling vainly for the bolt of the postern, rays of light suddenly + shot my shadow against the door. And next, as I got my hand on the + bolt-head, I felt the weight of another on my shoulder, and a voice behind + me said in English:— + </p> + <p> + “In the devil's name!” + </p> + <p> + I gave the one frantic pull, the bolt slipped, and caught again. Then + Colonel Clark's voice rang out in the night:— + </p> + <p> + “Open the gate! Open the gate in the name of Virginia and the Continental + Congress!” + </p> + <p> + Before I could cry out the man gave a grunt, leaned his gun against the + gate, and tore my fingers from the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> + bolt-handle. Astonishment robbed me of + breath as he threw open the postern. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of the Continental Congress,” he cried, and seized his gun. + Clark and Kenton stepped in instantly, no doubt as astounded as I, and had + the man in their grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + “Name o' Skene, from Pennsylvanya,” said the man, “and by the + Lord God ye shall have the fort.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked for us?” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, never less,” said the Pennsylvanian. “The one sentry is at + the main gate.” + </p> + <p> + “And the governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Rocheblave?” said the Pennsylvanian. “He sleeps yonder in the old + Jesuit house in the middle.” + </p> + <p> + Clark turned to Tom McChesney, who was at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Corporal!” said he, swiftly, “secure the sentry at the main gate! + You,” he added, turning to the Pennsylvanian, “lead us to the + governor. But mind, if you betray me, I'll be the first to blow out + your brains.” + </p> + <p> + The man seized a lantern and made swiftly over the level ground until the + rubble-work of the old Jesuit house showed in the light, nor Clark nor any + of them stopped to think of the danger our little handful ran at the mercy + of a stranger. The house was silent. We halted, and Clark threw himself + against the rude panels of the door, which gave to inward blackness. Our + men filled the little passage, and suddenly we found ourselves in a + low-ceiled room in front of a great four-poster bed. And in it, upright, + blinking at the light, were two odd Frenchified figures in tasselled + nightcaps. Astonishment and anger and fear struggled in the faces of + Monsieur de Rocheblave and his lady. A regard for truth compels me to + admit that it was madame who first found her voice, and no uncertain one + it was. + </p> + <p> + First came a shriek that might have roused the garrison. + </p> + <p> + “Villains! Murderers! Outragers of decency!” she cried with spirit, + pouring a heap of invectives, now in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> + French, now in English, much to the + discomfiture of our backwoodsmen, who peered at her helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nom du diable!</i>” cried the commandant, when his lady's breath was + gone, “what does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, sir,” answered Clark, promptly, “that you are my + prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “And who are you?” gasped the commandant. + </p> + <p> + “George Rogers Clark, Colonel in the service of the Commonwealth of + Virginia.” He held out his hand restrainingly, for the furious Monsieur + Rocheblave made an attempt to rise. “You will oblige me by remaining in + bed, sir, for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Coquins! Canailles! Cochons!</i>” shrieked the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said Colonel Clark, politely, “the necessities of war + are often cruel.” + </p> + <p> + He made a bow, and paying no further attention to the torrent of her + reproaches or the threats of the helpless commandant, he calmly searched + the room with the lantern, and finally pulled out from under the bed a + metal despatch box. Then he lighted a candle in a brass candlestick that + stood on the simple walnut dresser, and bowed again to the outraged couple + in the four-poster. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir,” he said, “you may dress. We will retire.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pardieu!</i>” said the commandant in French, “a hundred + thousand thanks.” + </p> + <p> + We had scarcely closed the bedroom door when three shots were heard. + </p> + <p> + “The signal!” exclaimed Clark. + </p> + <p> + Immediately a pandemonium broke on the silence of the night that must have + struck cold terror in the hearts of the poor Creoles sleeping in their + beds. The war-whoop, the scalp halloo in the dead of the morning, with the + hideous winding notes of them that reached the bluff beyond and echoed + back, were enough to frighten a man from his senses. In the intervals, in + backwoods French, John Duff and his companions were heard in terrifying + tones crying out to the <i>habitans</i> to venture out at the peril of their + lives. Within the fort a score of lights flew up and down like + will-o'-the-wisps, and Colonel Clark, standing on the steps + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> + of the governor's house, gave out + his orders and despatched his messengers. Me he sent speeding through the + village to tell Captain Bowman to patrol the outskirts of the town, that + no runner might get through to warn Fort Chartres and Cohos, as some + called Cahokia. None stirred save the few Indians left in the place, and + these were brought before Clark in the fort, sullen and defiant, and put + in the guard-house there. And Rocheblave, when he appeared, was no better, + and was put back in his house under guard. + </p> + <p> + As for the papers in the despatch box, they revealed I know not what + briberies of the savage nations and plans of the English. But of other + papers we found none, though there must have been more. Madame Rocheblave + was suspected of having hidden some in the inviolable portions of her + dress. + </p> + <p> + At length the cocks crowing for day proclaimed the morning, and while yet + the blue shadow of the bluff was on the town, Colonel Clark sallied out of + the gate and walked abroad. Strange it seemed that war had come to this + village, so peaceful and remote. And even stranger it seemed to me to see + these Arcadian homes in the midst of the fierce wilderness. The little + houses with their sloping roofs and wide porches, the gardens ablaze with + color, the neat palings,—all were a restful sight for our weary + eyes. And now I scarcely knew our commander. For we had not gone far ere, + timidly, a door opened and a mild-visaged man, in the simple workaday + smock that the French wore, stood, hesitating, on the steps. The odd thing + was that he should have bowed to Clark, who was dressed no differently + from Bowman and Harrod and Duff; and the man's voice trembled piteously as + he spoke. It needed not John Duff to tell us that he was pleading for the + lives of his family. + </p> + <p> + “He will sell himself as a slave if your Excellency will spare them,” + said Duff, translating. + </p> + <p> + But Clark stared at the man sternly. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell them my plans at the proper time,” he said and + when Duff had translated this the man turned and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> + went silently into his house again, + closing the door behind him. And before we had traversed the village the + same thing had happened many times. We gained the fort again, I wondering + greatly why he had not reassured these simple people. It was Bowman who + asked this question, he being closer to Clark than any of the other + captains. Clark said nothing then, and began to give out directions for + the day. But presently he called the Captain aside. + </p> + <p> + “Bowman,” I heard him say, “we have one hundred and fifty men to + hold a province bigger than the whole of France, and filled with + treacherous tribes in the King's pay. I must work out the problem for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Bowman was silent. Clark, with that touch which made men love him and die + for him, laid his hand on the Captain's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Have the men called in by detachments,” he said, “and fed. God + knows they must be hungry,—and you.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I remembered that he himself had had nothing. Running around the + commandant's house to the kitchen door, I came unexpectedly upon Swein + Poulsson, who was face to face with the linsey-woolsey-clad figure of + Monsieur Rocheblave's negro cook. The early sun cast long shadows of them + on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “By tam,” my friend was saying, “so I vill eat. I am choost like + an ox for three days, und chew grass. Prairie grass, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mo pas capab'</i>, Michié,” said the cook, with a terrified + roll of his white eyes. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Herr Gott!</i>” cried Swein Poulsson, “I am red face. + <i>Aber Herr Gott</i>, I thank thee I am not a nigger. Und my hair is + bristles, yes. Davy” (spying me), “I thank <i>Herr Gott</i> it is + not vool. Let us in the kitchen go.” + </p> + <p> + “I am come to get something for the Colonel's breakfast,” said I, + pushing past the slave, through the open doorway. Swein Poulsson + followed, and here I struck another contradiction in his strange nature. + He helped me light the fire in the great stone chimney-place, and we + soon had a pot of hominy on the crane, and turning on the spit a piece + of buffalo steak which we found in the larder. Nor did a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> + mouthful pass his lips until I had + sped away with a steaming portion to find the Colonel. By this time the + men had broken into the storehouse, and the open place was dotted with + their breakfast fires. Clark was standing alone by the flagstaff, his face + careworn. But he smiled as he saw me coming. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” says he. + </p> + <p> + “Your breakfast, sir,” I answered. I set down the plate and the + pot before him and pressed the pewter spoon into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Sir?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “What did you have for your breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + My lip trembled, for I was very hungry, and the rich steam from the hominy + was as much as I could stand. Then the Colonel took me by the arms, as + gently as a woman might, set me down on the ground beside him, and taking + a spoonful of the hominy forced it between my lips. I was near to fainting + at the taste of it. Then he took a bit himself, and divided the buffalo + steak with his own hands. And when from the camp-fires they perceived the + Colonel and the drummer boy eating together in plain sight of all, they + gave a rousing cheer. + </p> + <p> + “Swein Poulsson helped get your breakfast, sir, and would eat nothing + either,” I ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said Colonel Clark, gravely, “I hope you will be younger + when you are twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I shall be bigger, sir,” I answered gravely. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XIV</a> + </h2> + <h3>How the Kaskaskians were made Citizens</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Never</span> before had such a day dawned upon + Kaskaskia. With July fierceness the sun beat down upon the village, but + man nor woman nor child stirred from the darkened houses. What they + awaited at the hands of the Long Knives they knew not,—captivity, + torture, death perhaps. Through the deserted streets stalked a squad of + backwoodsmen headed by John Duff and two American traders found in the + town, who were bestirring themselves in our behalf, knocking now at this + door and anon at that. + </p> + <p> + “The Colonel bids you come to the fort,” he said, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + The church bell rang with slow, ominous strokes, far different from its + gentle vesper peal of yesterday. Two companies were drawn up in the sun + before the old Jesuit house, and presently through the gate a procession + came, grave and mournful. The tone of it was sombre in the white glare, + for men had donned their best (as they thought) for the last + time,—cloth of camlet and Cadiz and Limbourg, white cotton + stockings, and brass-buckled shoes. They came like captives led to + execution. But at their head a figure held our eye,—a figure that + spoke of dignity and courage, of trials borne for others. It was the + village priest in his robes. He had a receding forehead and a strong, + pointed chin; but benevolence was in the curve of his great nose. I + have many times since seen his type of face in the French prints. He + and his flock halted before our young Colonel, even as the citizens of + Calais in a bygone century must have stood before the English king. + </p> + <p> + The scene comes back to me. On the one side, not the warriors of a nation + that has made its mark in war, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> + but peaceful peasants who had sought this + place for its remoteness from persecution, to live and die in harmony with + all mankind. On the other, the sinewy advance guard of a race that knows + not peace, whose goddess of liberty carries in her hand a sword. The + plough might have been graven on our arms, but always the rifle. + </p> + <p> + The silence of the trackless wilds reigned while Clark gazed at them + sternly. And when he spoke it was with the voice of a conqueror, and they + listened as the conquered listen, with heads bowed—all save the + priest. + </p> + <p> + Clark told them first that they had been given a false and a wicked notion + of the American cause, and he spoke of the tyranny of the English king, + which had become past endurance to a free people. As for ourselves, the + Long Knives, we came in truth to conquer, and because of their hasty + judgment the Kaskaskians were at our mercy. The British had told them that + the Kentuckians were a barbarous people, and they had believed. + </p> + <p> + He paused that John Duff might translate and the gist of what he had said + sink in. But suddenly the priest had stepped out from the ranks, faced his + people, and was himself translating in a strong voice. When he had + finished a tremor shook the group. But he turned calmly and faced Clark + once more. + </p> + <p> + “Citizens of Kaskaskia,” Colonel Clark went on, “the king whom you + renounced when the English conquered you, the great King of France, has + judged for you and the French people. Knowing that the American cause is + just, he is sending his fleets and regiments to fight for it against the + British King, who until now has been your sovereign.” + </p> + <p> + Again he paused, and when the priest had told them this, a murmur of + astonishment came from the boldest. + </p> + <p> + “Citizens of Kaskaskia, know you that the Long Knives come not to + massacre, as you foolishly believed, but to release from bondage. We are + come not against you, who have been deceived, but against those soldiers + of the British King who have bribed the savages to slaughter our wives and + children. You have but to take the oath of allegiance to the Continental + Congress to become free, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> + even as we are, to enjoy the blessings of that + American government under which we live and for which we fight.” + </p> + <p> + The face of the good priest kindled as he glanced at Clark. He turned once + more, and though we could not understand his words, the thrill of his + eloquence moved us. And when he had finished there was a moment's hush of + inarticulate joy among his flock, and then such transports as moved + strangely the sternest men in our ranks. The simple people fell to + embracing each other and praising God, the tears running on their cheeks. + Out of the group came an old man. A skullcap rested on his silvered hair, + and he felt the ground uncertainly with his gold-headed stick. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said tremulously “you will pardon an old man if he + show feeling. I am born seventy year ago in Gascon. I inhabit this country + thirty year, and last night I think I not live any longer. Last night we + make our peace with the good God, and come here to-day to die. But we know + you not,” he cried, with a sudden and surprising vigor; “ha, we know + you not! They told us lies, and we were humble and believed. But now we + are <i>Américains,</i>” he cried, his voice pitched high, as he + pointed with a trembling arm to the stars and stripes above him. “<i>Mes + enfants, vive les Bostonnais! Vive les Américains! Vive Monsieur + le Colonel Clark, sauveur de Kaskaskia!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The listening village heard the shout and wondered. And when it had died + down Colonel Clark took the old Gascon by the hand, and not a man of his + but saw that this was a master-stroke of his genius. + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” he said simply, “I thank you. I would not force you, + and you will have some days to think over the oath of allegiance to the + Republic. Go now to your homes, and tell those who are awaiting you what + I have said. And if any man of French birth wish to leave this place, + he may go of his own free will, save only three whom I suspect are not + our friends.” + </p> + <p> + They turned, and in an ecstasy of joy quite pitiful to see went trooping + out of the gate. But scarce could they have reached the street and we have + broken ranks, when we + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> + saw them coming back again, the priest leading them + as before. They drew near to the spot where Clark stood, talking to the + captains, and halted expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, my friends?” asked the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + The priest came forward and bowed gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I am Père Gibault, sir,” he said, “curé of + Kaskaskia.” He paused, surveying our commander with a clear eye. + “There is something that still troubles the good citizens.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that, sir?” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + The priest hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “If your Excellency will only allow the church to be opened—” + he ventured. + </p> + <p> + The group stood wistful, fearful that their boldness had displeased, + expectant of reprimand. + </p> + <p> + “My good Father,” said Colonel Clark, “an American commander has + but one relation to any church. And that is” (he added with force) + “to protect it. For all religions are equal before the Republic.” + </p> + <p> + The priest gazed at him intently. + </p> + <p> + “By that answer,” said he, “your Excellency has made for your + government loyal citizens in Kaskaskia.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Colonel stepped up to the priest and took him likewise by the + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have arranged for a house in town,” said he. “Monsieur + Rocheblave has refused to dine with me there. Will you do me that honor, + Father?” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart, your Excellency,” said Father Gibault. And + turning to the people, he translated what the Colonel had said. Then + their cup of happiness was indeed full, and some ran to Clark and would + have thrown their arms about him had he been a man to embrace. Hurrying + out of the gate, they spread the news like wildfire, and presently the + church bell clanged in tones of unmistakable joy. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, Davy dear, it puts me in mind of the Saints' day at home,” + said Terence, as he stood leaning against a picket fence that bordered the + street, “savin' the presence of the naygurs and thim red divils wid + blankets an' scowls as wud turrn the milk sour in the pail.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> + He had stopped beside two Kaskaskia warriors in scarlet blankets who stood + at the corner, watching with silent contempt the antics of the French + inhabitants. Now and again one or the other gave a grunt and wrapped his + blanket more tightly about him. + </p> + <p> + “Umrrhh!” said Terence. “Faith, I talk that langwidge mesilf when + I have throuble.” The warriors stared at him with what might be called + a stoical surprise. “Umrrh! Does the holy father praych to ye wid thim + wurrds, ye haythens? Begorra, 'tis a wondher ye wuddent wash + yereselves,” he added, making a face, “wid muddy wather to be had + for the askin'.” + </p> + <p> + We moved on, through such a scene as I have seldom beheld. The village had + donned its best: women in cap and gown were hurrying hither and thither, + some laughing and some weeping; grown men embraced each other; children of + all colors flung themselves against Terence's legs,—dark-haired + Creoles, little negroes with woolly pates, and naked Indian lads with bow + and arrow. Terence dashed at them now and then, and they fled screaming + into dooryards to come out again and mimic him when he had passed, while + mothers and fathers and grandfathers smiled at the good nature in his + Irish face. Presently he looked down at me comically. + </p> + <p> + “Why wuddent ye be doin' the like, Davy?” he asked. “Amusha! + 'tis mesilf that wants to run and hop and skip wid the childher. Ye put + me in mind of a wizened old man that sat all day makin' shoes in + Killarney,—all savin' the fringe he had on his chin.” + </p> + <p> + “A soldier must be dignified,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The saints bar that wurrd from hiven,” said Terence, trying to + pronounce it. “Come, we'll go to mass, or me mother will be visitin' + me this night.” + </p> + <p> + We crossed the square and went into the darkened church, where the candles + were burning. It was the first church I had ever entered, and I heard with + awe the voice of the priest and the fervent responses, but I understood + not a word of what was said. Afterwards Father Gibault mounted to the + pulpit and stood for a moment with his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> + hand raised above his flock, and + then began to speak. What he told them I have learned since. And this I + know, that when they came out again into the sunlit square they were + Americans. It matters not when they took the oath. + </p> + <p> + As we walked back towards the fort we came to a little house with a flower + garden in front of it, and there stood Colonel Clark himself by the gate. + He stopped us with a motion of his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “we are to live here for a while, you and I. + What do you think of our headquarters?” He did not wait for me to + reply, but continued, “Can you suggest any improvement?” + </p> + <p> + “You will be needing a soldier to be on guard in front, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Colonel, “McChesney is too valuable a man. I am + sending him with Captain Bowman to take Cahokia.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have Terence, sir?” I ventured, while Terence grinned. + Whereupon Colonel Clark sent him to report to his captain that he was + detailed for orderly duty to the commanding officer. And within half an + hour he was standing guard in the flower garden, making grimaces at the + children in the street. Colonel Clark sat at a table in the little front + room, and while two of Monsieur Rocheblave's negroes cooked his dinner, he + was busy with a score of visitors, organizing, advising, planning, and + commanding. There were disputes to settle now that alarm had subsided, and + at noon three excitable gentlemen came in to inform against a certain + Monsieur Cerre, merchant and trader, then absent at St. Louis. When at + length the Colonel had succeeded in bringing their denunciations to an end + and they had departed, he looked at me comically as I stood in the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “all I ask of the good Lord is that He will + frighten me incontinently for a month before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “I think He would find that difficult, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then there's no hope for me,” he answered, laughing, “for I have + observed that fright alone brings a man into + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> + a fit spiritual state to enter heaven. + What would you say of those slanderers of Monsieur Cerre?” + </p> + <p> + Not expecting an answer, he dipped his quill into the ink-pot and turned + to his papers. + </p> + <p> + “I should say that they owed Monsieur Cerre money,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel dropped his quill and stared. As for me, I was puzzled to know + why. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said Colonel Clark, “most of us get by hard knocks what you + seem to have been born with.” He fell to musing, a worried look coming + on his face that was no stranger to me later, and his hand fell heavily on + the loose pile of paper before him. “Davy,” says he, “I need a + commissary-general.” + </p> + <p> + “What would that be, sir,” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “A John Law, who will make something out of nothing, who will make money + out of this blank paper, who will wheedle the Creole traders into + believing they are doing us a favor and making their everlasting fortune + by advancing us flour and bacon.” + </p> + <p> + “And doesn't Congress make money, sir?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “That they do, Davy, by the ton,” he replied, “and so must we, + as the rulers of a great province. For mark me, though the men are + happy to-day, in four days they will be grumbling and trying to desert + in dozens.” + </p> + <p> + We were interrupted by a knock at the door, and there stood Terence + McCann. + </p> + <p> + “His riverence!” he announced, and bowed low as the priest came + into the room. + </p> + <p> + I was bid by Colonel Clark to sit down and dine with them on the good + things which Monsieur Rocheblave's cook had prepared. After dinner they + went into the little orchard behind the house and sat drinking (in the + French fashion) the commandant's precious coffee which had been sent to + him from far-away New Orleans. Colonel Clark plied the priest with + questions of the French towns under English rule: and Father Gibault, + speaking for his simple people, said that the English had led them easily + to believe that the Kentuckians were cutthroats. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> + “Ah, monsieur,” he said, “if they but knew you! If they but knew + the principles of that government for which you fight, they would renounce + the English allegiance, and the whole of this territory would be yours. + I know them, from Quebec to Detroit and Michilimackinac and Saint + Vincennes. Listen, monsieur,” he cried, his homely face alight; + “I myself will go to Saint Vincennes for you. I will tell them the + truth, and you shall have the post for the asking.” + </p> + <p> + “You will go to Vincennes!” exclaimed Clark; “a hard and + dangerous journey of a hundred leagues!” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” answered the priest, simply, “the journey is + nothing. For a century the missionaries of the Church have walked + this wilderness alone with God. Often they have suffered, and often + died in tortures—but gladly.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark regarded the man intently. + </p> + <p> + “The cause of liberty, both religious and civil, is our cause,” Father + Gibault continued. “Men have died for it, and will die for it, and it + will prosper. Furthermore, Monsieur, my life has not known many wants. I + have saved something to keep my old age, with which to buy a little house + and an orchard in this peaceful place. The sum I have is at your service. + The good Congress will repay me. And you need the money.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark was not an impulsive man, but he felt none the less deeply, + as I know well. His reply to this generous offer was almost brusque, but + it did not deceive the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, monsieur,” he said, “it is for mankind I give it, in + remembrance of Him who gave everything. And though I receive nothing in + return, I shall have my reward an hundred fold.” + </p> + <p> + In due time, I know not how, the talk swung round again to lightness, for + the Colonel loved a good story, and the priest had many which he told with + wit in his quaint French accent. As he was rising to take his leave, + Père Gibault put his hand on my head. + </p> + <p> + “I saw your Excellency's son in the church this morning,” he said. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> + Colonel Clark laughed and gave me a pinch. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” he said, “the boy is old enough to be my father.” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked down at me with a puzzled expression in his brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I would I had him for my son,” said Colonel Clark, kindly; “but + the lad is eleven, and I shall not be twenty-six until next November.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency not twenty-six!” cried Father Gibault, in + astonishment. “What will you be when you are thirty?” + </p> + <p> + The young Colonel's face clouded. + </p> + <p> + “God knows!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Father Gibault dropped his eyes and turned to me with native tact. + </p> + <p> + “What would you like best to do, my son?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to learn to speak French,” said I, for I had been much + irritated at not understanding what was said in the streets. + </p> + <p> + “And so you shall,” said Father Gibault; “I myself will teach you. + You must come to my house to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “And Davy will teach me,” said the Colonel. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XV</a> + </h2> + <h3>Days of Trial</h3> + <p><span class="smcap">But</span> I was not immediately to take up the study + of French. Things began to happen in Kaskaskia. In the first place, + Captain Bowman's company, with a few scouts, of which Tom was one, set + out that very afternoon for the capture of Cohos, or Cahokia, and this + despite the fact that they had had no sleep for two nights. If you will + look at the map, + <a href="#footer_174-1">¹</a> you + will see, dotted along the bottoms and the bluffs beside the great + Mississippi, the string of villages, Kaskaskia, La Prairie du Rocher, + Fort Chartres, St. Philip, and Cahokia. Some few miles from Cahokia, on + the western bank of the Father of Waters, was the little French village + of St. Louis, in the Spanish territory of Louisiana. From thence + eastward stretched the great waste of prairie and forest inhabited by + roving bands of the forty Indian nations. Then you come to Vincennes on + the Wabash, Fort St. Vincent, the English and Canadians called it, for + there were a few of the latter who had settled in Kaskaskia since the + English occupation. + </p> + <div class="footer"><a id="footer_174-1" name="footer_174-1"></a> + <a href="#Page_174">¹</a>The best map which the + editor has found of this district is in vol. VI, Part 11, of + Winsor's “Narrative and Critical History of America,” p. 721. + </div> + <p> + We gathered on the western skirts of the village to give Bowman's company + a cheer, and every man, woman, and child in the place watched the little + column as it wound snakelike over the prairie on the road to Fort + Chartres, until it was lost in the cottonwoods to the westward. + </p> + <p> + Things began to happen in Kaskaskia. It would have been strange indeed if + things had not happened. One + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> + hundred and seventy-five men had marched into + that territory out of which now are carved the great states of Ohio, + Indiana, and Illinois, and to most of them the thing was a picnic, a jaunt + which would soon be finished. Many had left families in the frontier forts + without protection. The time of their enlistment had almost expired. + </p> + <p> + There was a store in the village kept by a great citizen,—not a + citizen of Kaskaskia alone, but a citizen of the world. This, I am aware, + sounds like fiction, like an attempt to get an effect which was not there. + But it is true as gospel. The owner of this store had many others + scattered about in this foreign country: at Vincennes, at St. Louis, where + he resided, at Cahokia. He knew Michilimackinac and Quebec and New + Orleans. He had been born some thirty-one years before in Sardinia, had + served in the Spanish army, and was still a Spanish subject. The name of + this famous gentleman was Monsieur François Vigo, and he was the + Rothschild of the country north of the Ohio. Monsieur Vigo, though he + merited it, I had not room to mention in the last chapter. Clark had + routed him from his bed on the morning of our arrival, and whether or not + he had been in the secret of frightening the inhabitants into making their + wills, and then throwing them into transports of joy, I know not. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Vigo's store was the village club. It had neither glass in the + window nor an attractive display of goods; it was merely a log cabin set + down on a weedy, sun-baked plot. The stuffy smell of skins and furs came + out of the doorway. Within, when he was in Kaskaskia, Monsieur Vigo was + wont to sit behind his rough walnut table, writing with a fine quill, or + dispensing the news of the villages to the priest and other prominent + citizens, or haggling with persistent blanketed braves over canoe-loads of + ill-smelling pelts which they brought down from the green forests of the + north. Monsieur Vigo's clothes were the color of the tobacco he gave in + exchange; his eyes were not unlike the black beads he traded, but shrewd + and kindly withal, set in a square saffron face that had the contradiction + of a small chin. As the days + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> + wore into months, Monsieur Vigo's place very + naturally became the headquarters for our army, if army it might be + called. Of a morning a dozen would be sitting against the logs in the + black shadow, and in the midst of them always squatted an unsavory Indian + squaw. A few braves usually stood like statues at the corner, and in front + of the door another group of hunting shirts. Without was the paper money + of the Continental Congress, within the good <i>tafia</i> and tobacco of + Monsieur Vigo. One day Monsieur Vigo's young Creole clerk stood shrugging + his shoulders in the doorway. I stopped. + </p> + <p> + “By tam!” Swein Poulsson was crying to the clerk, as he waved a + worthless scrip above his head. “Vat is money?” + </p> + <p> + This definition the clerk, not being a Doctor Johnson, was unable to give + offhand. + </p> + <p> + “Vat are you, choost? Is it America?” demanded Poulsson, while the + others looked on, some laughing, some serious. “And vich citizen are + you since you are ours? You vill please to give me one carrot of tobacco.” And he thrust the scrip under the clerk's nose. + </p> + <p> + The clerk stared at the uneven lettering on the scrip with disdain. + </p> + <p> + “Money,” he exclaimed scornfully, “she is not money. + <i>Piastre</i>—Spanish dollare—then I give you carrot.” + </p> + <p> + “By God!” shouted Bill Cowan, “ye will take Virginny paper, and + Congress paper, or else I reckon we'll have a drink and tobaccy, boys, + take or no take.” + </p> + <p> + “Hooray, Bill, ye're right,” cried several of our men. + </p> + <p> + “Lemme in here,” said Cowan. But the frightened Creole blocked the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sacré!</i>” he screamed, and then, “<i>Voleurs!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The excitement drew a number of people from the neighborhood. Nay, it + seemed as if the whole town was ringed about us. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bravo, Jules!</i>” they cried, “<i>garde-tu la porte. À + bas les Bostonnais! À bas les voleurs!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Damn such monkey talk,” said Cowan, facing them suddenly. I knew him + well, and when the giant lost his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> + temper it was gone irrevocably until a fight was over. “Call a man a + squar' name.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Frenchy,” another of our men put in, stalking up to the clerk, + “I reckon this here store's ourn, ef we've a mind to tek it. I 'low + you'll give us the rum and the 'baccy. Come on, boys!” + </p> + <p> + In between him and the clerk leaped a little, robin-like man with a red + waistcoat, beside himself with rage. Bill Cowan and his friends stared at + this diminutive Frenchman, open-mouthed, as he poured forth a veritable + torrent of unintelligible words, plentifully mixed with + <i>sacrés</i>, which he ripped out like snarls. I would as soon + have touched him as a ball of angry bees or a pair of fighting wildcats. + Not so Bill Cowan. When that worthy recovered from his first surprise he + seized hold of some of the man's twisting arms and legs and lifted him + bodily from the ground, as he would have taken a perverse and struggling + child. There was no question of a fight. Cowan picked him up, I say, and + before any one knew what happened, he flung him on to the hot roof of the + store (the eaves were but two feet above his head), and there the man + stuck, clinging to a loose shingle, purpling and coughing and spitting + with rage. There was a loud gust of guffaws from the woodsmen, and oaths + like whip-cracks from the circle around us, menacing growls as it surged + inward and our men turned to face it. A few citizens pushed through the + outskirts of it and ran away, and in the hush that followed we heard them + calling wildly the names of Father Gibault and Clark and of Vigo himself. + Cowan thrust me past the clerk into the store, where I stood listening to + the little man on the roof, scratching and clutching at the shingles, and + coughing still. + </p> + <p> + But there was no fight. Shouts of “<i>Monsieur Vigo! Voici Monsieur + Vigo!</i>” were heard, the crowd parted respectfully, and Monsieur Vigo + in his snuff-colored suit stood glancing from Cowan to his pallid clerk. + He was not in the least excited. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, my frens,” he said; “it is too hot in the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> + sun.” And he set the + example by stepping over the sill on to the hard-baked earth of the floor + within. Then he spied me. “Ah,” he said, “the boy of Monsieur le + Colonel! And how are you called, my son?” he added, patting me kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ha,” he said, “and a brave soldier, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + I was flattered as well as astonished by this attention. But Monsieur Vigo + knew men, and he had given them time to turn around. By this time Bill + Cowan and some of my friends had stooped through the doorway, followed by + a prying Kaskaskian brave and as many Creoles as could crowd behind them. + Monsieur Vigo was surprisingly calm. + </p> + <p> + “It make hot weather, my frens,” said he. “How can I serve you, + messieurs?” + </p> + <p> + “Hain't the Congress got authority here?” said one. + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to say,” answered Monsieur Vigo, rubbing his hands, + “for I think much of your principle.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the man, “we come here to trade with Congress money. + Hain't that money good in Kaskasky?” + </p> + <p> + There was an anxious pause. Then Monsieur Vigo's eyes twinkled, and he + looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “And what you say, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The money would be good if you took it, sir,” I said, not knowing + what else to answer. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sapristi!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Vigo, looking hard at me. + “Who teach you that?” + </p> + <p> + “No one, sir,” said I, staring in my turn. + </p> + <p> + “And if Congress lose, and not pay, where am I, <i>mon petit + maître de la haute finance?</i>” demanded Monsieur Vigo, + with the palms of his hands outward. + </p> + <p> + “You will be in good company, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + At that he threw back his head and laughed, and Bill Cowan and my friends + laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “Good company—<i>c'est la plupart de la vie,</i>” said Monsieur + Vigo. “<i>Et quel garçon</i>—what a boy it is!” + </p> + <p> + “I never seed his beat fer wisdom, Mister Vigo,” said Bill Cowan, + now in good humor once more at the prospect + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> + of rum and tobacco. And I found out later that he and the others had + actually given to me the credit of this coup. “He never failed us yet. + Hain't that truth, boys? Hain't we a-goin' on to St. Vincent because he + seen the Ha'r Buyer sculped on the Ohio?” + </p> + <p> + The rest assented so heartily but withal so gravely, that I am between + laughter and tears over the remembrance of it. + </p> + <p> + “At noon you come back,” said Monsieur Vigo. “I think till then + about rate of exchange, and talk with your Colonel. Davy, you stay + here.” + </p> + <p> + I remained, while the others filed out, and at length I was alone with him + and Jules, his clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, how you like to be trader?” asked Monsieur Vigo. + </p> + <p> + It was a new thought to me, and I turned it over in my mind. To see the + strange places of the world, and the stranger people; to become a man of + wealth and influence such as Monsieur Vigo; and (I fear I loved it best) + to match my brains with others at a bargain,—I turned it all over + slowly, gravely, in my boyish mind, rubbing the hard dirt on the floor + with the toe of my moccasin. And suddenly the thought came to me that I + was a traitor to my friends, a deserter from the little army that loved me + so well. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Eh bien?</i>” said Monsieur Vigo. + </p> + <p> + I shook my head, but in spite of me I felt the tears welling into my eyes + and brushed them away shamefully. At such times of stress some of my + paternal Scotch crept into my speech. + </p> + <p> + “I will no be leaving Colonel Clark and the boys,” I cried, “not + for all the money in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Congress money?” said Monsieur Vigo, with a queer expression. + </p> + <p> + It was then I laughed through my tears, and that cemented the friendship + between us. It was a lifelong friendship, though I little suspected it + then. + </p> + <p> + In the days that followed he never met me on the street that he did not + stop to pass the time of day, and ask me + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> + if I had changed my mind. He came + every morning to headquarters, where he and Colonel Clark sat by the hour + with brows knit. Monsieur Vigo was as good as his word, and took the + Congress money, though not at such a value as many would have had him. I + have often thought that we were all children then, and knew nothing of the + ingratitude of republics. Monsieur Vigo took the money, and was all his + life many, many thousand dollars the poorer. Father Gibault advanced his + little store, and lived to feel the pangs of want. And Colonel Clark? But + I must not go beyond the troubles of that summer, and the problems that + vexed our commander. One night I missed him from the room where we slept, + and walking into the orchard found him pacing there, where the moon cast + filmy shadows on the grass. By day as he went around among the men his + brow was unclouded, though his face was stern. But now I surprised the man + so strangely moved that I yearned to comfort him. He had taken three turns + before he perceived me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he said, “what are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “I missed you, sir,” I answered, staring at the furrows in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” he said almost roughly, and seizing my hand, led me back and + forth swiftly through the wet grass for I know not how long. The moon + dipped to the uneven line of the ridge-pole and slipped behind the stone + chimney. All at once he stopped, dropped my hand, and smote both of his + together. + </p> + <p> + “I <em>will</em> hold on, by the eternal!” he cried. “I will let + no American read his history and say that I abandoned this land. Let them + desert! If ten men be found who will stay, I will hold the place for the + Republic.” + </p> + <p> + “Will not Virginia and the Congress send you men, sir?” I asked + wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + He laughed a laugh that was all bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Virginia and the Continental Congress know little and care less about + me,” he answered. “Some day you will learn that foresight sometimes + comes to men, but never to assemblies. But it is often given to one man + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> + to work out the salvation of a people, and be destroyed for it. Davy, we + have been up too long.” + </p> + <p> + At the morning parade, from my wonted place at the end of the line, I + watched him with astonishment, reviewing the troops as usual. For the very + first day I had crossed the river with Terence, climbed the heights to the + old fort, and returned with my drum. But no sooner had I beaten the + retreat than the men gathered here and there in groups that smouldered + with mutiny, and I noted that some of the officers were amongst these. + Once in a while a sentence like a flaming brand was flung out. Their time + was up, their wives and children for all they knew sculped by the red + varmints, and, by the etarnal, Clark or no man living could keep them. + </p> + <p> + “Hi,” said one, as I passed, “here's Davy with his drum. + He'll be leadin' us back to Kaintuck in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” cried another man in the group, “I reckon he's had his + full of tyranny, too.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped, my face blazing red. + </p> + <p> + “Shame on you for those words!” I shouted shrilly. “Shame on you, + you fools, to desert the man who would save your wives and children. + How are the redskins to be beaten if they are not cowed in their own + country?” For I had learned much at headquarters. + </p> + <p> + They stood silent, astonished, no doubt, at the sight of my small figure + a-tremble with anger. I heard Bill Cowan's voice behind me. + </p> + <p> + “There's truth for ye,” he said, “that will slink home when a + thing's half done.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye needn't talk, Bill Cowan; it's well enough for ye. I reckon your + wife'd scare any redskin off her clearin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Many the time she scart me,” said Bill Cowan. + </p> + <p> + And so the matter went by with a laugh. But the grumbling continued, and + the danger was that the French would learn of it. The day passed, yet the + embers blazed not into the flame of open mutiny. But he who has seen + service knows how ominous is the gathering of men here and there, the low + humming talk, the silence when a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> + dissenter passes. There were fights, too, + that had to be quelled by company captains, and no man knew when the loud + quarrel between the two races at Vigo's store would grow into an ugly + battle. + </p> + <p> + What did Clark intend to do? This was the question that hung in the minds + of mutineer and faithful alike. They knew the desperation of his case. + Without money, save that which the generous Creoles had advanced upon his + personal credit; without apparent resources; without authority, save that + which the weight of his character exerted,—how could he prevent + desertion? They eyed him as he went from place to place about his + business,—erect, thoughtful, undisturbed. Few men dare to set their + will against a multitude when there are no fruits to be won. Columbus + persisted, and found a new world; Clark persisted, and won an empire for + thoughtless generations to enjoy. + </p> + <p> + That night he slept not at all, but sat, while the candles flickered in + their sockets, poring over maps and papers. I dared not disturb him, but + lay the darkness through with staring eyes. And when the windows on the + orchard side showed a gray square of light, he flung down the parchment he + was reading on the table. It rolled up of itself, and he pushed back his + chair. I heard him call my name, and leaping out of bed, I stood before + him. + </p> + <p> + “You sleep lightly, Davy,” he said, I think to try me. + </p> + <p> + I did not answer, fearing to tell him that I had been awake watching him. + </p> + <p> + “I have one friend, at least,” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “You have many, sir,” I answered, “as you will find when the + time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “The time has come,” said he; “to-day I shall be able to count + them. Davy, I want you to do something for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir?” I answered, overjoyed. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as the sun strikes that orchard,” he said, pointing out + of the window. “You have learned how to keep things to yourself. Now + I want you to impart them to others. Go out, and tell the village + that I am going away.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> + “That you are going away, sir?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “That I am going away,” he said, “with my army, (save the mark!), + with my army and my drummer boy and my paper money. Such is my faith in the + loyalty of the good people of these villages to the American cause, that I + can safely leave the flag flying over their heads with the assurance that + they will protect it.” + </p> + <p> + I stared at him doubtfully, for at times a pleasantry came out of his + bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he said, “go! Have you any love for me?” + </p> + <p> + “I have, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, I believe you,” he said, and picking up my small + hunting shirt, he flung it at me. “Put it on, and go when the sun + rises.” + </p> + <p> + As the first shaft of light over the bluff revealed the diamonds in the + orchard grass I went out, wondering. <em>Suspecting</em> would be a better + word for the nature I had inherited. But I had my orders. Terence was + pacing the garden, his leggings turned black with the dew. I looked at + him. Here was a vessel to disseminate. + </p> + <p> + “Terence, the Colonel is going back to Virginia with the army.” + </p> + <p> + “Him!” cried Terence, dropping the stock of his Deckard to the + ground. “And back to Kaintuckee! Arrah, 'tis a sin to be jokin' before + a man has a bit in his sthummick. Bad cess to yere plisantry before + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling you what the Colonel himself told me,” I answered, + and ran on. “Davy, darlin'!” I heard him calling after me as I + turned the corner, but I looked not back. + </p> + <p> + There was a single sound in the street. A thin, bronzed Indian lad + squatted against the pickets with his fingers on a reed, his cheeks + distended. He broke off with a wild, mournful note to stare at me. A wisp + of smoke stole from a stone chimney, and the smell that corn-pone and + bacon leave was in the air. A bolt was slammed back, a door creaked and + stuck, was flung open, and with a “<i>Va t'en, méchant!</i>” a + cotton-clad urchin was cast out of the house, and fled into the dusty + street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> + Breathing the morning air in the doorway, stood a young woman in a cotton + gown, a saucepan in hand. She had inquisitive eyes, a pointed, prying + nose, and I knew her to be the village gossip, the wife of Jules, + Monsieur Vigo's clerk. She had the same smattering of English as her + husband. Now she stood regarding me narrowly between half-closed lids. + </p> + <p> + “<i>A la bonne heure! Que fais-tu donc</i>? What do you do so + early?” + </p> + <p> + “The garrison is getting ready to leave for Kentucky to-day,” + I answered. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ha! Jules! Écoute-toi! Nom de dieu!</i> + Is it true what you say?” + </p> + <p> + The visage of Jules, surmounted by a nightcap and heavy with sleep, + appeared behind her. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ha, e'est Daveed!</i>” he said. “What news have you?” + </p> + <p> + I repeated, whereupon they both began to lament. + </p> + <p> + “And why is it?” persisted Jules. + </p> + <p> + “He has such faith in the loyalty of the Kaskaskians,” I answered, + parrot-like. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Diable!</i>” cried Jules, “we shall perish. We shall be as + the Acadians. And loyalty—she will not save us, no.” + </p> + <p> + Other doors creaked. Other inhabitants came in varied costumes into the + street to hear the news, lamenting. If Clark left, the day of judgment was + at hand for them, that was certain. Between the savage and the Briton not + one stone would be left standing on another. Madame Jules forgot her + breakfast, and fled up the street with the tidings. And then I made my way + to the fort, where the men were gathering about the camp-fires, talking + excitedly. Terence, relieved from duty, had done the work here. + </p> + <p> + “And he as little as a fox, wid all that in him,” he cried, when he + perceived me walking demurely past the sentry. “Davy, dear, come here + an' tell the b'ys am I a liar.” + </p> + <p> + “Davy's monstrous cute,” said Bill Cowan; “I reckon he knows as + well as me the Colonel hain't a-goin' to do no such tomfool thing as + leave.” + </p> + <p> + “He is,” I cried, for the benefit of some others, “he's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> + fair sick of grumblers that haven't got the grit to stand by him in + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord!” said Bill Cowan, “and I'll not blame him.” + He turned fiercely, his face reddening. “Shame on ye all yere lives,” + he shouted. “Ye're making the best man that ever led a regiment take + the back trail. Ye'll fetch back to Kaintuck, and draw every redskin in + the north woods suckin' after ye like leaves in a harricane wind. There + hain't a man of ye has the pluck of this little shaver that beats the + drum. I wish to God McChesney was here.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away to cross the parade ground, followed by the faithful + Terence and myself. Others gathered about him: McAndrew, who, for all his + sourness, was true; Swein Poulsson, who would have died for the Colonel; + John Duff, and some twenty more, including Saunders, whose affection had + not been killed, though Clark had nearly hanged him among the prairies. + </p> + <p> + “Begob!” said Terence, “Davy has inflooence wid his Excellency. + It's Davy we'll sind, prayin' him not to lave the Frinch alone wid their + loyalty.” + </p> + <p> + It was agreed, and I was to repeat the name of every man that sent me. + </p> + <p> + Departing on this embassy, I sped out of the gates of the fort. But, as I + approached the little house where Clark lived, the humming of a crowd came + to my ears, and I saw with astonishment that the street was blocked. It + appeared that the whole of the inhabitants of Kaskaskia were packed in + front of the place. Wriggling my way through the people, I had barely + reached the gate when I saw Monsieur Vigo and the priest, three Creole + gentlemen in uniform, and several others coming out of the door. They + stopped, and Monsieur Vigo, raising his hand for silence, made a speech in + French to the people. What he said I could not understand, and when he had + finished they broke up into groups, and many of them departed. Before I + could gain the house, Colonel Clark himself came out with Captain Helm and + Captain Harrod. The Colonel glanced at me and smiled. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> + “Parade, Davy,” he said, and walked on. + </p> + <p> + I ran back to the fort, and when I had gotten my drum the three companies + were falling into line, the men murmuring in undertones among themselves. + They were brought to attention. Colonel Clark was seen to come out of the + commandant's house, and we watched him furtively as he walked slowly to + his place in front of the line. A tremor of excitement went from sergeant + to drummer boy. The sentries closed the big gates of the fort. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel stood for a full minute surveying us calmly,—a + disquieting way he had when matters were at a crisis. Then he began to + talk. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard from many sources that you are dissatisfied, that you wish + to go back to Kentucky. If that be so, I say to you, 'Go, and God be with + you.' I will hinder no man. We have taken a brave and generous people into + the fold of the Republic, and they have shown their patriotism by giving + us freely of their money and stores.” He raised his voice. “They have + given the last proof of that patriotism this day. Yes, they have come to + me and offered to take your places, to finish the campaign which you have + so well begun and wish to abandon. To-day I shall enroll their militia + under the flag for which you have fought.” + </p> + <p> + When he had ceased speaking a murmur ran through the ranks. + </p> + <p> + “But if there be any,” he said, “who have faith in me and in the + cause for which we have come here, who have the perseverance and the + courage to remain, I will reënlist them. The rest of you shall march + for Kentucky,” he cried, “as soon as Captain Bowman's company can be + relieved at Cahokia. The regiment is dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment they remained in ranks, as though stupefied. It was Cowan who + stepped out first, snatched his coonskin hat from his head, and waved it + in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Huzzay for Colonel Clark!” he roared. “I'll foller him into + Canady, and stand up to my lick log.” + </p> + <p> + They surrounded Bill Cowan, not the twenty which + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> + had flocked to him in the morning, but four times twenty, and they + marched in a body to the commandant's house to be reënlisted. The + Colonel stood by the door, and there came a light in his eyes as he + regarded us. They cheered him again. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, lads,” he said; “remember, we may have to whistle + for our pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Damn the pay!” cried Bill Cowan, and we echoed the sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “We'll see what can be done about land grants,” said the Colonel, + and he turned away. + </p> + <p> + At dusk that evening I sat on the back door-step, by the orchard, cleaning + his rifle. The sound of steps came from the little passage behind me, and + a hand was on my head. + </p> + <p> + “Davee,” said a voice (it was Monsieur Vigo's), “do you know what + is <i>un coup d' é'tat?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! You execute one to-day. Is it not so, Monsieur le Colonel?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon he was in the secret,” said Colonel Clark. “Did you think + I meant to leave Kaskaskia, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not so easy fool,” Monsieur Vigo put in. “He tell me paper + money good if I take it. <i>C'est la haute finance!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And why didn't you think I meant to leave?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Because you bade me go out and tell everybody,” I answered. “What + you really mean to do you tell no one.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nom du bon Dieu!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Vigo.<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Yesterday Colonel Clark had stood alone, the enterprise for which he had + risked all on the verge of failure. By a master-stroke his ranks were + repleted, his position recovered, his authority secured once more. + </p> + <p> + Few men recognize genius when they see it. Monsieur Vigo was not one of + these. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XVI</a> + </h2> + <h3>Davy goes to Cahokia</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I should</span> make but a poor historian, for I have + not stuck to my chronology. But as I write, the vivid recollections are + those that I set down. I have forgotten two things of great importance. + First, the departure of Father Gibault with several Creole gentlemen and + a spy of Colonel Clark's for Vincennes, and their triumphant return in + August. The sacrifice of the good priest had not been in vain, and he + came back with the joyous news of a peaceful conquest. The stars and + stripes now waved over the fort, and the French themselves had put it + there. And the vast stretch of country from that place westward to the + Father of Waters was now American. + </p> + <p> + And that brings me to the second oversight. The surprise and conquest of + Cahokia by Bowman and his men was like that of Kaskaskia. And the French + there were loyal, too, offering their militia for service in the place of + those men of Bowman's company who would not reënlist. These came to + Kaskaskia to join our home-goers, and no sooner had the hundred marched + out of the gate and taken up their way for Kentucky than Colonel Clark + began the drilling of the new troops. + </p> + <p> + Captain Leonard Helm was sent to take charge of Vincennes, and Captain + Montgomery set out across the mountains for Williamsburg with letters + praying the governor of Virginia to come to our assistance. + </p> + <p> + For another cloud had risen in the horizon: another problem for Clark to + face of greater portent than all the others. A messenger from Captain + Bowman at Cohos came riding down the street on a scraggly French pony, and + pulled up before headquarters. The messenger was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> + Sergeant Thomas + McChesney, and his long legs almost reached the ground on either side of + the little beast. Leaping from the saddle, he seized me in his arms, set + me down, and bade me tell Colonel Clark of his arrival. + </p> + <p> + It was a sultry August morning. Within the hour Colonel Clark and Tom and + myself were riding over the dusty trace that wound westward across the + common lands of the village, which was known as the Fort Chartres road. + The heat-haze shimmered in the distance, and there was no sound in plain + or village save the tinkle of a cowbell from the clumps of shade. Colonel + Clark rode twenty paces in front, alone, his head bowed with thinking. + </p> + <p> + “They're coming into Cahokia as thick as bees out'n a gum, Davy,” + said Tom; “seems like there's thousands of 'em. Nothin' will do 'em but + they must see the Colonel,—the varmints. And they've got patience, + they'll wait thar till the b'ars git fat. I reckon they 'low Clark's got + the armies of Congress behind him. If they knowed,” said Tom, with a + chuckle, “if they knowed that we'd only got seventy of the boys and some + hundred Frenchies in the army! I reckon the Colonel's too cute for + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + The savages in Cahokia were as the leaves of the forest. Curiosity, that + mainspring of the Indian character, had brought the chiefs, big and + little, to see with their own eyes the great Captain of the Long Knives. + In vain had the faithful Bowman put them off. They would wait. Clark must + come. And Clark was coming, for he was not the man to quail at such a + crisis. For the crux of the whole matter was here. And if he failed to + impress them with his power, with the might of the Congress for which he + fought, no man of his would ever see Kentucky again. + </p> + <p> + As we rode through the bottom under the pecan trees we talked of Polly + Ann, Tom and I, and of our little home by the Salt River far to the + southward, where we would live in peace when the campaign was over. Tom + had written her, painfully enough, an affectionate scrawl, which he sent + by one of Captain Linn's men. And I, too, had written. My letter had been + about Tom, and how + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> + he had become a sergeant, and what a favorite he was + with Bowman and the Colonel. Poor Polly Ann! She could not write, but a + runner from Harrodstown who was a friend of Tom's had carried all the way + to Cahokia, in the pocket with his despatches, a fold of nettle-bark + linen. Tom pulled it from the bosom of his hunting shirt to show me, and + in it was a little ring of hair like unto the finest spun red-gold. This + was the message Polly Ann had sent,—a message from little Tom as + well. + </p> + <p> + At Prairie du Rocher, at St. Philippe, the inhabitants lined the streets + to do homage to this man of strange power who rode, unattended and + unafraid, to the council of the savage tribes which had terrorized his + people of Kentucky. From the ramparts of Fort Chartres (once one of the + mighty chain of strongholds to protect a new France, and now deserted like + Massacre), I gazed for the first time in awe at the turgid flood of the + Mississippi, and at the lands of the Spanish king beyond. With never + ceasing fury the river tore at his clay banks and worried the green + islands that braved his charge. And my boyish fancy pictured to itself the + monsters which might lie hidden in his muddy depths. + </p> + <p> + We lay that night in the open at a spring on the bluffs, and the next + morning beheld the church tower of Cahokia. A little way from the town we + perceived an odd gathering on the road, the yellowed and weathered hunting + shirts of Bowman's company mixed with the motley dress of the Creole + volunteers. Some of these gentlemen wore the costume of <i>coureurs du + bois</i>, others had odd regimental coats and hats which had seen much + service. Besides the military was a sober deputation of citizens, and + hovering behind the whole a horde of curious, blanketed braves, come to + get a first glimpse of the great white captain. So escorted, we crossed at + the mill, came to a shady street that faced the little river, and stopped + at the stone house where Colonel Clark was to abide. + </p> + <p> + On that day, and for many days more, that street was thronged with + warriors. Chiefs in gala dress strutted up and down, feathered and plumed + and blanketed, smeared + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> + with paint, bedecked with rude jewellery,—earrings + and bracelets. From the remote forests of the north they had come, where + the cold winds blow off the blue lakes; from the prairies to the east; + from the upper running waters, where the Mississippi flows clear and + undefiled by the muddy flood; from the villages and wigwams of the + sluggish Wabash; and from the sandy, piny country between the great + northern seas where Michilimackinac stands guard alone,—Sacs and + Foxes, Chippeways and Maumies and Missesogies, Puans and Pottawattomies, + chiefs and medicine men. + </p> + <p> + Well might the sleep of the good citizens be disturbed, and the women fear + to venture to the creek with their linen and their paddles! + </p> + <p> + The lives of these people hung in truth upon a slender thing—the + bearing of one man. All day long the great chiefs sought an audience with + him, but he sent them word that matters would be settled in the council + that was to come. All day long the warriors lined the picket fence in + front of the house, and more than once Tom McChesney roughly shouldered a + lane through them that timid visitors might pass. Like a pack of wolves, + they watched narrowly for any sign of weakness. As for Tom, they were to + him as so many dogs. + </p> + <p> + “Ye varmints!” he cried, “I'll take a blizz'rd at ye if ye don't + keep the way clear.” + </p> + <p> + At that they would give back grudgingly with a chorus of grunts, only to + close in again as tightly as before. But they came to have a wholesome + regard for the sun-browned man with the red hair who guarded the Colonel's + privacy. The boy who sat on the door-step, the son of the great Pale Face + Chief (as they called me), was a never ending source of comment among + them. Once Colonel Clark sent for me. The little front room of this house + was not unlike the one we had occupied at Kaskaskia. It had bare walls, a + plain table and chairs, and a crucifix in the corner. It served as dining + room, parlor, bedroom, for there was a pallet too. Now the table was + covered with parchments and papers, and beside Colonel Clark sat a grave + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> + gentleman of about his own age. As I came into the room Colonel Clark + relaxed, turned toward this gentleman, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Gratiot, behold my commissary-general, my strategist, my + financier.” And + Monsieur Gratiot smiled. He struck me as a man who never let himself go + sufficiently to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, “Vigo has told me how he settled the question of + paper money. He might do something for the Congress in the East.” + </p> + <p> + “Davy is a Scotchman, like John Law,” said the Colonel, “and he is + a master at perceiving a man's character and business.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you call me, at a venture, Davy?” asked Monsieur Gratiot. + </p> + <p> + He spoke excellent English, with only a slight accent. + </p> + <p> + “A citizen of the world, like Monsieur Vigo,” I answered at a hazard. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pardieu!</i>” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you are not far away. + Like Monsieur Vigo I keep a store here at Cahokia. Like Monsieur Vigo, + I have travelled much in my day. Do you know where Switzerland is, + Davy?” + </p> + <p> + I did not. + </p> + <p> + “It is a country set like a cluster of jewels in the heart of Europe,” + said Monsieur Gratiot, “and there are mountains there that rise amon + the clouds and are covered with perpetual snows. And when the sun sets on + those snows they are rubies, and the skies above them sapphire.” + </p> + <p> + “I was born amongst the mountains, sir,” I answered, my pulse + quickening at his description, “but they were not so high as those + you speak of.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you can understand a little my + sorrow as a lad when I left it. From Switzerland I went to a foggy place + called London, and thence I crossed the ocean to the solemn forests of + the north of Canada, where I was many years, learning the characters of + these gentlemen who are looking in upon us.” And he waved his arm at + the line of peering red faces by the pickets. Monsieur Gratiot smiled at + Clark. “And + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> + there's another point of resemblance between myself and Monsieur Vigo.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you taken the paper money?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gratiot slapped his linen breeches. “That I have,” and this + time I thought he was going to laugh. But he did not, though his eyes + sparkled. “And do you think that the good Congress will ever repay me, + Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Peste!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Gratiot, but he did not seem to + be offended or shaken. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said Colonel Clark, “we have had enough of predictions fo + the present. Fetch this letter to Captain Bowman at the garrison up the + street.” He handed me the letter. “Are you afraid of the Indians?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were, sir, I would not show it,” I said, for he had encouraged + me to talk freely to him. + </p> + <p> + “Avast!” cried the Colonel, as I was going out. “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “If I show that I am not afraid of them, sir, they will think that you + are the less so.” + </p> + <p> + “There you are for strategy, Gratiot,” said Colonel Clark, laughing. + “Get out, you rascal.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was more concerned when I appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Don't pester 'em, Davy,” said he; “fer God's sake don't pester 'em. + They're spoilin' fer a fight. Stand back thar, ye critters,” he shouted, + brandishing his rifle in their faces. “Ugh, I reckon it wouldn't take a + horse or a dog to scent ye to-day. Rank b'ar's oil! Kite along, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + Clutching the letter tightly, I slipped between the narrowed ranks, and + gained the middle of the street, not without a quickened beat of my heart. + Thence I sped, dodging this group and that, until I came to the long log + house that was called the garrison. Here our men were stationed, where + formerly a squad from an English regiment was quartered. I found Captain + Bowman, delivered the letter, and started back again through the brown, + dusty street, which lay in the shade of the great forest trees that still + lined it, doubling now and again to avoid an idling + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> + brave that looked bent upon mischief. For a single mischance might set + the tide running to massacre. + </p> + <p> + I was nearing the gate again, the dust flying from my moccasined + feet, the sight of the stalwart Tom giving me courage again. Suddenly, + with the deftness of a panther, an Indian shot forward and lifted me high + in his arms. To this day I recall my terror as I dangled in mid-air, + staring into a hideous face. By intuition I kicked him in the stomach with + all my might, and with a howl of surprise and rage his fingers gripped + into my flesh. The next thing I remember was being in the dust, suffocated + by that odor which he who has known it can never forget. A medley of + discordant cries was in my ears. Then I was snatched up, bumped against + heads and shoulders, and deposited somewhere. Now it was Tom's face that + was close to mine, and the light of a fierce anger was in his blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Did they hurt ye, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. Before I could speak he was at the gate again, + confronting the mob of savages that swayed against the fence, and the + street was filled with running figures. A voice of command that I knew + well came from behind me. It was Colonel Clark's. + </p> + <p> + “Stay where you are, McChesney!” he shouted, and Tom halted with his + hand on the latch. + </p> + <p> + “With your permission, I will speak to them,” said Monsieur Gratiot, + who had come out also. + </p> + <p> + I looked up at him, and he was as calm as when he had joked with me a + quarter of an hour since. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Clark, briefly. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gratiot surveyed them scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Hungry Wolf, who speaks English?” he said. + </p> + <p> + There was a stir in the rear ranks, and a lean savage with abnormal cheek + bones pushed forward. + </p> + <p> + “Hungry Wolf here,” he said with a grunt. + </p> + <p> + “The Hungry Wolf knew the French trader at Michilimackinac,” said + Monsieur Gratiot. “He knows that the French trader's word is a true + word. Let the Hungry + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> + Wolf tell his companions that the Chief of the Long Knives is very + angry.” + </p> + <p> + The Hungry Wolf turned, and began to speak. His words, hoarse and + resonant, seemed to come from the depths of his body. Presently he paused, + and there came an answer from the fiend who had seized me. After that + there were many grunts, and the Hungry Wolf turned again. + </p> + <p> + “The North Wind mean no harm,” he answered. “He play with the son + of the Great White Chief, and his belly is very sore where the Chief's son + kicked him.” + </p> + <p> + “The Chief of the Long Knives will consider the offence,” said + Monsieur Gratiot, and retired into the house with Colonel Clark. For a + full five minutes the Indians waited, impassive. And then Monsieur Gratiot + reappeared, alone. + </p> + <p> + “The Chief of the Long Knives is mercifully inclined to forgive,” + he said. “It was in play. But there must be no more play with the + Chief's son. And the path to the Great Chief's presence must be kept + clear.” + </p> + <p> + Again the Hungry Wolf translated. The North Wind grunted and departed in + silence, followed by many of his friends. And indeed for a while after + that the others kept a passage clear to the gate. + </p> + <p> + As for the son of the Great White Chief, he sat for a long time that + afternoon beside the truck patch of the house. And presently he slipped + out by a byway into the street again, among the savages. His heart was + bumping in his throat, but a boyish reasoning told him that he must show + no fear. And that day he found what his Colonel had long since learned to + be true—that in courage is the greater safety. The power of the + Great White Chief was such that he allowed his son to go forth alone, and + feared not for his life. Even so Clark himself walked among them, nor + looked to right or left. + </p> + <p> + Two nights Colonel Clark sat through, calling now on this man and now on + that, and conning the treaties which the English had made with the various + tribes—ay, and French and Spanish treaties too—until he knew + them all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> + by heart. There was no haste in what he did, no uneasiness in his + manner. He listened to the advice of Monsieur Gratiot and other Creole + gentlemen of weight, to the Spanish officers who came in their regimentals + from St. Louis out of curiosity to see how this man would treat with the + tribes. For he spoke of his intentions to none of them, and gained the + more respect by it. Within the week the council began; and the scene of + the great drama was a field near the village, the background of forest + trees. Few plays on the world's stage have held such suspense, few battles + such excitement for those who watched. Here was the spectacle of one + strong man's brain pitted against the combined craft of the wilderness. In + the midst of a stretch of waving grass was a table, and a young man of + six-and-twenty sat there alone. Around him were ringed the gathered + tribes, each chief in the order of his importance squatted in the inner + circle, their blankets making patches of bright color against the green. + Behind the tribes was the little group of hunting shirts, the men leaning + on the barrels of their long rifles, indolent but watchful. Here and there + a gay uniform of a Spanish or Creole officer, and behind these all the + population of the village that dared to show itself. + </p> + <p> + The ceremonies began with the kindling of the council fire,—a rite + handed down through unknown centuries of Indian usage. By it nations had + been made and unmade, broad lands passed, even as they now might pass. The + yellow of its crackling flames was shamed by the summer sun, and the black + smoke of it was wafted by the south wind over the forest. Then for three + days the chiefs spoke, and a man listened, unmoved. The sound of these + orations, wild and fearful to my boyish ear, comes back to me now. Yet + there was a cadence in it, a music of notes now falling, now rising to a + passion and intensity that thrilled us. + </p> + <p> + Bad birds flying through the land (the British agents) had besought them + to take up the bloody hatchet. They had sinned. They had listened to the + lies which the bad birds had told of the Big Knives, they had taken their + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> + presents. But now the Great Spirit in His wisdom had brought themselves + and the Chief of the Big Knives together. Therefore (suiting the action to + the word) they stamped on the bloody belt, and rent in pieces the emblems + of the White King across the water. So said the interpreters, as the + chiefs one after another tore the miniature British flags which had been + given them into bits. On the evening of the third day the White Chief rose + in his chair, gazing haughtily about him. There was a deep silence. + </p> + <p> + “Tell your chiefs,” he said, “tell your chiefs that to-morrow I + will give them an answer. And upon the manner in which they receive that + answer depends the fate of your nations. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + They rose and, thronging around him, sought to take his hand. But Clark + turned from them. + </p> + <p> + “Peace is not yet come,” he said sternly. “It is time to take the + hand when the heart is given with it.” + </p> + <p> + A feathered headsman of one of the tribes gave back with dignity and + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “It is well said by the Great Chief of the Pale Faces,” he answered; + “these in truth are not the words of a man with a double tongue.” + </p> + <p> + So they sought their quarters for the night, and suspense hung breathless + over the village. + </p> + <p> + There were many callers at the stone house that evening,—Spanish + officers, Creole gentlemen, an English Canadian trader or two. With my + elbow on the sill of the open window I watched them awhile, listening with + a boy's eagerness to what they had to say of the day's doings. They + disputed amongst themselves in various degrees of English as to the manner + of treating the red man,—now gesticulating, now threatening, now + seizing a rolled parchment treaty from the table. Clark sat alone, a + little apart, silent save a word now and then in a low tone to Monsieur + Gratiot or Captain Bowman. Here was an odd assortment of the races which + had overrun the new world. At intervals some disputant would pause in his + talk to kill a mosquito or fight away a moth or a June-bug, but + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> + presently + the argument reached such a pitch that the mosquitoes fed undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + “You have done much, sir,” said the Spanish commandant of St. Louis, + “but the savage, he will never be content without present. He will + never be won without present.” + </p> + <p> + Clark was one of those men who are perforce listened to when they begin to + speak. + </p> + <p> + “Captain de Leyba,” said he, “I know not what may be the present + policy of his Spanish Majesty with McGillivray and his Creeks in the + south, but this I do believe,” and he brought down his fist among + the papers, “that the old French and Spanish treaties were right in + principle. Here are copies of the English treaties that I have secured, + and in them thousands of sovereigns have been thrown away. They are so + much waste paper. Gentlemen, the Indians are children. If you give them + presents, they believe you to be afraid of them. I will deal with them + without presents; and if I had the gold of the Bank of England stored + in the garrison there, they should not touch a piece of it.” + </p> + <p> + But Captain de Leyba, incredulous, raised his eyebrows and shrugged. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Por Dios,</i>” he cried, “whoever hear of one man and fifty + militia subduing the northern tribes without a <i>piastre?</i>” + </p> + <p> + After a while the Colonel called me in, and sent me speeding across the + little river with a note to a certain Mr. Brady, whose house was not far + away. Like many another citizen of Cahokia, Mr. Brady was terror-ridden. A + party of young Puan bucks had decreed it to be their pleasure to encamp in + Mr. Brady's yard, to peer through the shutters into Mr. Brady's house, to + enjoy themselves by annoying Mr. Brady's family and others as much as + possible. During the Indian occupation of Cahokia this band had gained a + well-deserved reputation for mischief; and chief among them was the North + Wind himself, whom I had done the honor to kick in the stomach. To-night + they had made a fire in this Mr. Brady's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> + flower-garden, over which they + were cooking venison steaks. And, as I reached the door, the North Wind + spied me, grinned, rubbed his stomach, made a false dash at me that + frightened me out of my wits, and finally went through the pantomime of + scalping me. I stood looking at him with my legs apart, for the son of the + Great Chief must not run away. And I marked that the North Wind had two + great ornamental daubs like shutter-fastenings painted on his cheeks. I + sniffed preparation, too, on his followers, and I was sure they were + getting ready for some new deviltry. I handed the note to Mr. Brady + through the crack of the door that he vouchsafed to me, and when he had + slammed and bolted me out, I ran into the street and stood for some time + behind the trunk of a big hickory, watching the followers of the North + Wind. Some were painting themselves, others cleaning their rifles and + sharpening their scalping knives. All jabbered unceasingly. Now and again + a silent brave passed, paused a moment to survey them gravely, grunted an + answer to something they would fling at him, and went on. At length + arrived three chiefs whom I knew to be high in the councils. The North + Wind came out to them, and the four blanketed forms stood silhouetted + between me and the fire for a quarter of an hour. By this time I was sure + of a plot, and fled away to another tree for fear of detection. At length + stalked through the street the Hungry Wolf, the interpreter. I knew this + man to be friendly to Clark, and I acted on impulse. He gave a grunt of + surprise when I halted before him. I made up my mind. + </p> + <p> + “The son of the Great Chief knows that the Puans have wickedness in + their hearts to-night,” I said; “the tongue of the Hungry Wolf does + not lie.” + </p> + <p> + The big Indian drew back with another grunt, and the distant firelight + flashed on his eyes as on polished black flints. + </p> + <p> + “Umrrhh! Is the Pale Face Chief's son a prophet?” + </p> + <p> + “The anger of the Pale Face Chief and of his countrymen is as the + hurricane,” I said, scarce believing my own + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> + ears. For a lad is imitative by nature, and I had not listened to the + interpreters for three days without profit. + </p> + <p> + The Hungry Wolf grunted again, after which he was silent for a long time. + Then he said:— + </p> + <p> + “Let the Chief of the Long Knives have guard tonight.” And suddenly + he was gone into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + I waded the creek and sped to Clark. He was alone now, the shutters of the + room closed. And as I came in I could scarce believe that he was the same + masterful man I had seen at the council that day, and at the conference an + hour gone. He was once more the friend at whose feet I sat in private, who + talked to me as a companion and a father. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, Davy?” he asked. And then, “What is it, + my lad?” + </p> + <p> + I crept close to him and told him in a breathless undertone, and I knew + that I was shaking the while. He listened gravely, and when I had finished + laid a firm hand on my head. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “you are a brave lad, and a canny.” + </p> + <p> + He thought a minute, his hand still resting on my head, and then rose and + led me to the back door of the house. It was near midnight, and the sounds + of the place were stilling, the crickets chirping in the grass. + </p> + <p> + “Run to Captain Bowman and tell him to send ten men to this door. But + they must come man by man, to escape detection. Do you understand?” I + nodded and was starting, but he still held me. “God bless you, Davy, + you are a brave boy.” + </p> + <p> + He closed the door softly and I sped away, my moccasins making no sound on + the soft dirt. I reached the garrison, was challenged by Jack Terrill, the + guard, and brought by him to Bowman's room. The Captain sat, undressed, at + the edge of his bed. But he was a man of action, and strode into the long + room where his company was sleeping and gave his orders without delay. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later there was no light in the village. The Colonel's + headquarters were dark, but in the kitchen a dozen tall men were waiting. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XVII</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Sacrifice</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">So</span> far as the world knew, the Chief of the + Long Knives slept peacefully in his house. And such was his sense of + power that not even a sentry paced the street without. For by these + things is the Indian mind impressed. In the tiny kitchen a dozen men + and a boy tried to hush their breathing, and sweltered. For it was very + hot, and the pent-up odor of past cookings was stifling to men used to + the open. In a corner, hooded under a box, was a lighted lantern, and + Tom McChesney stood ready to seize it at the first alarm. On such + occasions the current of time runs sluggish. Thrice our muscles were + startled into tenseness by the baying of a hound, and once a + cock crew out of all season. For the night was cloudy and pitchy black, + and the dawn as far away as eternity. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I knew that every man in the room was on the alert, for the + skilled frontiersman, when watchful, has a sixth sense. None of them might + have told you what he had heard. The next sound was the faint creaking of + Colonel Clark's door as it opened. Wrapping a blanket around the lantern, + Tom led the way, and we massed ourselves behind the front door. Another + breathing space, and then the war-cry of the Puans broke hideously on the + night, and children woke, crying, from their sleep. In two bounds our + little detachment was in the street, the fire spouting red from the + Deckards, faint, shadowy forms fading along the line of trees. After that + an uproar of awakening, cries here and there, a drum beating madly for the + militia. The dozen flung themselves across the stream, I hot in their + wake, through Mr. Brady's gate, which was open; and there was a scene of + sweet tranquillity + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> + under the lantern's rays,—the North Wind and his + friends wrapped in their blankets and sleeping the sleep of the just. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the sly varmints,” cried Tom, and he turned over the North + Wind with his foot, as a log. + </p> + <p> + With a grunt of fury the Indian shed his blanket and scrambled to his + feet, and stood glaring at us through his paint. But suddenly he met the + fixed sternness of Clark's gaze, and his own shifted. By this time his + followers were up. The North Wind raised his hands to heaven in token of + his innocence, and then spread his palms outward. Where was the proof? + </p> + <p> + “Look!” I cried, quivering with excitement; “look, their leggings + and moccasins are wet!” + </p> + <p> + “There's no devil if they beant!” said Tom, and there was a murmur of + approval from the other men. + </p> + <p> + “The boy is right,” said the Colonel, and turned to Tom. + “Sergeant, have the chiefs put in irons.” He swung on his heel, + and without more ado went back to his house to bed. The North Wind and + two others were easily singled out as the leaders, and were straightway + escorted to the garrison house, their air of injured innocence availing + them not a whit. The militia was dismissed, and the village was hushed + once more. + </p> + <p> + But all night long the chiefs went to and fro, taking counsel among + themselves. What would the Chief of the Pale Faces do? + </p> + <p> + The morning came with a cloudy, damp dawning. Within a decent time (for + the Indian is decorous) blanketed deputations filled the archways under + the trees and waited there as the minutes ran into hours. The Chief of the + Long Knives surveyed the morning from his door-step, and his eyes rested + on a solemn figure at the gate. It was the Hungry Wolf. Sorrow was in his + voice, and he bore messages from the twenty great chiefs who stood beyond. + They were come to express their abhorrence of the night's doings, of which + they were as innocent as the deer of the forest. + </p> + <p> + “Let the Hungry Wolf tell the chiefs,” said Colonel + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> + Clark, briefly, “that the council is the place for talk.” And he + went back into the house again. + </p> + <p> + Then he bade me run to Captain Bowman with an order to bring the North + Wind and his confederates to the council field in irons. + </p> + <p> + The day followed the promise of the dawn. The clouds hung low, and now and + again great drops struck the faces of the people in the field. And like + the heavens, the assembly itself was charged with we knew not what. Was it + peace or war? As before, a white man sat with supreme indifference at a + table, and in front of him three most unhappy chiefs squatted in the + grass, the shame of their irons hidden under the blanket folds. Audacity + is truly a part of the equipment of genius. To have rescued the North Wind + and his friends would have been child's play; to have retired from the + council with threats of war, as easy. + </p> + <p> + And yet they craved pardon. + </p> + <p> + One chief after another rose with dignity in the ring and came to the + table to plead. An argument deserving mention was that the North Wind had + desired to test the friendship of the French for the Big Knives,—set + forth without a smile. To all pleaders Colonel Clark shook his head. He, + being a warrior, cared little whether such people were friends or foes. He + held them in the hollow of his hand. And at length they came no more. + </p> + <p> + The very clouds seemed to hang motionless when he rose to speak, and you + who will may read in his memoir what he said. The Hungry Wolf caught the + spirit of it, and was eloquent in his own tongue, and no word of it was + lost. First he told them of the causes of war, of the thirteen council + fires with the English, and in terms that the Indian mind might grasp, and + how their old father, the French King, had joined the Big Knives in this + righteous fight. + </p> + <p> + “Warriors,” said he, "here is a bloody belt and a white one; take + which you choose. But behave like men. Should it be the bloody path, you + may leave this town in safety to join the English, and we shall then see + which of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> + us can stain our shirts with the most blood. But, should it be the path + of peace as brothers of the Big Knives and of their friends the French, + and then you go to your homes and listen to the bad birds, you will then + no longer deserve to be called men and warriors,—but creatures of + two tongues, which ought to be destroyed. Let us then part this evening in + the hope that the Great Spirit will bring us together again with the sun + as brothers. + </p> + <p> + So the council broke up. White man and red went trooping into town, + staring curiously at the guard which was leading the North Wind and his + friends to another night of meditation. What their fate would be no man + knew. Many thought the tomahawk. + </p> + <p> + That night the citizens of the little village of <i>Pain Court</i>, as St. Louis + was called, might have seen the sky reddened in the eastward. It was the + loom of many fires at Cahokia, and around them the chiefs of the forty + tribes—all save the three in durance vile—were gathered in + solemn talk. Would they take the bloody belt or the white one? No man + cared so little as the Pale Face Chief. When their eyes were turned from + the fitful blaze of the logs, the gala light of many candles greeted them. + And above the sound of their own speeches rose the merrier note of the + fiddle. The garrison windows shone like lanterns, and behind these Creole + and backwoodsman swung the village ladies in the gay French dances. The + man at whose bidding this merrymaking was held stood in a corner watching + with folded arms, and none to look at him might know that he was playing + for a stake. + </p> + <p> + The troubled fires of the Indians had died to embers long before the + candles were snuffed in the garrison house and the music ceased. + </p> + <p> + The sun himself was pleased to hail that last morning of the great + council, and beamed with torrid tolerance upon the ceremony of kindling + the greatest of the fires. On this morning Colonel Clark did not sit + alone, but was surrounded by men of weight,—by Monsieur Gratiot and + other citizens, Captain Bowman and the Spanish officers. And when at + length the brush crackled and the flames + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> + caught the logs, three of the + mightiest chiefs arose. The greatest, victor in fifty tribal wars, held in + his hand the white belt of peace. The second bore a long-stemmed pipe with + a huge bowl. And after him, with measured steps, a third came with a + smoking censer,—the sacred fire with which to kindle the pipe. + Halting before Clark, he first swung the censer to the heavens, then to + the earth, then to all the spirits of the air,—calling these to + witness that peace was come at last,—and finally to the Chief of the + Long Knives and to the gentlemen of dignity about his person. Next the + Indian turned, and spoke to his brethren in measured, sonorous tones. He + bade them thank that Great Spirit who had cleared the sky and opened their + ears and hearts that they might receive the truth,—who had laid bare + to their understanding the lies of the English. Even as these English had + served the Big Knives, so might they one day serve the Indians. Therefore + he commanded them to cast the tomahawk into the river, and when they + should return to their land to drive the evil birds from it. And they must + send their wise men to Kaskaskia to hear the words of wisdom of the Great + White Chief, Clark. He thanked the Great Spirit for this council fire + which He had kindled at Cahokia. + </p> + <p> + Lifting the bowl of the censer, in the eyes of all the people he drew in a + long whiff to bear witness of peace. After him the pipe went the + interminable rounds of the chiefs. Colonel Clark took it, and puffed; + Captain Bowman puffed,—everybody puffed. + </p> + <p> + “Davy must have a pull,” cried Tom; and even the chiefs smiled as I + coughed and sputtered, while my friends roared with laughter. It gave me + no great notion of the fragrance of tobacco. And then came such a + hand-shaking and grunting as a man rarely sees in a lifetime. + </p> + <p> + There was but one disquieting question left: What was to become of the + North Wind and his friends? None dared mention the matter at such a time. + But at length, as the day wore on to afternoon, the Colonel was seen to + speak quietly to Captain Bowman, and several backwoodsmen went off toward + the town. And presently a silence + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> + fell on the company as they beheld the + dejected three crossing the field with a guard. They were led before + Clark, and when he saw them his face hardened to sternness. + </p> + <p> + “It is only women who watch to catch a bear sleeping,” he said. + “The Big Knives do not kill women. I shall give you meat for your + journey home, for women cannot hunt. If you remain here, you shall be + treated as squaws. Set the women free.” + </p> + <p> + Tom McChesney cast off their irons. As for Clark, he began to talk + immediately with Monsieur Gratiot, as though he had dismissed them from + his mind. And their agitation was a pitiful thing to see. In vain they + pressed about him, in vain they even pulled the fringe of his shirt to + gain his attention. And then they went about among the other chiefs, but + these dared not intercede. Uneasiness was written on every man's face, and + the talk went haltingly. But Clark was serenity itself. At length with a + supreme effort they plucked up courage to come again to the table, one + holding out the belt of peace, and the other the still smouldering pipe. + </p> + <p> + Clark paused in his talk. He took the belt, and flung it away over the + heads of those around him. He seized the pipe, and taking up his sword + from the table drew it, and with one blow clave the stem in half. There + was no anger in either act, but much deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “The Big Knives,” he said scornfully, “do not treat with women.” + </p> + <p> + The pleading began again, the Hungry Wolf interpreting with tremors of + earnestness. Their lives were spared, but to what purpose, since the White + Chief looked with disfavor upon them? Let him know that bad men from + Michilimackinac put the deed into their hearts. + </p> + <p> + “When the Big Knives come upon such people in the wilderness,” Clark + answered, “they shoot them down that they may not eat the deer. But they + have never talked of it.” + </p> + <p> + He turned from them once more; they went away in a dejection to wring our + compassion, and we thought the matter ended at last. The sun was falling + low, the people + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> + beginning to move away, when, to the astonishment of all, + the culprits were seen coming back again. With them were two young men of + their own nation. The Indians opened up a path for them to pass through, + and they came as men go to the grave. So mournful, so impressive withal, + that the crowd fell into silence again, and the Colonel turned his eyes. + The two young men sank down on the ground before him and shrouded their + heads in their blankets. + </p> + <p> + “What is this?” Clark demanded. + </p> + <p> + The North Wind spoke in a voice of sorrow:— + </p> + <p> + “An atonement to the Great White Chief for the sins of our nation. + Perchance the Great Chief will deign to strike a tomahawk into their + heads, that our nation may be saved in war by the Big Knives.” And the + North Wind held forth the pipe once more. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to say to you,” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + Still they stood irresolute, their minds now bereft of expedients. And the + young men sat motionless on the ground. As Clark talked they peered out + from under their blankets, once, twice, thrice. He was still talking to + the wondering Monsieur Gratiot. But no other voice was heard, and the eyes + of all were turned on him in amazement. But at last, when the drama had + risen to the pitch of unbearable suspense, he looked down upon the two + miserable pyramids at his feet, and touched them. The blankets quivered. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up,” said the Colonel, “and uncover.” + </p> + <p> + They rose, cast the blankets from them, and stood with a stoic dignity + awaiting his pleasure. Wonderful, fine-limbed men they were, and for the + first time Clark's eyes were seen to kindle. + </p> + <p> + “I thank the Great Spirit,” said he, in a loud voice, “that I have + found men among your nation. That I have at last discovered the real + chiefs of your people. Had they sent such as you to treat with me in the + beginning all might have been well. Go back to your people as their + chiefs, and tell them that through you the Big Knives have granted peace + to your nation.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> + Stepping forward, he grasped them each by the hand, and, despite training, + joy shone in their faces, while a long-drawn murmur arose from the + assemblage. But Clark did not stop there. He presented them to Captain + Bowman and to the French and Spanish gentlemen present, and they were + hailed by their own kind as chiefs of their nation. To cap it all our + troops, backwoodsmen and Creole militia, paraded in line on the common, + and fired a salute in their honor. + </p> + <p> + Thus did Clark gain the friendship of the forty tribes in the Northwest + country. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XVIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>“An' ye had been where I had been”</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">We</span> went back to Kaskaskia, Colonel Clark, Tom, + and myself, and a great weight was lifted from our hearts. + </p> + <p> + A peaceful autumn passed, and we were happy save when we thought of those + we had left at home. There is no space here to tell of many incidents. + Great chiefs who had not been to the council came hundreds of leagues + across wide rivers that they might see with their own eyes this man who + had made peace without gold, and these had to be amused and entertained. + </p> + <p> + The apples ripened, and were shaken to the ground by the winds. The good + Father Gibault, true to his promise, strove to teach me French. Indeed, I + picked up much of that language in my intercourse with the inhabitants of + Kaskaskia. How well I recall that simple life,—its dances, its + songs, and the games with the laughing boys and girls on the common! And + the good people were very kind to the orphan that dwelt with Colonel + Clark, the drummer boy of his regiment. + </p> + <p> + But winter brought forebodings. When the garden patches grew bare and + brown, and the bleak winds from across the Mississippi swept over the + common, untoward tidings came like water dripping from a roof, bit by bit. + And day by day Colonel Clark looked graver. The messengers he had sent to + Vincennes came not back, and the <i>coureurs</i> and traders from time to + time brought rumors of a British force gathering like a thundercloud in + the northeast. Monsieur Vigo himself, who had gone to Vincennes on his own + business, did not return. As for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> + the inhabitants, some of them who had + once bowed to us with a smile now passed with faces averted. + </p> + <p> + The cold set the miry roads like cement, in ruts and ridges. A flurry of + snow came and powdered the roofs even as the French loaves are powdered. + </p> + <p> + It was January. There was Colonel Clark on a runt of an Indian pony; Tom + McChesney on another, riding ahead, several French gentlemen seated on + stools in a two-wheeled cart, and myself. We were going to Cahokia, and it + was very cold, and when the tireless wheels bumped from ridge to gully, + the gentlemen grabbed each other as they slid about, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + All at once the merriment ceased, and looking forward we saw that Tom had + leaped from his saddle and was bending over something in the snow. These + chanced to be the footprints of some twenty men. + </p> + <p> + The immediate result of this alarming discovery was that Tom went on + express to warn Captain Bowman, and the rest of us returned to a painful + scene at Kaskaskia. We reached the village, the French gentlemen leaped + down from their stools in the cart, and in ten minutes the streets were + filled with frenzied, hooded figures. Hamilton, called the Hair Buyer, was + upon them with no less than six hundred, and he would hang them to their + own gateposts for listening to the Long Knives. These were but a handful + after all was said. There was Father Gibault, for example. Father Gibault + would doubtless be exposed to the crows in the belfry of his own church + because he had busied himself at Vincennes and with other matters. Father + Gibault was human, and therefore lovable. He bade his parishioners a hasty + and tearful farewell, and he made a cold and painful journey to the + territories of his Spanish Majesty across the Mississippi. + </p> + <p> + Father Gibault looked back, and against the gray of the winter's twilight + there were flames like red maple leaves. In the fort the men stood to + their guns, their faces flushed with staring at the burning houses. Only a + few were burned,—enough to give no cover for Hamilton and his six + hundred if they came. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> + But they did not come. The faithful Bowman and his men arrived instead, + with the news that there had been only a roving party of forty, and these + were now in full retreat. + </p> + <p> + Father Gibault came back. But where was Hamilton? This was the disquieting + thing. + </p> + <p> + One bitter day, when the sun smiled mockingly on the powdered common, a + horseman was perceived on the Fort Chartres road. It was Monsieur Vigo + returning from Vincennes, but he had been first to St. Louis by reason of + the value he set upon his head. Yes, Monsieur Vigo had been to Vincennes, + remaining a little longer than he expected, the guest of Governor + Hamilton. So Governor Hamilton had recaptured that place! Monsieur Vigo + was no spy, hence he had gone first to St. Louis. Governor Hamilton was at + Vincennes with much of King George's gold, and many supplies, and certain + Indians who had not been at the council. Eight hundred in all, said + Monsieur Vigo, using his fingers. And it was Governor Hamilton's design to + march upon Kaskaskia and Cahokia and sweep over Kentucky; nay, he had + already sent certain emissaries to McGillivray and his Creeks and the + Southern Indians with presents, and these were to press forward on their + side. The Governor could do nothing now, but would move as soon as the + rigors of winter had somewhat relented. Monsieur Vigo shook his head and + shrugged his shoulders. He loved <i>les Américains</i>. What would + <i>Monsieur le Colonel</i> do now? + </p> + <p> + <i>Monsieur le Colonel</i> was grave, but this was his usual manner. He + did not tear his hair, but the ways of the Long Knives were past + understanding. He asked many questions. How was it with the garrison at + Vincennes? Monsieur Vigo was exact, as a business man should be. They were + now reduced to eighty men, and five hundred savages had gone out to + ravage. There was no chance, then, of Hamilton moving at present? Monsieur + Vigo threw up his hands. Never had he made such a trip, and he had been + forced to come back by a northern route. The Wabash was as the Great + Lakes, and the forests grew + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> + out of the water. A fox could not go to Vincennes in this weather. A + fish? Monsieur Vigo laughed heartily. Yes, a fish might. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Colonel Clark, “we will be fish.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Vigo stared, and passed his hand from his forehead backwards over + his long hair. I leaned forward in my corner by the hickory fire. + </p> + <p> + “Then we will be fish,” said Colonel Clark. “Better that than food + for the crows. For, if we stay here, we shall be caught like bears in a + trap, and Kentucky will be at Hamilton's mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sacré!</i>” exclaimed Monsieur Vigo, “you are mad, + <i>mon ami</i>. I know what this country is, and you cannot get to + Vincennes.” + </p> + <p> + “I <em>will</em> get to Vincennes,” said Colonel Clark, so gently + that Monsieur Vigo knew he meant it. “I will <i>swim</i> to Vincennes.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Vigo raised his hands to heaven. The three of us went out of the + door and walked. There was a snowy place in front of the church all + party-colored like a clown's coat,—scarlet capotes, yellow capotes, + and blue capotes, and bright silk handkerchiefs. They surrounded the + Colonel. <i>Pardieu</i>, what was he to do now? For the British governor + and his savages were coming to take revenge on them because, in their + necessity, they had declared for Congress. Colonel Clark went silently on + his way to the gate; but Monsieur Vigo stopped, and Kaskaskia heard, with + a shock, that this man of iron was to march against Vincennes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis no news to me,” said Terence, stamping his feet on the flinty + ground; “wasn't it Davy that pointed him + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> + out to us and the hair liftin' from his head six months since?” + </p> + <p> + “Und you like schwimmin', yes?” said Swein Poulsson, his face like + the rising sun with the cold. + </p> + <p> + “Swimmin', is it?” said Terence; “sure, the divil made worse + things than wather. And Hamilton's beyant.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon that'll fetch us through,” Bill Cowan put in grimly. + </p> + <p> + 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 stitched 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + <i>Willing</i>. 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. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah,” he said, “what ails ye, darlin'?” + </p> + <p> + I gulped and the tears sprang into my eyes; whereupon + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What's to do here?” he demanded, gazing at us sternly. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark frowned, bit his lip, and Terence seized his gun and stood + to attention. + </p> + <p> + “It were right to leave you in Kaskaskia,” said the Colonel; + “the water will be over your head.” + </p> + <p> + “The King's drum would be floatin' the likes of him,” said the + irrepressible Terence, “and the b'ys would be that lonesome.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I only spoke to Terence because he asked me, sir,” I answered. + “I said nothing to any one else.” + </p> + <p> + He laid down his pen and looked at me with an odd expression. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “What then?” said Clark, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “It may keep some from going back,” I finished. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> + At that he gave a sort of gasp, and stared at me the more. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” he said, “I believe the good Lord launched you wrong end + to. Perchance you will be a child when you are fifty.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent a long time, and fell to musing. And I thought he had + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “May I go, sir?” I asked at length. + </p> + <p> + He started. + </p> + <p> + “Come here,” said he. But when I was close to him he merely laid + his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, you may go, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + He sighed, and presently turned to his writing again, and I went back + joyfully to my cleaning. + </p> + <p> + On a certain dark 4th of February, picture the village of Kaskaskia + assembled 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 + <i>Willing</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> + a drum, stepping proudly with head thrown + back. It was Cowan's voice that snapped the strain. + </p> + <p> + “Go it, Davy, my little gamecock!” 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. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_216-T1" id="Page_216-T1"></a> + 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 grass + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p> + “Who gives the feast to-night, boys?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> + 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:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-1.5em">"C'était un vieux sauvage</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Tout noir, tour barbouilla,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:5em">Ouich' ka!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Avec sa vieill' couverte</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Et son sac à tabac.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:5em">Ouich' ka!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ah! ah! tenaouich' tenaga,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Tenaouich' tenaga, ouich' ka!"</span><br /> + </p> + <p> + So sang Antoine, <i>dit le Gris</i>, in the pulsing red light. And when, + between the verses, he went through the agonies of a Huron war-dance, the + assembled 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-1.5em">"Petit Rocher de la Haute Montagne,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Je vien finir ici cette campagne!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ah! doux échos, entendez mes soupirs;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">En languissant je vais bientôt mouir!"</span><br /> + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> + “It's Davy can bate me!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Davy, Davy!” they shouted, for they were in the mood for anything. + There stood Colonel Clark in the dimmer light of the background. + “We must keep 'em screwed up, Davy,” he had said that very day. + </p> + <p> + There came to me on the instant a wild song that my father had taught me + when the liquor held him in dominance. Exhilarated, I sprang from + Terence's arms to the sodden, bared space, and methinks I yet hear my + shrill, piping note, and see my legs kicking in the fling of it. There was + an uproar, a deeper voice chimed in, and here was McAndrew flinging his + legs with mine:— + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"I've faught on land, I've faught at sea,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">At hame I faught my aunty, O;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">But I met the deevil and Dundee</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">An' ye had been where I had been,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ye wad na be sae cantie, O;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">An' ye had seen what I ha'e seen,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O."</span><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the morning Clark himself would be the first off through the gray rain, + laughing and shouting and waving his sword in the air, and I after him as + hard as I could pelt through the mud, beating the charge on my drum until + the war-cries of the regiment drowned the sound of it. For we were upon a + pleasure trip—lest any man forget,—a pleasure trip amidst + stark woods and brown plains flecked with ponds. So we followed him until + we came to a place where, in summer, two quiet rivers flowed through green + forests—the little Wabashes. And now! Now hickory and maple, oak and + cottonwood, stood shivering in three feet of water on what had been a + league of dry land. We stood dismayed at the crumbling edge of the hill, + and one hundred and seventy pairs of eyes were turned on Clark. With a + mere glance at the running stream high on the bank and the drowned forest + beyond, he turned and faced them. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you've earned a rest, boys,” he said. “We'll have + games to-day.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> + There were some dozen of the unflinching who needed not to be amused. + Choosing a great poplar, these he set to hollowing out a pirogue, and + himself came among the others and played leap-frog and the Indian game of + ball until night fell. And these, instead of moping and quarrelling, + forgot. That night, as I cooked him a buffalo steak, he drew near the fire + with Bowman. + </p> + <p> + “For the love of God keep up their spirits, Bowman,” said the + Colonel; “keep up their spirits until we get them across. Once on + the farther hills, they cannot go back.” + </p> + <p> + Here was a different being from the shouting boy who had led the games and + the war-dance that night in the circle of the blaze. Tired out, we went to + sleep with the ring of the axes in our ears, and in the morning there were + more games while the squad crossed the river to the drowned neck, built a + rough scaffold there, and notched a trail across it; to the scaffold the + baggage was ferried, and the next morning, bit by bit, the regiment. Even + now the pains shoot through my body when I think of how man after man + plunged waist-deep into the icy water toward the farther branch. The + pirogue was filled with the weak, and in the end of it I was curled up + with my drum. + </p> + <p> + Heroism is a many-sided thing. It is one matter to fight and finish, + another to endure hell's tortures hour after hour. All day they waded with + numbed feet vainly searching for a footing in the slime. Truly, the agony + of a brave man is among the greatest of the world's tragedies to see. As + they splashed onward through the tree-trunks, many a joke went forth, + though lips were drawn and teeth pounded together. I have not the heart to + recall these jokes,—it would seem a sacrilege. There were quarrels, + too, the men striving to push one another from the easier paths; and deeds + sublime when some straggler clutched at the bole of a tree for support, + and was helped onward through excruciating ways. A dozen held tremblingly + to the pirogue's gunwale, lest they fall and drown. One walked ahead with + a smile, or else fell back to lend a helping shoulder to a fainting man. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> + And there was Tom McChesney. All day long I watched him, and thanked God + that Polly Ann could not see him thus. And yet, how the pride would have + leaped within her! Humor came not easily to him, but charity and courage + and unselfishness he had in abundance. What he suffered none knew; but + through those awful hours he was always among the stragglers, helping the + weak and despairing when his strength might have taken him far ahead + toward comfort and safety. “I'm all right, Davy,” he would say, in + answer to my look as he passed me. But on his face was written something + that I did not understand. + </p> + <p> + How the Creole farmers and traders, unused even to the common ways of + woodcraft, endured that fearful day and others that followed, I know not. + And when a tardy justice shall arise and compel the people of this land to + raise a shaft in memory of Clark and those who followed him, let not the + loyalty of the French be forgotten, though it be not understood. + </p> + <p> + At eventide came to lurid and disordered brains the knowledge that the + other branch was here. And, mercifully, it was shallower than the first. + Holding his rifle high, with a war-whoop Bill Cowan plunged into the + stream. Unable to contain myself more, I flung my drum overboard and went + after it, and amid shouts and laughter I was towed across by James Ray. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark stood watching from the bank above, and it was he who pulled + me, bedraggled, to dry land. I ran away to help gather brush for a fire. + As I was heaping this in a pile I heard something that I should not have + heard. Nor ought I to repeat it now, though I did not need the flames to + send the blood tingling through my body. + </p> + <p> + “McChesney,” said the Colonel, “we must thank our stars that we + brought the boy along. He has grit, and as good a head as any of us. I + reckon if it hadn't been for him some of them would have turned back + long ago.” + </p> + <p> + I saw Tom grinning at the Colonel as gratefully as though he himself had + been praised. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> + The blaze started, and soon we had a bonfire. Some had not the strength to + hold out the buffalo meat to the fire. Even the grumblers and mutineers + were silent, owing to the ordeal they had gone through. But presently, + when they began to be warmed and fed, they talked of other trials to be + borne. The Embarrass and the big Wabash, for example. These must be like + the sea itself. + </p> + <p> + “Take the back trail, if ye like,” said Bill Cowan, with a loud + laugh. “I reckon the rest of us kin float to Vincennes on Davy's + drum.” + </p> + <p> + But there was no taking the back trail now; and well they knew it. The + games began, the unwilling being forced to play, and before they fell + asleep that night they had taken Vincennes, scalped the Hair Buyer, and + were far on the march to Detroit. + </p> + <p> + Mercifully, now that their stomachs were full, they had no worries. Few + knew the danger we were in of being cut off by Hamilton's roving bands of + Indians. There would be no retreat, no escape, but a fight to the death. + And I heard this, and much more that was spoken of in low tones at the + Colonel's fire far into the night, of which I never told the rank and + file,—not even Tom McChesney. + </p> + <p> + On and on, through rain and water, we marched until we drew near to the + river Embarrass. Drew near, did I say? “Sure, darlin',” said Terence, + staring comically over the gray waste, “we've been in it since + Choosd'y.” There was small exaggeration in it. In vain did our feet + seek the deeper water. It would go no higher than our knees, and the + sound which the regiment made in marching was like that of a great + flatboat going against the current. It had been a sad, lavender-colored + day, and now that the gloom of the night was setting in, and not so much + as a hummock showed itself above the surface, the Creoles began to murmur. + And small wonder! Where was this man leading them, this Clark who had + come amongst them from the skies, as it were? Did he know, himself? + Night fell as though a blanket had been spread over the tree-tops, and + above the dreary splashing men could be heard calling to one another in + the darkness. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> + Nor was there + any supper ahead. For our food was gone, and no game was to be shot over + this watery waste. A cold like that of eternal space settled in our bones. + Even Terence McCann grumbled. + </p> + <p> + “Begob,” said he, “'tis fine weather for fishes, and the birrds are + that comfortable in the threes. 'Tis no place for a baste at all, + at all.” + </p> + <p> + Sometime in the night there was a cry. Ray had found the water falling + from an oozy bank, and there we dozed fitfully until we were startled by a + distant boom. + </p> + <p> + It was Governor Hamilton's morning gun at Fort Sackville, Vincennes. + </p> + <p> + There was no breakfast. How we made our way, benumbed with hunger and + cold, to the banks of the Wabash, I know not. Captain McCarty's company + was set to making canoes, and the rest of us looked on apathetically as + the huge trees staggered and fell amidst a fountain of spray in the + shallow water. We were but three leagues from Vincennes. A raft was bound + together, and Tom McChesney and three other scouts sent on a desperate + journey across the river in search of boats and provisions, lest we starve + and fall and die on the wet flats. Before he left Tom came to me, and the + remembrance of his gaunt face haunted me for many years after. He drew + something from his bosom and held it out to me, and I saw that it was a + bit of buffalo steak which he had saved. I shook my head, and the tears + came into my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Davy,” he said, “ye're so little, and I beant hungry.” + </p> + <p> + Again I shook my head, and for the life of me I could say nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon Polly Ann'd never forgive me if anything was to happen to + you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At that I grew strangely angry. + </p> + <p> + “It's you who need it,” I cried, “it's you that has to do the + work. And she told me to take care of you.” + </p> + <p> + The big fellow grinned sheepishly, as was his wont. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis only a bite,” he pleaded, “'twouldn't only make me hungry, + and”—he looked hard at me—“and it might + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> + be the savin' of you. Ye'll not eat it for Polly Ann's sake?” he asked + coaxingly. + </p> + <p> + “'Twould not be serving her,” I answered indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Ye're an obstinate little deevil!” he cried, and, dropping the + morsel on the freshly cut stump, he stalked away. I ran after him, crying + out, but he leaped on the raft that was already in the stream and began + to pole across. I slipped the piece into my own hunting shirt. + </p> + <p> + All day the men who were too weak to swing axes sat listless on the bank, + watching in vain for some sight of the <i>Willing</i>. They saw a canoe rounding + the bend instead, with a single occupant paddling madly. And who should + this be but Captain Willing's own brother, escaped from the fort, where he + had been a prisoner. He told us that a man named Maisonville, with a party + of Indians, was in pursuit of him, and the next piece of news he had was + in the way of raising our despair a little. Governor Hamilton's + astonishment at seeing this force here and now would be as great as his + own. Governor Hamilton had said, indeed, that only a navy could take + Vincennes this year. Unfortunately, Mr. Willing brought no food. Next in + order came five Frenchmen, trapped by our scouts, nor had they any + provisions. But as long as I live I shall never forget how Tom McChesney + returned at nightfall, the hero of the hour. He had shot a deer; and never + did wolves pick an animal cleaner. They pressed on me a choice piece of + it, these great-hearted men who were willing to go hungry for the sake of + a child, and when I refused it they would have forced it down my throat. + Swein Poulsson, he that once hid under the bed, deserves a special tablet + to his memory. He was for giving me all he had, though his little eyes + were unnaturally bright and the red had left his cheeks now. + </p> + <p> + “He haf no belly, only a leedle on his backbone!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Begob, thin, he has the backbone,” said Terence. + </p> + <p> + “I have a piece,” said I, and drew forth that which Tom had given me. + </p> + <p> + They brought a quarter of a saddle to Colonel Clark, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> + but he smiled at them + kindly and told them to divide it amongst the weak. He looked at me as I + sat with my feet crossed on the stump. + </p> + <p> + “I will follow Davy's example,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At length the canoes were finished and we crossed the river, swimming over + the few miserable skeletons of the French ponies we had brought along. We + came to a sugar camp, and beyond it, stretching between us and Vincennes, + was a sea of water. Here we made our camp, if camp it could be called. + There was no fire, no food, and the water seeped out of the ground on + which we lay. Some of those even who had not yet spoken now openly said + that we could go no farther. For the wind had shifted into the northwest, + and, for the first time since we had left Kaskaskia we saw the stars + gleaming like scattered diamonds in the sky. Bit by bit the ground + hardened, and if by chance we dozed we stuck to it. Morning found the men + huddled like sheep, their hunting shirts hard as boards, and long before + Hamilton's gun we were up and stamping. Antoine poked the butt of his + rifle through the ice of the lake in front of us. + </p> + <p> + “I think we not get to Vincennes this day,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark, who heard him, turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch McChesney here, Davy,” he said. Tom came. + </p> + <p> + “McChesney,” said he, “when I give the word, take Davy and his + drum on your shoulders and follow me. And Davy, do you think you can + sing that song you gave us the other night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Without more ado the Colonel broke the skim of ice, and, taking some of + the water in his hand, poured powder from his flask into it and rubbed it + on his face until he was the color of an Indian. Stepping back, he raised + his sword high in the air, and, shouting the Shawanee war-whoop, took a + flying leap up to his thighs in the water. Tom swung me instantly to his + shoulder and followed, I beating the charge with all my might, though my + hands were so numb that I could scarce hold the sticks. Strangest of all, + to a man they came shouting after us. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> + “Now, Davy!” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"I've faught on land, I've faught at sea,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">At hame I faught my aunty, O;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">But I met the deevil and Dundee</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O."</span> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + I piped it at the top of my voice, and sure enough the regiment took up + the chorus, for it had a famous swing. + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"An' ye had been where I had been,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ye wad na be sae cantie, O;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">An' ye had seen what I ha'e seen'</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O."</span><br /> + </p> + <p> + When their breath was gone we heard Cowan shout that he had found a path + under his feet,—a path that was on dry land in the summer-time. We + followed it, feeling carefully, and at length, when we had suffered all + that we could bear, we stumbled on to a dry ridge. Here we spent another + night of torture, with a second backwater facing us coated with a full + inch of ice. + </p> + <p> + And still there was nothing to eat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XIX</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Hair Buyer Trapped</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">To</span> lie the night on adamant, pierced by the + needles of the frost; to awake shivering and famished, until the meaning + of an inch of ice on the backwater comes to your mind,—these are + not calculated to put a man into an equable mood to listen to oratory. + Nevertheless there was a kind of oratory to fit the case. To picture + the misery of these men is well-nigh impossible. They stood sluggishly + in groups, dazed by suffering, and their faces were drawn and their + eyes ringed, their beards and hair matted. And many found it in their + hearts to curse Clark and that government for which he fought. + </p> + <p> + When the red fire of the sun glowed through the bare branches that + morning, it seemed as if the campaign had spent itself like an arrow which + drops at the foot of the mark. Could life and interest and enthusiasm be + infused again in such as these? I have ceased to marvel how it was done. A + man no less haggard than the rest, but with a compelling force in his + eyes, pointed with a blade to the hills across the river. They must get to + them, he said, and their troubles would be ended. He said more, and they + cheered him. These are the bare facts. He picked a man here, and another + there, and these went silently to a grim duty behind the regiment. + </p> + <p> + “If any try to go back, shoot them down!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Then with a gun-butt he shattered the ice and was the first to leap into + the water under it. They followed, some with a cheer that was most pitiful + of all. They followed him blindly, as men go to torture, but they followed + him, and the splashing and crushing of the ice were sounds to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> + freeze my + body. I was put in a canoe. In my day I have beheld great suffering and + hardship, and none of it compared to this. Torn with pity, I saw them + reeling through the water, now grasping trees and bushes to try to keep + their feet, the strongest breaking the way ahead and supporting the weak + between them. More than once Clark himself tottered where he beat the ice + at the apex of the line. Some swooned and would have drowned had they not + been dragged across the canoe and chafed back to consciousness. By inches + the water shallowed. Clark reached the high ground, and then Bill Cowan, + with a man on each shoulder. Then others endured to the shallows to fall + heavily in the crumbled ice and be dragged out before they died. But at + length, by God's grace, the whole regiment was on the land. Fires would + not revive some, but Clark himself seized a fainting man by the arms and + walked him up and down in the sunlight until his blood ran again. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious day, a day when the sap ran in the maples, and the sun + soared upwards in a sky of the palest blue. All this we saw through the + tracery of the leafless branches,—a mirthless, shivering crowd, + crept through a hell of weather into the Hair Buyer's very lair. Had he + neither heard nor seen? + </p> + <p> + Down the steel-blue lane of water between the ice came a canoe. Our + stunted senses perceived it, unresponsive. A man cried out (it was Tom + McChesney); now some of them had leaped into the pirogue, now they were + returning. In the towed canoe two fat and stolid squaws and a pappoose + were huddled, and beside them—God be praised!—food. A piece of + buffalo on its way to town, and in the end compartment of the boat tallow + and bear's grease lay revealed by two blows of the tomahawk. The + kettles—long disused—were fetched, and broth made and fed in + sips to the weakest, while the strongest looked on and smiled in an agony + of self-restraint. It was a fearful thing to see men whose legs had + refused service struggle to their feet when they had drunk the steaming, + greasy mixture. And the Colonel, standing by the river's edge, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> + turned his face away—down-stream. + And then, as often, I saw the other side of the man. Suddenly he looked at + me, standing wistful at his side. + </p> + <p> + “They have cursed me,” said he, by way of a question, “they have + cursed me every day.” And seeing me silent, he insisted, “Tell me, + is it not so, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so,” I said, wondering that he should pry, “but it was + while they suffered. And—and some refrained.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” he asked queerly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I could not, sir. For I asked leave to come.” + </p> + <p> + “If they have condemned me to a thousand hells,” said he, + dispassionately, “I should not blame them.” Again he looked at me. + “Do you understand what you have done?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” I said uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “And yet there are some human qualities in you, Davy. You have been + worth more to me than another regiment.” + </p> + <p> + I stared. + </p> + <p> + “When you grow older, if you ever do, tell your children that once upon + a time you put a hundred men to shame. It is no small thing.” + </p> + <p> + Seeing him relapse into silence, I did not speak. For the space of half an + hour he stared down the river, and I knew that he was looking vainly for + the <i>Willing</i>. + </p> + <p> + At noon we crossed, piecemeal, a deep lake in the canoes, and marching + awhile came to a timber-covered rise which our French prisoners named as + the Warriors' Island. And from the shelter of its trees we saw the steely + lines of a score of low ponds, and over the tops of as many ridges a + huddle of brown houses on the higher ground. + </p> + <p> + And this was the place we had all but sold our lives to behold! This was + Vincennes at last! We were on the heights behind the town,—we were + at the back door, as it were. At the far side, on the Wabash River, was + the front door, or Fort Sackville, where the banner of England snapped in + the February breeze. + </p> + <p> + We stood there, looking, as the afternoon light flooded the plain. + Suddenly the silence was broken. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> + “Hooray for Clark!” cried a man at the edge of the copse. + </p> + <p> + “Hooray for Clark!”—it was the whole regiment this time. From + execration to exaltation was but a step, after all. And the Creoles fell + to scoffing at their sufferings and even forgot their hunger in staring at + the goal. The backwoodsmen took matters more stolidly, having acquired + long since the art of waiting. They lounged about, cleaning their guns, + watching the myriad flocks of wild ducks and geese casting blue-black + shadows on the ponds. + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, McChesney,” said Terence, as he watched the circling birds, + “Clark's a great man, but 'tis more riverince I'd have for him if wan av + thim was sizzling on the end of me ramrod.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd sooner hev the Ha'r Buyer's sculp,” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + Presently there was a drama performed for our delectation. A shot came + down the wind, and we perceived that several innocent Creole gentlemen, + unconscious of what the timber held, were shooting the ducks and geese. + Whereupon Clark chose Antoine and three of our own Creoles to sally out + and shoot likewise—as decoys. We watched them working their way over + the ridges, and finally saw them coming back with one of the Vincennes + sportsmen. I cannot begin to depict the astonishment of this man when he + reached the copse, and was led before our lean, square-shouldered + commander. Yes, monsieur, he was a friend of <i>les Américains</i>. + Did Governor Hamilton know that a visit was imminent? <i>Pardieu</i> + (with many shrugs and outward gestures of the palms), Governor Hamilton + had said if the Long Knives had wings or fins they might reach him + now—he was all unprepared. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Colonel Clark to Captains Bowman and McCarty and + Williams, “we have come so far by audacity, and we must continue by + audacity. It is of no use to wait for the gunboat, and every moment we run + the risk of discovery. I shall write an open letter to the inhabitants of + Vincennes, which the prisoner shall take into town. I shall tell them that + those who are true to the oath they swore to Father Gibault shall not be + molested + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> + if they remain quietly in their houses. Let those who are on the + side of the Hair Buyer General and his King go to the fort and fight + there.” + </p> + <p> + He bade me fetch the portfolio he carried, and with numbed fingers wrote + the letter while his captains stared in admiration and amazement. What a + stroke was this! There were six hundred men in the town and + fort,—soldiers, inhabitants, and Indians,—while we had but + 170, starved and weakened by their incredible march. But Clark was not + to be daunted. Whipping out his field-glasses, he took a stand on a + little mound under the trees and followed the fast-galloping messenger + across the plain; saw him enter the town; saw the stir in the streets, + knots of men riding out and gazing, hands on foreheads, towards the place + where we were. But, as the minutes rolled into hours, there was no + further alarm. No gun, no beat to quarters or bugle-call from Fort + Sackville. What could it mean? + </p> + <p> + Clark's next move was an enigma, for he set the men to cutting and + trimming tall sapling poles. To these were tied (how reverently!) the + twenty stands of colors which loving Creole hands had stitched. The + boisterous day was reddening to its close as the Colonel lined his little + army in front of the wood, and we covered the space of four thousand. For + the men were twenty feet apart and every tenth carried a standard. + Suddenly we were aghast as the full meaning of the inspiration dawned upon + us. The command was given, and we started on our march toward Vincennes. + But not straight,—zigzagging, always keeping the ridges between us + and the town, and to the watching inhabitants it seemed as if thousands + were coming to crush them. Night fell, the colors were furled and the + saplings dropped, and we pressed into serried ranks and marched straight + over hill and dale for the lights that were beginning to twinkle ahead of + us. + </p> + <p> + We halted once more, a quarter of a mile away. Clark himself had picked + fourteen men to go under Lieutenant Bayley through the town and take the + fort from the other side. Here was audacity with a vengeance. You may be + sure that Tom and Cowan and Ray were among these, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> + I trotted after them + with the drum banging against my thighs. + </p> + <p> + Was ever stronghold taken thus? + </p> + <p> + They went right into the town, the fourteen of them, into the main street + that led directly to the fort. The simple citizens gave back, stupefied, + at sight of the tall, striding forms. Muffled Indians stood like statues + as we passed, but these raised not a hand against us. Where were Hamilton, + Hamilton's soldiers and savages? It was as if we had come a-trading. + </p> + <p> + The street rose and fell in waves, like the prairie over which it ran. As + we climbed a ridge, here was a little log church, the rude cross on the + belfry showing dark against the sky. And there, in front of us, flanked by + blockhouses with conical caps, was the frowning mass of Fort Sackville. + </p> + <p> + “Take cover,” said Williams, hoarsely. It seemed incredible. + </p> + <p> + The men spread hither and thither, some at the corners of the church, some + behind the fences of the little gardens. Tom chose a great forest tree + that had been left standing, and I went with him. He powdered his pan, and + I laid down my drum beside the tree, and then, with an impulse that was + rare, Tom seized me by the collar and drew me to him. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he whispered, and I pinched him. “Davy, I reckon Polly + Ann'd be kinder surprised if she knew where we was. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. It seemed strange, indeed, to be talking thus at such a place. + Life has taught me since that it was not so strange, for however a man may + strive and suffer for an object, he usually sits quiet at the + consummation. Here we were in the door-yard of a peaceful cabin, the + ground frozen in lumps under our feet, and it seemed to me that the wind + had something to do with the lightness of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” whispered Tom again, “how'd ye like to see the little + feller to home?” + </p> + <p> + I pinched him again, and harder this time, for I was at + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> + a loss for + adequate words. The muscles of his legs were as hard as the strands of a + rope, and his buckskin breeches frozen so that they cracked under my + fingers. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a flickering light arose ahead of us, and another, and we saw + that they were candles beginning to twinkle through the palings of the + fort. These were badly set, the width of a man's hand apart. Presently + here comes a soldier with a torch, and as he walked we could see from + crack to crack his bluff face all reddened by the light, and so near were + we that we heard the words of his song:— + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"O, there came a lass to Sudbury Fair,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">And she had a rose in her raven hair,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!"</span><br /> + </p> + <p> + “By the etarnal!” said Tom, following the man along the palings with + the muzzle of his Deckard, “by the etarnal! 'tis like shootin' beef.” + </p> + <p> + A gust of laughter came from somewhere beyond. The burly soldier paused at + the foot of the blockhouse. + </p> + <p> + “Hi, Jem, have ye seen the General's man? His Honor's in a 'igh temper, + I warrant ye.” + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate for Jem that he put his foot inside the blockhouse door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, boys!” + </p> + <p> + It was Williams's voice, and fourteen rifles sputtered out a ragged + volley. + </p> + <p> + There was an instant's silence, and then a score of voices raised in + consternation,—shouting, cursing, commanding. Heavy feet pounded on + the platform of the blockhouse. While Tom was savagely jamming in powder + and ball, the wicket gate of the fort opened, a man came out and ran to a + house a biscuit's throw away, and ran back again before he was shot at, + slamming the gate after him. Tom swore. + </p> + <p> + “We've got but the ten rounds,” he said, dropping his rifle to + his knee. “I reckon 'tis no use to waste it.” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Willing</i> may come to-night,” I answered. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> + There was a bugle winding a strange call, and the roll of a drum, and the + running continued. + </p> + <p> + “Don't fire till you're sure, boys,” said Captain Williams. + </p> + <p> + Our eyes caught sight of a form in the blockhouse port, there was an + instant when a candle flung its rays upon a cannon's flank, and Tom's + rifle spat a rod of flame. A red blot hid the cannon's mouth, and behind + it a man staggered and fell on the candle, while the shot crunched its way + through the logs of the cottage in the yard where we stood. And now the + battle was on in earnest, fire darting here and there from the black wall, + bullets whistling and flying wide, and at intervals cannon belching, their + shot grinding through trees and houses. But our men waited until the + gunners lit their matches in the cannon-ports,—it was no trick for a + backwoodsman. + </p> + <p> + At length there came a popping right and left, and we knew that Bowman and + McCarty's men had swung into position there. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and a shadow came along our line, darting from cover to + cover. It was Lieutenant Bayley, and he sent me back to find the Colonel + and to tell him that the men had but a few rounds left. I sped through the + streets on the errand, spied a Creole company waiting in reserve, and near + them, behind a warehouse, a knot of backwoodsmen, French, and Indians, + lighted up by a smoking torch. And here was Colonel Clark talking to a + big, blanketed chief. I was hovering around the skirts of the crowd and + seeking for an opening, when a hand pulled me off my feet. + </p> + <p> + “What 'll ye be afther now?” said a voice, which was Terence's. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” I cried, “I have a message from Lieutenant Bayley.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Terence, “a man'd think ye had the Hair Buyer's + sculp in yere pocket. The Colonel is treaty-makin' with Tobaccy's Son, + the grreatest Injun in these parrts.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + “Hist!” said Terence. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> + “Let me go,” I yelled, so loudly that the Colonel turned, and Terence + dropped me like a live coal. I wormed my way to where Clark stood. + Tobacco's Son was at that moment protesting that the Big Knives were his + brothers, and declaring that before morning broke he would have one + hundred warriors for the Great White Chief. Had he not made a treaty of + peace with Captain Helm, who was even then a prisoner of the British + general in the fort? + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark replied that he knew well of the fidelity of Tobacco's Son + to the Big Knives, that Tobacco's Son had remained stanch in the face of + bribes and presents (this was true). Now all that Colonel Clark desired of + Tobacco's Son besides his friendship was that he would keep his warriors + from battle. The Big Knives would fight their own fight. To this sentiment + Tobacco's Son grunted extreme approval. Colonel Clark turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Tobacco's Son has dug up for us King George's ammunition,” he said. + “Go tell Lieutenant Bayley that I will send him enough to last him a + month.” + </p> + <p> + I sped away with the message. Presently I came back again, upon another + message, and they were eating,—those reserves,—they were + eating as I had never seen men eat but once, at Kaskaskia. The baker stood + by with lifted palms, imploring the saints that he might have some + compensation, until Clark sent him back to his shop to knead and bake + again. The good Creoles approached the fires with the contents of their + larders in their hands. Terence tossed me a loaf the size of a cannon + ball, and another. + </p> + <p> + “Fetch that wan to wan av the b'ys,” said he. + </p> + <p> + I seized as much as my arms could hold and scurried away to the firing + line once more, and, heedless of whistling bullets, darted from man to man + until the bread was exhausted. Not a one but gave me a “God bless you, + Davy,” ere he seized it with a great hand and began to eat in wolfish + bites, his Deckard always on the watch the while. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> + There was no sleep in the village. All night long, while the rifles + sputtered, the villagers in their capotes—men, women, and + children—huddled around the fires. The young men of the militia + begged Clark to allow them to fight, and to keep them well affected he + sent some here and there amongst our lines. For our Colonel's strength + was not counted by rifles or men alone: he fought with his brain. As + Hamilton, the Hair Buyer, made his rounds, he believed the town to be + in possession of a horde of Kentuckians. Shouts, war-whoops, and bursts + of laughter went up from behind the town. Surely a great force was + there, a small part of which had been sent to play with him and his + men. On the fighting line, when there was a lull, our backwoodsmen + stood up behind their trees and cursed the enemy roundly, and often + by these taunts persuaded the furious gunners to open their ports and + fire their cannon. Woe be to him that showed an arm or a shoulder! + Though a casement be lifted ever so warily, a dozen balls + would fly into it. And at length, when some of the besieged had died in + their anger, the ports were opened no more. It was then our sharpshooters + crept up boldly to within thirty yards of them—nay, it seemed as if + they lay under the very walls of the fort. And through the night the + figure of the Colonel himself was often seen amongst them, praising their + markmanship, pleading with every man not to expose himself without cause. + He spied me where I had wormed myself behind the foot-board of a picket + fence beneath the cannon-port of a blockhouse. It was during one of the + breathing spaces. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” said he to Cowan, sharply, feeling me with his foot. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it's Davy, sir,” said my friend, somewhat sheepishly. “We + can't do nothin' with him. He's been up and down the line twenty times + this night.” + </p> + <p> + “What doing?” says the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Bread and powder and bullets,” answered Bill. + </p> + <p> + “But that's all over,” says Clark. + </p> + <p> + “He's the very devil to pry,” answered Bill. “The first we know + he'll be into the fort under the logs.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> + “Or between them,” says Clark, with a glance at the open palings. + “Come here, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + I followed him, dodging between the houses, and when we had got off the + line he took me by the two shoulders from behind. + </p> + <p> + “You little rascal,” said he, shaking me, “how am I to look out + for an army and you besides? Have you had anything to eat?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + We came to the fires, and Captain Bowman hurried up to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “We're piling up earthworks and barricades,” said the Captain, + “for the fight to-morrow. My God! if the <i>Willing</i> would only + come, we could put our cannon into them.” + </p> + <p> + Clark laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Bowman,” said he, kindly, “has Davy fed you yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” says the Captain, surprised, “I've had no time to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to have fed the whole army,” said the Colonel. He paused. + “Have they scented Lamothe or Maisonville?” + </p> + <p> + “Devil a scent!” cried the Captain, “and we've scoured wood and + quagmire. They tell me that Lamothe has a very pretty force of redskins + at his heels.” + </p> + <p> + “Let McChesney go,” said Clark sharply, “McChesney and Ray. + I'll warrant they can find 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Now I knew that Maisonville had gone out a-chasing Captain Willing's + brother,—he who had run into our arms. Lamothe was a noted Indian + partisan and a dangerous man to be dogging our rear that night. Suddenly + there came a thought that took my breath and set my heart a-hammering. + When the Colonel's back was turned I slipped away beyond the range of the + firelight, and I was soon on the prairie, stumbling over hummocks and + floundering into ponds, yet going as quietly as I could, turning now and + again to look back at the distant glow or to listen to the rifles popping + around the fort. The night was cloudy and pitchy dark. Twice the whirring + of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> + startled waterfowl frightened me out of my senses, but ambition pricked + me on in spite of fear. I may have gone a mile thus, perchance two or + three, straining every sense, when a sound brought me to a stand. At first + I could not distinguish it because of my heavy breathing, but presently I + made sure that it was the low drone of human voices. Getting down on my + hands and knees, I crept forward, and felt the ground rising. The voices + had ceased. I gained the crest of a low ridge, and threw myself flat. A + rattle of musketry set me shivering, and in an agony of fright I looked + behind me to discover that I could not be more than four hundred yards + from the fort. I had made a circle. I lay very still, my eyes watered with + staring, and then—the droning began again. I went forward an inch, + then another and another down the slope, and at last I could have sworn + that I saw dark blurs against the ground. I put out my hand, my weight + went after, and I had crashed through a coating of ice up to my elbow in a + pool. There came a second of sheer terror, a hoarse challenge in French, + and then I took to my heels and flew towards the fort at the top of my + speed. + </p> + <p> + I heard them coming after me, leap and bound, and crying out to one + another. Ahead of me there might have been a floor or a precipice, as the + ground looks level at night. I hurt my foot cruelly on a frozen clod of + earth, slid down the washed bank of a run into the Wabash, picked myself + up, scrambled to the top of the far side, and had gotten away again when + my pursuer shattered the ice behind me. A hundred yards more, two figures + loomed up in front, and I was pulled up choking. + </p> + <p> + “Hang to him, Fletcher!” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” cried Fletcher, “it's Davy. What are ye up to now?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” I cried, as soon as I had got my wind. As luck would + have it, I had run into a pair of daredevil young Kentuckians who had + more than once tasted the severity of Clark's discipline,—Fletcher + Blount and Jim Willis. They fairly shook out of me what had happened, + and then dropped me with a war-whoop and started for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> + the prairie, I after them, + crying out to them to beware of the run. A man must indeed be fleet of + foot to have escaped these young ruffians, and so it proved. When I + reached the hollow there were the two of them fighting with a man in the + water, the ice jangling as they shifted their feet. + </p> + <p> + “What's yere name?” said Fletcher, cuffing and kicking his prisoner + until he cried out for mercy. + </p> + <p> + “Maisonville,” said the man, whereupon Fletcher gave a war-whoop and + kicked him again. + </p> + <p> + “That's no way to use a prisoner,” said I, hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your mouth, Davy,” said Fletcher, “you didn't ketch him.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have had him but for me,” I retorted. + </p> + <p> + Fletcher's answer was an oath. They put Maisonville between them, ran him + through the town up to the firing line, and there, to my horror, they tied + him to a post and used him for a shield, despite his heart-rending yells. + In mortal fear that the poor man would be shot down, I was running away to + find some one who might have influence over them when I met a lieutenant. + He came up and ordered them angrily to unbind Maisonville and bring him + before the Colonel. Fletcher laughed, whipped out his hunting knife, and + cut the thongs; but he and Willis had scarce got twenty paces from the + officer before they seized poor Maisonville by the hair and made shift to + scalp him. This was merely backwoods play, had Maisonville but known it. + Persuaded, however, that his last hour was come, he made a desperate + effort to clear himself, whereupon Fletcher cut off a piece of his skin by + mistake. Maisonville, making sure that he had been scalped, stood groaning + and clapping his hand to his head, while the two young rascals drew back + and stared at each other. + </p> + <p> + “What's to do now?” said Willis. + </p> + <p> + “Take our medicine, I reckon,” answered Fletcher, grimly. And they + seized the tottering man between them, and marched him straightway to + the fire where Clark stood. + </p> + <p> + They had seen the Colonel angry before, but now they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> + were fairly withered + under his wrath. And he could have given them no greater punishment, for + he took them from the firing line, and sent them back to wait among the + reserves until the morning. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nom de Dieu!</i>” said Maisonville, wrathfully, as he watched + them go, “they should hang.” + </p> + <p> + “The stuff that brought them here through ice and flood is apt to boil + over, Captain,” remarked the Colonel, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, sir,” said I, “they did not mean to cut him, but he + wriggled.” + </p> + <p> + Clark turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said he, “did you have a hand in this, too?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Peste!</i>” cried the Captain, “the little ferret—you + call him—he find me on the prairie. I run to catch him with some + men and fall into the crick—” he pointed to his soaked leggings, + “and your demons, they fall on top of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to heaven you had caught Lamothe instead, Davy,” said the + Colonel, and joined despite himself in the laugh that went up. Falling + sober again, he began to question the prisoner. Where was Lamothe? + <i>Pardieu</i>, Maisonville could not say. How many men did he have, etc., + etc.? The circle about us deepened with eager listeners, who uttered + exclamations when Maisonville, between his answers, put up his hand to his + bleeding head. Suddenly the circle parted, and Captain Bowman came + through. + </p> + <p> + “Ray has discovered Lamothe, sir,” said he. “What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Let him into the fort,” said Clark, instantly. + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of astonished protest. + </p> + <p> + “Let him into the fort!” exclaimed Bowman. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the Colonel; “if he finds he cannot get in, he + will be off before the dawn to assemble the tribes.” + </p> + <p> + “But the fort is provisioned for a month,” Bowman expostulated; + “and they must find out to-morrow how weak we are.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> + “To-morrow will be too late,” said Clark. + </p> + <p> + “And suppose he shouldn't go in?” + </p> + <p> + “He will go in,” said the Colonel, quietly. “Withdraw your men, + Captain, from the north side.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bowman departed. Whatever he may have thought of these orders, he + was too faithful a friend of the Colonel's to delay their execution. + Murmuring, swearing oaths of astonishment, man after man on the firing + line dropped his rifle at the word, and sullenly retreated. The crack, + crack of the Deckards on the south and east were stilled; not a barrel was + thrust by the weary garrison through the logs, and the place became silent + as the wilderness. It was the long hour before the dawn. And as we lay + waiting on the hard ground, stiff and cold and hungry, talking in + whispers, somewhere near six of the clock on that February morning the + great square of Fort Sackville began to take shape. There was the long + line of the stockade, the projecting blockhouses at each corner with + peaked caps, and a higher capped square tower from the centre of the + enclosure, the banner of England drooping there and clinging forlorn to + its staff, as though with a presentiment. Then, as the light grew, the + close-lipped casements were seen, scarred with our bullets. The little log + houses of the town came out, the sapling palings and the bare + trees,—all grim and gaunt at that cruel season. Cattle lowed here + and there, and horses whinnied to be fed. + </p> + <p> + It was a dirty, gray dawn, and we waited until it had done its best. From + where we lay hid behind log house and palings we strained our eyes towards + the prairie to see if Lamothe would take the bait, until our view was + ended at the fuzzy top of a hillock. Bill Cowan, doubled up behind a + woodpile and breathing heavily, nudged me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, Davy, what d'ye see!”. + </p> + <p> + Was it a head that broke the line of the crest? Even as I stared, + breathless, half a score of forms shot up and were running madly for the + stockade. Twenty more broke after them, Indians and Frenchmen, dodging, + swaying, crowding, looking fearfully to right and left. And + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> + from within + the fort came forth a hubbub,—cries and scuffling, orders, oaths, + and shouts. In plain view of our impatient Deckards soldiers manned the + platform, and we saw that they were flinging down ladders. An officer in a + faded scarlet coat stood out among the rest, shouting himself hoarse. + Involuntarily Cowan lined his sights across the woodpile on this mark of + color. + </p> + <p> + Lamothe's men, a seething mass, were fighting like wolves for the ladders, + fearful yet that a volley might kill half of them where they stood. And so + fast did they scramble upwards that the men before them stepped on their + fingers. All at once and by acclamation the fierce war-whoops of our men + rent the air, and some toppled in sheer terror and fell the twelve feet of + the stockade at the sound of it. Then every man in the regiment, Creole + and backwoodsman, lay back to laugh. The answer of the garrison was a + defiant cheer, and those who had dropped, finding they were not shot at, + picked themselves up again and gained the top, helping to pull the ladders + after them. Bowman's men swung back into place, the rattle and drag were + heard in the blockhouse as the cannon were run out through the ports, and + the battle which had held through the night watches began again with + redoubled vigor. But there was more caution on the side of the British, + for they had learned dearly how the Kentuckians could measure crack and + crevice. + </p> + <p> + There followed two hours and a futile waste of ammunition, the lead from + the garrison flying harmless here and there, and not a patch of skin or + cloth showing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br/><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> + <br/><br/><br/> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_001">CHAPTER XX</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Campaign ends</h3> + <p class="communique"> + “If I am obliged to storm, you may depend upon such treatment as + is justly due to a murderer. And beware of destroying stores of any kind, + or any papers or letters that are in your possession; or of hurting one + house in the town. For, by Heaven! if you do, there shall be no mercy + shown you. + <br /> + “To Lieutenant-Governor Hamilton.” + </p> + <p> + So read Colonel Clark, as he stood before the log fire in Monsieur + Bouton's house at the back of the town, the captains grouped in front of + him. + </p> + <p> + “Is that strong enough, gentlemen?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To raise his hair,” said Captain Charleville. + </p> + <p> + Captain Bowman laughed loudly. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon the boys will see to that,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark folded the letter, addressed it, and turned gravely to + Monsieur Bouton. + </p> + <p> + “You will oblige me, sir,” said he, “by taking this to Governor + Hamilton. You will be provided with a flag of truce.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Bouton was a round little man, as his name suggested, and the men + cheered him as he strode soberly up the street, a piece of sheeting tied + to a sapling and flung over his shoulder. Through such humble agencies are + the ends of Providence accomplished. Monsieur Bouton walked up to the + gate, disappeared sidewise through the postern, and we sat down to + breakfast. In a very short time Monsieur Bouton was seen coming back, and + his face was not so impassive that the governor's message could not be + read thereon. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> + “'Tis not a love-letter he has, I'll warrant,” said Terence, as the + little man disappeared into the house. So accurately had Monsieur Bouton's + face betrayed the news that the men went back to their posts without + orders, some with half a breakfast in hand. And soon the rank and file had + the message. + </p> + <p class="communique"> + “Lieutenant-Governor Hamilton begs leave to acquaint Colonel Clark that + he and his garrison are not disposed to be awed into any action unworthy + of British subjects.” + </p> + <p> + Our men had eaten, their enemy was within their grasp and Clark and all + his officers could scarce keep them from storming. Such was the deadliness + of their aim that scarce a shot came back, and time and again I saw men + fling themselves in front of the breastworks with a war-whoop, wave their + rifles in the air, and cry out that they would have the Ha'r Buyer's sculp + before night should fall. It could not last. Not tuned to the nicer + courtesies of warfare, the memory of Hamilton's war parties, of blackened + homes, of families dead and missing, raged unappeased. These were not + content to leave vengeance in the Lord's hands, and when a white flag + peeped timorously above the gate a great yell of derision went up from + river-bank to river-bank. Out of the postern stepped the officer with the + faded scarlet coat, and in due time went back again, haughtily, his head + high, casting contempt right and left of him. Again the postern opened, + and this time there was a cheer at sight of a man in hunting shirt and + leggings and coonskin cap. After him came a certain Major Hay, + Indian-enticer of detested memory, the lieutenant of him who + followed—the Hair Buyer himself. A murmur of hatred arose from the + men stationed there, and many would have shot him where he stood but for + Clark. + </p> + <p> + “The devil has the grit,” said Cowan, though his eyes blazed. + </p> + <p> + It was the involuntary tribute. Lieutenant-Governor Hamilton stared + indifferently at the glowering backwoodsmen as he walked the few steps to + the church. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> + Not so Major Hay. His eyes fell. There was Colonel Clark + waiting at the door through which the good Creoles had been wont to go to + worship, bowing somewhat ironically to the British General. It was a + strange meeting they had in St. Xavier's, by the light of the candles on + the altar. Hot words passed in that house of peace, the General demanding + protection for all his men, and our Colonel replying that he would do with + the Indian partisans as he chose. + </p> + <p> + “And whom mean you by Indian partisans?” the undaunted governor had + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I take Major Hay to be one of them,” our Colonel had answered. + </p> + <p> + It was soon a matter of common report how Clark had gazed fixedly at the + Major when he said this, and how the Major turned pale and trembled. With + our own eyes we saw them coming out, Major Hay as near to staggering as a + man could be, the governor blushing red for shame of him. So they went + sorrowfully back to the gate. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark stood at the steps of the church, looking after them. + </p> + <p> + “What was that firing?” he demanded sharply. + “I gave orders for a truce.” + </p> + <p> + We who stood by the church had indeed heard firing in the direction of the + hills east of the town, and had wondered thereat. Perceiving a crowd + gathered at the far end of the street, we all ran thither save the + Colonel, who directed to have the offenders brought to him at Monsieur + Bouton's. We met the news halfway. A party of Canadians and Indians had + just returned from the Falls of the Ohio with scalps they had taken. + Captain Williams had gone out with his company to meet them, had lured + them on, and finally had killed a number and was returning with the + prisoners. Yes, here they were! Williams himself walked ahead with two + dishevelled and frightened <i>coureurs du bois</i>, twoscore at least of + the townspeople of Vincennes, friends and relatives of the prisoners, + pressing about and crying out to Williams to have mercy on them. As for + Williams, he took them in to the Colonel, the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> + townspeople pressing into the + door-yard and banking in front of it on the street. Behind all a tragedy + impended, nor can I think of it now without sickening. + </p> + <p> + The frightened Creoles in the street gave back against the fence, and from + behind them, issuing as a storm-cloud, came the half of Williams' company, + yelling like madmen. Pushed and jostled ahead of them were four Indians, + decked and feathered, the half-dried scalps dangling from their belts, + impassive, true to their creed despite the indignity of jolts and jars and + blows. On and on pressed the mob, gathering recruits at every corner, and + when they reached St. Xavier's before the fort half the regiment was + there. Others watched, too, from the stockade, and what they saw made + their knees smite together with fear. Here were four bronzed statues in a + row across the street, the space in front of them clear that their + partisans in the fort might look and consider. What was passing in the + savage mind no man might know. Not a lip trembled nor an eye faltered when + a backwoodsman, his memory aflame at sight of the pitiful white scalps on + their belts, thrust through the crowd to curse them. Fletcher Blount, + frenzied, snatched his tomahawk from his side. + </p> + <p> + “Sink, varmint!” he cried with a great oath. “By the etarnal! + we'll pay the H'ar Buyer in his own coin. Sound your drums!” he shouted + at the fort. “Call the garrison fer the show.” + </p> + <p> + He had raised his arm and turned to strike when the savage put up his + hand, not in entreaty, but as one man demanding a right from another. The + cries, the curses, the murmurs even, were hushed. Throwing back his head, + arching his chest, the notes of a song rose in the heavy air. Wild, + strange notes they were, that struck vibrant chords in my own quivering + being, and the song was the death-song. Ay, and the life-song of a soul + which had come into the world even as mine own. And somewhere there lay in + the song, half revealed, the awful mystery of that Creator Whom the soul + leaped forth to meet: the myriad green of the sun playing with the leaves, + the fish swimming lazily in the brown pool, the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> + doe grazing in the + thicket, and a naked boy as free from care as these; and still the life + grows brighter as strength comes, and stature, and power over man and + beast; and then, God knows what memories of fierce love and fiercer wars + and triumphs, of desires gained and enemies conquered,—God, who has + made all lives akin to something which He holds in the hollow of His hand; + and then—the rain beating on the forest crown, beating, beating, + beating. + </p> + <p> + The song ceased. The Indian knelt in the black mud, not at the feet of + Fletcher Blount, but on the threshold of the Great Spirit who ruleth all + things. The axe fell, yet he uttered no cry as he went before his Master. + </p> + <p> + So the four sang, each in turn, and died in the sight of some who pitied, + and some who feared, and some who hated, for the sake of land and women. + So the four went beyond the power of gold and gewgaw, and were dragged in + the mire around the walls and flung into the yellow waters of the river. + </p> + <p> + Through the dreary afternoon the men lounged about and cursed the parley, + and hearkened for the tattoo,—the signal agreed upon by the leaders + to begin the fighting. There had been no command against taunts and jeers, + and they gathered in groups under the walls to indulge themselves, and + even tried to bribe me as I sat braced against a house with my drum + between my knees and the sticks clutched tightly in my hands. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a Spanish dollar for a couple o' taps, Davy,” shouted Jack + Terrell. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, ye pack of Rebel cutthroats!” yelled a man on the wall. + </p> + <p> + He was answered by a torrent of imprecations. And so they flung it back + and forth until nightfall, when out comes the same faded-scarlet officer, + holding a letter in his hand, and marches down the street to Monsieur + Bouton's. There would be no storming now, nor any man suffered to lay + fingers on the Hair Buyer. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> + I remember, in particular, Hamilton the Hair Buyer. Not the fiend my + imagination had depicted (I have since learned that most villains do not + look the part), but a man with a great sorrow stamped upon his face. The + sun rose on that 25th of February, and the mud melted, and one of our + companies drew up on each side of the gate. Downward slid the lion of + England, the garrison drums beat a dirge, and the Hair Buyer marched out + at the head of his motley troops. + </p> + <p> + Then came my own greatest hour. All morning I had been polishing and + tightening the drum, and my pride was so great as we fell into line that + so much as a smile could not be got out of me. Picture it all: Vincennes + in black and white by reason of the bright day; eaves and gables, stockade + line and capped towers, sharply drawn, and straight above these a stark + flagstaff waiting for our colors; pigs and fowls straying hither and + thither, unmindful that this day is red on the calendar. Ah! here is a bit + of color, too,—the villagers on the side streets to see the + spectacle. Gay wools and gayer handkerchiefs there, amid the joyous, + cheering crowd of thrice-changed nationality. + </p> + <p style="font-style:italic;"> + “Vive les Bostonnais! Vive les Américains! Vive Monsieur le + Colonel Clark! Vive le petit tambour!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vive le petit tambour!</i>” That was the drummer boy, stepping + proudly behind the Colonel himself, with a soul lifted high above mire + and puddle into the blue above. There was laughter amongst the giants + behind me, and Cowan saying softly, as when we left Kaskaskia, “Go it, + Davy, my little gamecock!” And the whisper of it was repeated among + the ranks drawn up by the gate. + </p> + <p> + Yes, here was the gate, and now we were in the fort, and an empire was + gained, never to be lost again. The Stars and Stripes climbed the staff, + and the folds were caught by an eager breeze. Thirteen cannon thundered + from the blockhouses—one for each colony that had braved a king. + </p> + <p> + There, in the miry square within the Vincennes fort, thin and bronzed and + travel-stained, were the men who + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> + had dared the wilderness in ugliest mood. + And yet none by himself would have done it—each had come here + compelled by a spirit stronger than his own, by a master mind that laughed + at the body and its ailments. + </p> + <p> + Colonel George Rogers Clark stood in the centre of the square, under the + flag to whose renown he had added three stars. Straight he was, and + square, and self-contained. No weakening tremor of exultation softened his + face as he looked upon the men by whose endurance he had been able to do + this thing. He waited until the white smoke of the last gun had drifted + away on the breeze, until the snapping of the flag and the distant village + sounds alone broke the stillness. + </p> + <p> + “We have not suffered all things for a reward,” he said, “but + because a righteous cause may grow. And though our names may be forgotten, + our deeds will be remembered. We have conquered a vast land that our + children and our children's children may be freed from tyranny, and we + have brought a just vengeance upon our enemies. I thank you, one and all, + in the name of the Continental Congress and of that Commonwealth of + Virginia for which you have fought. You are no longer Virginians, + Kentuckians, Kaskaskians, and Cahokians—you are Americans.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and we were silent. Though his words moved us strongly, they + were beyond us. + </p> + <p> + “I mention no deeds of heroism, of unselfishness, of lives saved at the + peril of others. But I am the debtor of every man here for the years to + come to see that he and his family have justice from the Commonwealth and + the nation.” + </p> + <p> + Again he stopped, and it seemed to us watching that he smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “I shall name one,” he said, “one who never lagged, who never + complained, who starved that the weak might be fed and walk. David + Ritchie, come here.” + </p> + <p> + I trembled, my teeth chattered as the water had never made them chatter. I + believe I should have fallen but for Tom, who reached out from the ranks. + I stumbled + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> + forward in a daze to where the Colonel stood, and the cheering + from the ranks was a thing beyond me. The Colonel's hand on my head + brought me to my senses. + </p> + <p> + “David Ritchie,” he said, “I give you publicly the thanks of the + regiment. The parade is dismissed.” + </p> + <p> + The next thing I knew I was on Cowan's shoulders, and he was tearing round + and round the fort with two companies at his heels. + </p> + <p> + “The divil,” said Terence McCann, “he dhrummed us over the wather, + an' through the wather; and faix, he would have dhrummed the sculp from + Hamilton's head and the Colonel had said the worrd.” + </p> + <p> + “By gar!” cried Antoine <i>le Gris</i>, “now he drum us on to + Detroit.” + </p> + <p> + Out of the gate rushed Cowan, the frightened villagers scattering right + and left. Antoine had a friend who lived in this street, and in ten + minutes there was rum in the powder-horns, and the toast was “On to + Detroit!”<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark was sitting alone in the commanding officer's room of the + garrison. And the afternoon sun, slanting through the square of the + window, fell upon the maps and papers before him. He had sent for me. I + halted in sheer embarrassment on the threshold, looked up at his face, and + came on, troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he said, “do you want to go back to Kentucky?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to stay to the end, Colonel,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The end?” he said. “This is the end.” + </p> + <p> + “And Detroit, sir?” I returned. + </p> + <p> + “Detroit!” he cried bitterly, “a man of sense measures his force, + and does not try the impossible. I could as soon march against + Philadelphia. This is the end, I say; and the general must give way to + the politician. And may God have mercy on the politician who will try + to keep a people's affection without money or help from Congress.” + </p> + <p> + He fell back wearily in his chair, while I stood + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> + astonished, wondering. I had thought to find him elated with victory. + </p> + <p> + “Congress or Virginia,” said he, “will have to pay Monsieur Vigo, + and Father Gibault, and Monsieur Gratiot, and the other good people who + have trusted me. Do you think they will do so?” + </p> + <p> + “The Congress are far from here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he answered, “too far to care about you and me, and what we + have suffered.” + </p> + <p> + He ended abruptly, and sat for a while staring out of the window at the + figures crossing and recrossing the muddy parade-ground. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_250-T1" id="Page_250-T1"></a> + “Tom McChesney goes to-night to Kentucky with letters to the county + lieutenant. You are to go with him, and then I shall have no one to remind + me when I am hungry, and bring me hominy. I shall have no + financier, no + strategist for a tight place.” He smiled a little, sadly, at my + sorrowful look, and then drew me to him and patted my shoulder. + “It is no place for a young lad,—an idle garrison. I think,” + he continued presently, “I think you have a future, David, if you do + not lose your head. Kentucky will grow and conquer, and in twenty years + be a thriving community. And presently you will go to Virginia, and + study law, and come back again. Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “And I would tell you one thing,” said he, with force; + “serve the people, as all true men should in a republic. But do not + rely upon their gratitude. You will remember that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + A long time he paused, looking on me with a significance I did not then + understand. And when he spoke again his voice showed no trace of emotion, + save in the note of it. + </p> + <p> + “You have been a faithful friend, Davy, when I needed loyalty. Perhaps + the time may come again. Promise me that you will not forget me if I + am—unfortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunate, sir!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> + “Good-by, Davy,” he said, “and God bless you. I have work to + do.” + </p> + <p> + Still I hesitated. He stared at me, but with kindness. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” I said, “if I might take my drum?” + </p> + <p> + At that he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You may,” said he, “you may. Perchance we may need it again.” + </p> + <p> + I went out from his presence, vaguely troubled, to find Tom. And before + the early sun had set we were gliding down the Wabash in a canoe, past + places forever dedicated to our agonies, towards Kentucky and Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said Tom, “I reckon she'll be standin' under the 'simmon + tree, waitin' fer us with the little shaver in her arms.”<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + And so she was. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">BOOK II. FLOTSAM AND JETSAM</a> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER I</a> + </h2> + <h3>In the Cabin</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">The</span> Eden of one man may be the Inferno of + his neighbor, and now I am to + throw to the winds, like leaves of a worthless manuscript, some years of + time, and introduce you to a new Kentucky,—a Kentucky that was not + for the pioneer. One page of this manuscript might have told of a fearful + winter, when the snow lay in great drifts in the bare woods, when Tom and + I fashioned canoes or noggins out of the great roots, when a new and + feminine bit of humanity cried in the bark cradle, and Polly Ann sewed + deer leather. Another page—nay, a dozen—could be filled with + Indian horrors, ambuscades and massacres. And also I might have told how + there drifted into this land, hitherto unsoiled, the refuse cast off by + the older colonies. I must add quickly that we got more than our share of + their best stock along with this. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had the sun begun to pit the snow hillocks than wild creatures + came in from the mountains, haggard with hunger and hardship. They had + left their homes in Virginia and the Carolinas in the autumn; an + unheralded winter of Arctic fierceness had caught them in its grip. Bitter + tales they told of wives and children buried among the rocks. Fast on the + heels of these wretched ones trooped the spring settlers in droves; and I + have seen whole churches march singing into the forts, the preacher + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> + leading, and thanking God loudly that He had delivered them from the + wilderness and the savage. The little forts would not hold them; and they + went out to hew clearings from the forest, and to build cabins and + stockades. And our own people, starved and snowbound, went out + likewise,—Tom and Polly Ann and their little family and myself to + the farm at the river-side. And while the water flowed between the stumps + over the black land, we planted and ploughed and prayed, always alert, + watching north and south, against the coming of the Indians. + </p> + <p> + But Tom was no husbandman. He and his kind were the scouts, the advance + guard of civilization, not tillers of the soil or lovers of close + communities. Farther and farther they went afield for game, and always + they grumbled sorely against this horde which had driven the deer from his + cover and the buffalo from his wallow. + </p> + <p> + Looking back, I can recall one evening when the long summer twilight + lingered to a close. Tom was lounging lazily against the big persimmon + tree, smoking his pipe, the two children digging at the roots, and Polly + Ann, seated on the door-log, sewing. As I drew near, she looked up at me + from her work. She was a woman upon whose eternal freshness industry made + no mar. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” she exclaimed, “how ye've growed! I thought ye'd be a + wizened little body, but this year ye've shot up like a cornstalk.” + </p> + <p> + “My father was six feet two inches in his moccasins,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “He'll be wallopin' me soon,” said Tom, with a grin. He took a long + whiff at his pipe, and added thoughtfully, “I reckon this ain't no place + fer me now, with all the settler folks and land-grabbers comin' through + the Gap.” + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said I, “there's a bit of a fall on the river here.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he said, “and nary a fish left.” + </p> + <p> + “Something better,” I answered; “we'll put a dam there and a + mill and a hominy pounder.” + </p> + <p> + “And make our fortune grinding corn for the settlers,” cried Polly + Ann, showing a line of very white teeth. “I always said ye'd be a rich + man, Davy.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> + Tom was mildly interested, and went with us at daylight to measure the + fall. And he allowed that he would have the more time to hunt if the mill + were a success. For a month I had had the scheme in my mind, where the dam + was to be put, the race, and the wondrous wheel rimmed with cow horns to + dip the water. And fixed on the wheel there was to be a crank that worked + the pounder in the mortar. So we were to grind until I could arrange with + Mr. Scarlett, the new storekeeper in Harrodstown, to have two + grinding-stones fetched across the mountains. + </p> + <p> + While the corn ripened and the melons swelled and the flax flowered, our + axes rang by the river's side; and sometimes, as we worked, Cowan and + Terrell and McCann and other Long Hunters would come and jeer + good-naturedly because we were turning civilized. Often they gave us a + lift. + </p> + <p> + It was September when the millstones arrived, and I spent a joyous morning + of final bargaining with Mr. Myron Scarlett. This Mr. Scarlett was from + Connecticut, had been a quartermaster in the army, and at much risk + brought ploughs and hardware, and scissors and buttons, and broadcloth and + corduroy, across the Alleghanies, and down the Ohio in flatboats. These he + sold at great profit. We had no money, not even the worthless scrip that + Congress issued; but a beaver skin was worth eighteen shillings, a + bearskin ten, and a fox or a deer or a wildcat less. Half the village + watched the barter. The rest lounged sullenly about the land court. + </p> + <p> + The land court—curse of Kentucky! It was just a windowless log house + built outside the walls, our temple of avarice. The case was this: + Henderson (for whose company Daniel Boone cut the wilderness road) + believed that he had bought the country, and issued grants therefor. Tom + held one of these grants, alas, and many others whom I knew. Virginia + repudiated Henderson. Keen-faced speculators bought acre upon acre and + tract upon tract from the State, and crossed the mountains to extort. + Claims conflicted, titles lapped. There was the court set in the sunlight + in the midst of a fair land, held by the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> + shameless, thronged day after day + by the homeless and the needy, jostling, quarrelling, beseeching. Even as + I looked upon this strife a man stood beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Drat 'em,” said the stranger, as he watched a hawk-eyed extortioner + in drab, for these did not condescend to hunting shirts, “drat 'em, ef I + had my way I'd wring the neck of every mother's son of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + I turned with a start, and there was Mr. Daniel Boone. + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, Davy,” he said; “ye've growed some sence ye've ben with + Clark.” He paused, and then continued in the same strain: “'Tis the + same at Boonesboro and up thar at the Falls settlement. The critters is + everywhar, robbin' men of their claims. Davy,” said Mr. Boone, + earnestly, “you know that I come into Kaintuckee when it waren't nothin' + but wilderness, and resked my life time and again. Them varmints is wuss'n + redskins,—they've robbed me already of half my claims.” + </p> + <p> + “Robbed you!” I exclaimed, indignant that he, of all men, should + suffer. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he said, “robbed me. They've took one claim after another, + tracts that I staked out long afore they heerd of Kaintuckee.” He + rubbed his rifle barrel with his buckskin sleeve. “I get a little for + my skins, and a little by surveyin'. But when the game goes I reckon I'll + go after it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where, Mr. Boone?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Whar? whar the varmints cyant foller. Acrost the Mississippi into the + Spanish wilderness.” + </p> + <p> + “And leave Kentucky?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he answered sadly, “you kin cope with 'em. They tell me + you're buildin' a mill up at McChesney's, and I reckon you're as cute as + any of 'em. They beat me. I'm good for nothin' but shootin' and + explorin'.” + </p> + <p> + We stood silent for a while, our attention caught by a quarrel which had + suddenly come out of the doorway. One of the men was Jim Willis,—my + friend of Clark's campaign,—who had a Henderson claim near Shawanee + Springs. The other was the hawk-eyed man of whom Mr. Boone had spoken, and + fragments of their curses + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> + reached us where we stood. The hunting shirts + surged around them, alert now at the prospect of a fight; men came running + in from all directions, and shouts of “Hang him! Tomahawk him!” were + heard on every side. Mr. Boone did not move. It was a common enough + spectacle for him, and he was not excitable. Moreover, he knew that the + death of one extortioner more or less would have no effect on the system. + They had become as the fowls of the air. + </p> + <p> + “I was acrost the mountain last month,” said Mr. Boone, presently, + “and one of them skunks had stole Campbell's silver spoons at Abingdon. + Campbell was out arter him for a week with a coil of rope on his saddle. + But the varmint got to cover.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Boone wished me luck in my new enterprise, bade me good-by, and set + out for Redstone, where he was to measure a tract for a Revolutioner. The + speculator having been rescued from Jim Willis's clutches by the sheriff, + the crowd good-naturedly helped us load our stones between pack-horses, + and some of them followed us all the way home that they might see the + grinding. Half of McAfee's new station had heard the news, and came over + likewise. And from that day we ground as much corn as could be brought to + us from miles around. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann and I ran the mill and kept the accounts. Often of a crisp + autumn morning we heard a gobble-gobble above the tumbling of the water + and found a wild turkey perched on top of the hopper, eating his fill. + Some of our meat we got that way. As for Tom, he was off and on. When the + roving spirit seized him he made journeys to the westward with Cowan and + Ray. Generally they returned with packs of skins. But sometimes soberly, + thanking Heaven that their hair was left growing on their heads. This, and + patrolling the Wilderness Road and other militia duties, made up Tom's + life. No sooner was the mill fairly started than off he went to the + Cumberland. I mention this, not alone because I remember well the day of + his return, but because of a certain happening then that had a heavy + influence on my after life. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> + The episode deals with an easy-mannered gentleman named Potts, who was the + agent for a certain Major Colfax of Virginia. Tom owned under a Henderson + grant; the Major had been given this and other lands for his services in + the war. Mr. Potts arrived one rainy afternoon and found me standing alone + under the little lean-to that covered the hopper. How we served him, with + the aid of McCann and Cowan and other neighbors, and how we were near + getting into trouble because of the prank, will be seen later. The next + morning I rode into Harrodstown not wholly easy in my mind concerning the + wisdom of the thing I had done. There was no one to advise me, for Colonel + Clark was far away, building a fort on the banks of the Mississippi. Tom + had laughed at the consequences; he cared little about his land, and was + for moving into the Wilderness again. But for Polly Ann's sake I wished + that we had treated the land agent less cavalierly. I was soon distracted + from these thoughts by the sight of Harrodstown itself. + </p> + <p> + I had no sooner ridden out of the forest shade when I saw that the place + was in an uproar, men and women gathering in groups and running here and + there between the cabins. Urging on the mare, I cantered across the + fields, and the first person I met was James Ray. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Matter enough! An army of redskins has crossed the Ohio, and not a + man to take command. My God,” cried Ray, pointing angrily at the + swarms about the land office, “what trash we have got this last year! + Kentucky can go to the devil, half the stations be wiped out, and not + a thrip do they care.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you sent word to the Colonel?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “If he was here,” said Ray, bitterly, “he'd have half of 'em + swinging inside of an hour. I'll warrant he'd send 'em to the + right-about.” + </p> + <p> + I rode on into the town, Potts gone out of my mind. Apart from the + land-office crowds, and looking on in silent rage, stood a group of the + old settlers,—tall, lean, powerful, yet impotent for lack of a + leader. A contrast + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> + they were, these buckskin-clad pioneers, to the + ill-assorted humanity they watched, absorbed in struggles for the very + lands they had won. + </p> + <p> + “By the eternal!” said Jack Terrell, “if the yea'th was ter + swaller 'em up, they'd keep on a-dickerin' in hell.” + </p> + <p> + “Something's got to be done,” Captain Harrod put in gloomily; “the + red varmints 'll be on us in another day. In God's name, whar is + Clark?” + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” cried Fletcher Blount, “what's that?” + </p> + <p> + The broiling about the land court, too, was suddenly hushed. Men stopped + in their tracks, staring fixedly at three forms which had come out of the + woods into the clearing. + </p> + <p> + “Redskins, or there's no devil!” said Terrell. + </p> + <p> + Redskins they were, but not the blanketed kind that drifted every day + through the station. Their war-paint gleamed in the light, and the white + edges of the feathered head-dresses caught the sun. One held up in his + right hand a white belt,—token of peace on the frontier. + </p> + <p> + “Lord A'mighty!” said Fletcher Blount, “be they Cricks?” + </p> + <p> + “Chickasaws, by the headgear,” said Terrell. “Davy, you've got + a hoss. Ride out and look 'em over.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing loath, I put the mare into a gallop, and I passed over the very + place where Polly Ann had picked me up and saved my life long since. The + Indians came on at a dog trot, but when they were within fifty paces of me + they halted abruptly. The chief waved the white belt around his head. + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” says he, and I trembled from head to foot. How well I knew + that voice! + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Clark!” I cried, and rode up to him. “Thank God you + are come, sir,” said I, “for the people here are land-mad, and + the Northern Indians are crossing the Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + He took my bridle, and, leading the horse, began to walk rapidly towards + the station. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he answered, “I know it. A runner came to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> + me with the tidings, where + I was building a fort on the Mississippi, and I took Willis here and + Saunders, and came.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at my old friends, who grinned at me through the berry-stain on + their faces. We reached a ditch through which the rain of the night before + was draining from the fields Clark dropped the bridle, stooped down, and + rubbed his face clean. Up he got again and flung the feathers from his + head, and I thought that his eyes twinkled despite the sternness of his + look. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, my lad,” said he, “you and I have seen some strange things + together. Perchance we shall see stranger to-day.” + </p> + <p> + A shout went up, for he had been recognized. And Captain Harrod and Ray + and Terrell and Cowan (who had just ridden in) ran up to greet him and + press his hand. He called them each by name, these men whose loyalty had + been proved, but said no word more nor paused in his stride until he had + reached the edge of the mob about the land court. There he stood for a + full minute, and we who knew him looked on silently and waited. + </p> + <p> + The turmoil had begun again, the speculators calling out in strident + tones, the settlers bargaining and pushing, and all clamoring to be heard. + While there was money to be made or land to be got they had no ear for the + public weal. A man shouldered his way through, roughly, and they gave + back, cursing, surprised. He reached the door, and, flinging those who + blocked it right and left, entered. There he was recognized, and his name + flew from mouth to mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Clark!” + </p> + <p> + He walked up to the table, strewn with books and deeds. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” he thundered. But there was no need,—they were + still for once. “This court is closed,” he cried, “while Kentucky + is in danger. Not a deed shall be signed nor an acre granted until I + come back from the Ohio. Out you go!” + </p> + <p> + Out they went indeed, judge, brokers, + speculators—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span>the evicted and + the triumphant together. And when the place was empty Clark turned the key + and thrust it into his hunting shirt. He stood for a moment on the step, + and his eyes swept the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, “there have been many to claim this + land—who will follow me to defend it?” + </p> + <p> + As I live, they cheered him. Hands were flung up that were past counting, + and men who were barely rested from the hardships of the Wilderness Trail + shouted their readiness to go. But others slunk away, and were found that + morning grumbling and cursing the chance that had brought them to + Kentucky. Within the hour the news had spread to the farms, and men rode + in to Harrodstown to tell the Colonel of many who were leaving the plough + in the furrow and the axe in the wood, and starting off across the + mountains in anger and fear. The Colonel turned to me as he sat writing + down the names of the volunteers. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “when you are grown you shall not stay at home, + I promise you. Take your mare and ride as for your life to McChesney, + and tell him to choose ten men and go to the Crab Orchard on the + Wilderness Road. Tell him for me to turn back every man, woman, and + child who tries to leave Kentucky.” + </p> + <p> + I met Tom coming in from the field with his rawhide harness over his + shoulders. Polly Ann stood calling him in the door, and the squirrel broth + was steaming on the table. He did not wait for it. Kissing her, he flung + himself into the saddle I had left, and we watched him mutely as he waved + back to us from the edge of the woods. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + In the night I found myself sitting up in bed, listening to a running and + stamping near the cabin. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann was stirring. “Davy,” she whispered, + “the stock is oneasy.” + </p> + <p> + We peered out of the loophole together and through the little orchard we + had planted. The moon flooded the fields, and beyond it the forest was a + dark blur. I can recall the scene now, the rude mill standing by the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> + water-side, the twisted rail fences, and the black silhouettes of the + horses and cattle as they stood bunched together. Behind us little Tom + stirred in his sleep and startled us. That very evening Polly Ann had + frightened him into obedience by telling him that the Shawanees would get + him. + </p> + <p> + What was there to do? McAfee's Station was four miles away, and Ray's + clearing two. Ray was gone with Tom. I could not leave Polly Ann alone. + There was nothing for it but to wait. + </p> + <p> + Silently, that the children might not be waked and lurking savage might + not hear, we put the powder and bullets in the middle of the room and + loaded the guns and pistols. For Polly Ann had learned to shoot. She took + the loopholes of two sides of the cabin, I of the other two, and then + began the fearful watching and waiting which the frontier knows so well. + Suddenly the cattle stirred again, and stampeded to the other corner of + the field. There came a whisper from Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I answered, running over to her. + </p> + <p> + “Look out,” she said; “what d'ye see near the mill?” + </p> + <p> + Her sharp eyes had not deceived her, for mine perceived plainly a dark + form skulking in the hickory grove. Next, a movement behind the rail + fence, and darting back to my side of the house I made out a long black + body wriggling at the edge of the withered corn-patch. They were + surrounding us. How I wished that Tom were home! + </p> + <p> + A stealthy sound began to intrude itself upon our ears. Listening + intently, I thought it came from the side of the cabin where the lean-to + was, where we stored our wood in winter. The black shadow fell on that + side, and into a patch of bushes; peering out of the loophole, I could + perceive nothing there. The noise went on at intervals. All at once there + grew on me, with horror, the discovery that there was digging under the + cabin. + </p> + <p> + How long the sound continued I know not,—it might have been an hour, + it might have been less. Now I thought I heard it under the wall, now + beneath the puncheons of the floor. The pitchy blackness within + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> + was such that we could not see the boards moving, and therefore we must + needs kneel down and feel them from time to time. Yes, this one was + lifting from its bed on the hard earth beneath. I was sure of it. It rose + an inch—then an inch more. Gripping the handle of my tomahawk, I + prayed for guidance in my stroke, for the blade might go wild in the + darkness. Upward crept the board, and suddenly it was gone from the floor. + I swung a full circle—and to my horror I felt the axe plunging into + soft flesh and crunching on a bone. I had missed the head! A yell + shattered the night as the puncheon fell with a rattle on the boards, and + my tomahawk was gone from my hand. Without, the fierce war-cry of the + Shawanees that I knew so well echoed around the log walls, and the door + trembled with a blow. The children awoke, crying. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to think; my great fear was that the devil in the cabin + would kill Polly Ann. Just then I heard her calling out to me. + </p> + <p> + “Hide!” I cried, “hide under the shake-down! Has he got you?” + </p> + <p> + I heard her answer, and then the sound of a scuffle that maddened me. + Knife in hand, I crept slowly about, and put my fingers on a man's neck + and side. Next Polly Ann careened against me, and I lost him again. + “Davy, Davy,” I heard her gasp, “look out fer the floor!” + </p> + <p> + It was too late. The puncheon rose under me, I stumbled, and it fell + again. Once more the awful changing notes of the war-whoop sounded + without. A body bumped on the boards, a white light rose before my eyes, + and a sharp pain leaped in my side. Then all was black again, but I had my + senses still, and my fingers closed around the knotted muscles of an arm. + I thrust the pistol in my hand against flesh, and fired. Two of us fell + together, but the thought of Polly Ann got me staggering to my feet again, + calling her name. By the grace of God I heard her answer. + </p> + <p> + “Are ye hurt, Davy?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> + “No,” said I, “no. And you?” + </p> + <p> + We drifted together. 'Twas she who had the presence of mind. + </p> + <p> + “The chest—quick, the chest!” + </p> + <p> + We stumbled over a body in reaching it. We seized the handles, and with + all our strength hauled it athwart the loose puncheon that seemed to be + lifting even then. A mighty splintering shook the door. + </p> + <p> + “To the ports!” cried Polly Ann, as our heads knocked together. + </p> + <p> + To find the rifles and prime them seemed to take an age. Next I was + staring through the loophole along a barrel, and beyond it were three + black forms in line on a long beam. I think we fired—Polly Ann and + I—at the same time. One fell. We saw a comedy of the beam dropping + heavily on the foot of another, and he limping off with a guttural howl + of rage and pain. I fired a pistol at him, but missed him, and then I + was ramming a powder charge down the long barrel of the rifle. Suddenly + there was silence,—even the children had ceased crying. Outside, + in the dooryard, a feathered figure writhed like a snake towards the + fence. The moon still etched the picture in black and white.<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Shots awoke me, I think, distant shots. And they sounded like the ripping + and tearing of cloth for a wound. 'Twas no new sound to me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy, dear,” said a voice, tenderly. + </p> + <p> + Out of the mist the tear-stained face of Polly Ann bent over me. I put up + my hand, and dropped it again with a cry. Then, my senses coming with a + rush, the familiar objects of the cabin outlined themselves: Tom's winter + hunting shirt, Polly Ann's woollen shift and sunbonnet on their pegs; the + big stone chimney, the ladder to the loft; the closed door, with a long, + jagged line across it where the wood was splintered; and, dearest of all, + the chubby forms of Peggy and little Tom playing on the trundle-bed. Then + my glance wandered to the floor, and on the puncheons were three stains. I + closed my eyes. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> + Again came a far-off rattle, like stones falling from a great height down + a rocky bluff. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” I whispered. + </p> + <p> + “They're fighting at McAfee's Station,” said Polly Ann. She put her + cool hand on my head, and little Tom climbed up on the bed and looked up + into my face, wistfully calling my name. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Davy,” said his mother, “I thought ye were never coming + back.” + </p> + <p> + “And the redskins?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She drew the child away, lest he hurt me, and shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon 'twas only a war-party,” she answered. “The rest is at + McAfee's. And if they beat 'em off—” she stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “We shall be saved,” I said. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget that day. Polly Ann left my side only to feed the + children and to keep watch out of the loopholes, and I lay on my back, + listening and listening to the shots. At last these became scattered. + Then, though we strained our ears, we heard them no more. Was the fort + taken? The sun slid across the heavens and shot narrow blades of light, + now through one loophole and now through another, until a ray slanted from + the western wall and rested upon the red-and-black paint of two dead + bodies in the corner. I stared with horror. + </p> + <p> + “I was afeard to open the door and throw 'em out,” said Polly Ann, + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + Still I stared. One of them had a great cleft across his face. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought I hit him in the shoulder,” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Polly Ann thrust her hand, gently, across my eyes. “Davy, ye mustn't + talk,” she said; “that's a dear.” + </p> + <p> + Drowsiness seized me. But I resisted. + </p> + <p> + “You killed him, Polly Ann,” I murmured, “you?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + And I slept again. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER II</a> + </h2> + <h3>“The Beggars are come to Town”</h3> + <p> + “<span class="smcap">They</span> was that destitute,” said Tom, + “'twas a pity to see 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “And they be grand folks, ye say?” said Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “Grand folks, I reckon. And helpless as babes on the Wilderness Trail. + They had two niggers—his nigger an' hers—and they was + tuckered, too, fer a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Lawsy!” exclaimed Polly Ann. “Be still, honey!” Taking a + piece of corn-pone from the cupboard, she bent over and thrust it between + little Peggy's chubby fingers “Be still, honey, and listen to what + your Pa says. Whar did ye find 'em, Tom?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas Jim Ray found 'em,” said Tom. “We went up to Crab Orchard, + accordin' to the Colonel's orders, and we was thar three days. Ye ought to + hev seen the trash we turned back, Polly Ann! Most of 'em was scared plum' + crazy, and they was fer gittin 'out 'n Kaintuckee at any cost. Some was + fer fightin' their way through us.” + </p> + <p> + “The skulks!” exclaimed Polly Ann. “They tried to kill ye? + What did ye do?” + </p> + <p> + Tom grinned, his mouth full of bacon. + </p> + <p> + “Do?” says he; “we shot a couple of 'em in the legs and arms, and + bound 'em up again. They was in a t'arin' rage. I'm more afeard of a + scar't man,—a real scar't man—nor a rattler. They cussed us + till they was hoarse. Said they'd hev us hung, an' Clark, too. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> + Said they hed a right to go back to Virginny if they hed a mind.” + </p> + <p> + “An' what did ye say?” demanded Polly Ann, pausing in her work, her + eyes flashing with resentment. “Did ye tell 'em they was cowards to want + to settle lands, and not fight for 'em? Other folks' lands, too.” + </p> + <p> + “We didn't tell 'em nothin',” said Tom; “jest sent 'em kitin' back + to the stations whar they come from.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon they won't go foolin' with Clark's boys again,” said + Polly Ann, resuming a vigorous rubbing of the skillet. “Ye was tellin' + me about these fine folks ye fetched home.” She tossed her head in + the direction of the open door, and I wondered if the fine folks were + outside. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ay,” said Tom; “they was comin' this way, from the Carolinys. + Jim Ray went out to look for a deer, and found 'em off 'n the trail. By + the etarnal, they <em>was</em> tuckered. <em>He</em> was the wust, Jim + said, lyin' down on a bed of laurels she and the niggers made. She has + sperrit, that woman. Jim fed him, and he got up. She wouldn't eat nothin', + and made Jim put him on his hoss. She walked. I can't mek out why them + aristocrats wants to come to Kaintuckee. They're a sight too tender.” + </p> + <p> + “Pore things!” said Polly Ann, compassionately. + “So ye fetched 'em home.” + </p> + <p> + “They hadn't a place ter go,” said he, “and I reckoned 'twould + give 'em time ter ketch breath, an' turn around. I told 'em livin' in + Kaintuck was kinder rough.” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” said Polly Ann, “ter think that they was use' ter + silver spoons, and linen, and niggers ter wait on 'em. Tom, ye must + shoot a turkey, and I'll do my best to give 'em a good supper.” + Tom rose obediently, and seized his coonskin hat. She stopped him + with a word. “Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay?” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap—mayhap Davy would know 'em. He's been to Charlestown with + the gentry there.” + </p> + <p> + “Mayhap,” agreed Tom. “Pore little deevil,” said he, “he's + hed a hard time.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be right again soon,” said Polly Ann. “He's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> + been sleepin' that way, off and on, fer a week.” Her voice faltered + into a note of tenderness as her eyes rested on me. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon we owe Davy a heap, Polly Ann,” said he. + </p> + <p> + I was about to interrupt, but Polly Ann's next remark arrested me. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” said she, “he oughter be eddicated.” + </p> + <p> + “Eddicated!” exclaimed Tom, with a kind of dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, eddicated,” she repeated. “He ain't like you and me. He's + different. He oughter be a lawyer, or somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + Tom reflected. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he answered, “the Colonel says that same thing. He oughter be + sent over the mountain to git l'arnin'.” + </p> + <p> + “And we'll be missing him sore,” said Polly Ann, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + I wanted to speak then, but the words would not come. + </p> + <p> + “Whar hev they gone?” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “To take a walk,” said Polly Ann, and laughed. “The gentry has sech + fancies as that. Tom, I reckon I'll fly over to Mrs. McCann's an' beg some + of that prime bacon she has.” + </p> + <p> + Tom picked up his rifle, and they went out together. I lay for a long time + reflecting. To the strange guests whom Tom in the kindness of his heart + had brought back and befriended I gave little attention. I was overwhelmed + by the love which had just been revealed to me. And so I was to be + educated. It had been in my mind these many years, but I had never spoken + of it to Polly Ann. Dear Polly Ann! My eyes filled at the thought that she + herself had determined upon this sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + There were footsteps at the door, and these I heard, and heeded not. Then + there came a voice,—a woman's voice, modulated and trained in the + perfections of speech and in the art of treating things lightly. At the + sound of that voice I caught my breath. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> + “What a pastoral! Harry, if we have sought for virtue in the wilderness, + we have found it.” + </p> + <p> + “When have we ever sought for virtue, Sarah?” + </p> + <p> + It was the man who answered and stirred another chord of my memory. + </p> + <p> + “When, indeed!” said the woman; “'tis a luxury that is denied us, + I fear me.” + </p> + <p> + “Egad, we have run the gamut, all but that.” + </p> + <p> + I thought the woman sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Our hosts are gone out,” she said, “bless their simple souls! 'Tis + Arcady, Harry, 'where thieves do not break in and steal.' That's Biblical, + isn't it?” She paused, and joined in the man's laugh. + “I remember—” She stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thieves!” said he, “not in our sense. And yet a fortnight ago + this sylvan retreat was the scene of murder and sudden death.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Indians,” said the woman; “but they are beaten off and + forgotten. Troubles do not last here. Did you see the boy? He's in there, + in the corner, getting well of a fearful hacking. Mrs. McChesney says he + saved her and her brats.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, McChesney told me,” said the man. + “Let's have a peep at him.” + </p> + <p> + In they came, and I looked on the woman, and would have leaped from my bed + had the strength been in me. Superb she was, though her close-fitting + travelling gown of green cloth was frayed and torn by the briers, and the + beauty of her face enhanced by the marks of I know not what trials and + emotions. Little, dark-pencilled lines under the eyes were nigh robbing + these of the haughtiness I had once seen and hated. Set high on her hair + was a curving, green hat with a feather, ill-suited to the wilderness. + </p> + <p> + I looked on the man. He was as ill-equipped as she. A London tailor must + have cut his suit of gray. A single band of linen, soiled by the journey, + was wound about his throat, and I remember oddly the buttons stuck on his + knees and cuffs, and these silk-embroidered in a criss-cross pattern of + lighter gray. Some had been torn off. As for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> + his face, 'twas as handsome as ever, for dissipation sat well upon it. + </p> + <p> + My thoughts flew back to that day long gone when a friendless boy rode up + a long drive to a pillared mansion. I saw again the picture. The horse + with the craning neck, the liveried servant at the bridle, the listless + young gentleman with the shiny boots reclining on the horse-block, and + above him, under the portico, the grand lady whose laugh had made me sad. + And I remembered, too, the wild, neglected lad who had been to me as a + brother, warm-hearted and generous, who had shared what he had with a + foundling, who had wept with me in my first great sorrow. Where was he? + </p> + <p> + For I was face to face once more with Mrs. Temple and Mr. Harry Riddle! + </p> + <p> + The lady started as she gazed at me, and her tired eyes widened. She + clutched Mr. Riddle's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” she cried, “Harry, he puts me in mind of—of some + one—I cannot think.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Riddle laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Sally,” says he, “all brats resemble somebody. + I have heard you say so a dozen times.” + </p> + <p> + She turned upon him an appealing glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she said, with a little catch of her breath, “is there no + such thing as oblivion? Is there a place in the world that is not + haunted? I am cursed with memory.” + </p> + <p> + “Or the lack of it,” answered Mr. Riddle, pulling out a silver + snuff-box from his pocket and staring at it ruefully. “Damme, the + snuff I fetched from Paris is gone, all but a pinch. Here is a + real tragedy.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the same in Rome,” the lady continued, unheeding, “when + we met the Izards, and at Venice that nasty Colonel Tarleton saw us at + the opera. In London we must needs run into the Manners from Maryland. + In Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “In Paris we were safe enough,” Mr. Riddle threw in hastily. + </p> + <p> + “And why?” she flashed back at him. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer that. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> + “A truce with your fancies, madam,” said he. “Behold a soul of good + nature! I have followed you through half the civilized countries of the + globe—none of them are good enough. You must needs cross the ocean + again, and come to the wilds. We nearly die on the trail, are picked up by + a Samaritan in buckskin and taken into the bosom of his worthy family. And + forsooth, you look at a backwoods urchin, and are nigh to swooning.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Harry,” she cried, starting forward and peering into my face; + “he will hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut!” said Harry, “what if he does? London and Paris are words to + him. We might as well be speaking French. And I'll take my oath he's + sleeping.” + </p> + <p> + The corner where I lay was dark, for the cabin had no windows. And if my + life had depended upon speaking, I could have found no fit words then. + </p> + <p> + She turned from me, and her mood changed swiftly. For she laughed lightly, + musically, and put a hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Perchance I am ghost-ridden,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “They are not ghosts of a past happiness, at all events,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + She sat down on a stool before the hearth, and clasping her fingers upon + her knee looked thoughtfully into the embers of the fire. Presently she + began to speak in a low, even voice, he looking down at her, his feet + apart, his hand thrust backward towards the heat. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she said, “do you remember all our contrivances? + How you used to hold my hand in the garden under the table, while + I talked brazenly to Mr. Mason? And how jealous Jack Temple used to + get?” She laughed again, softly, always looking at the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Damnably jealous!” agreed Mr. Riddle, and yawned. “Served him + devilish right for marrying you. And he was a blind fool for five long + years.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, blind,” the lady agreed. “How could he have been so blind? + How well I recall the day he rode after us in the woods.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas the parson told, curse him!” said Mr. Riddle. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> + “We should have gone that night, if your courage had held.” + </p> + <p> + “My courage!” she cried, flashing a look upwards, “my foresight. + A pretty mess we had made of it without my inheritance. 'Tis small + enough, the Lord knows. In Europe we should have been dregs. We should + have starved in the wilderness with you a-farming.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Devilish queer talk,” said he, “but while we are in it, + I wonder where Temple is now. He got aboard the King's frigate with + a price on his head. Williams told me he saw him in London, at White's. + Have—have you ever heard, Sarah?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, her glance returning to the ashes. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” says Mr. Riddle, “he'll scarce turn up here.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer that, but sat motionless. + </p> + <p> + “He'll scarce turn up here, in these wilds,” Mr. Riddle repeated, + “and what I am wondering, Sarah, is how the devil we are to live + here.” + </p> + <p> + “How do these good people live, who helped us when we were + starving?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Riddle flung his hand eloquently around the cabin. There was something + of disgust in the gesture. + </p> + <p> + “You see!” he said, “love in a cottage.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is love,” said the lady, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + He broke into laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Sally,” he cried, “I have visions of you gracing the board at + which we sat to-day, patting journey-cakes on the hearth, stewing squirrel + broth with the same pride that you once planned a rout. Cleaning the pots + and pans, and standing anxious at the doorway staring through a sunbonnet + for your lord and master.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord and master!” said the lady, and there was so much of + scorn in the words that Mr. Riddle winced. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said, “I grant now that you could make pans shine like + pier-glasses, that you could cook bacon to a turn—although I would + have laid an hundred guineas against it some years ago. What then? Are you + to be + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> + contented with four log walls? With the intellectual companionship + of the McChesneys and their friends? Are you to depend for excitement upon + the chances of having the hair neatly cut from your head by red fiends? + Come, we'll go back to the <i>Rue St. Dominique</i>, to the suppers and + the card parties of the countess. We'll be rid of regrets for a life upon + which we have turned our backs forever.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Harry,” said she, “we'll never be rid of regrets.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll never have a barony like Temple Bow, and races every week, and + gentry round about. But, damn it, the Rebels have spoiled all that since + the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are not the regrets I mean,” answered Mrs. Temple. + </p> + <p> + “What then, in Heaven's name?” he cried. “You were not wont to + be thus. But now I vow you go beyond me. What then?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, but sat leaning forward over the hearth, he staring at + her in angry perplexity. A sound broke the afternoon stillness,—the + pattering of small, bare feet on the puncheons. A tremor shook the woman's + shoulders, and little Tom stood before her, a quaint figure in a butternut + smock, his blue eyes questioning. He laid a hand on her arm. + </p> + <p> + Then a strange thing happened. With a sudden impulse she turned and flung + her arms about the boy and strained him to her, and kissed his brown hair. + He struggled, but when she released him he sat very still on her knee, + looking into her face. For he was a solemn child. The lady smiled at him, + and there were two splashes like raindrops on her fair cheeks. + </p> + <p> + As for Mr. Riddle, he went to the door, looked out, and took a last pinch + of snuff. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the mistress of the house coming back,” he cried, + “and singing like the shepherdess in the opera.” + </p> + <p> + It was Polly Ann indeed. At the sound of his mother's voice, little Tom + jumped down from the lady's lap and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> + ran past Mr. Riddle at the door. Mrs. + Temple's thoughts were gone across the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “And what is that you have under your arm?” said Mr. Riddle, as he + gave back. + </p> + <p> + “I've fetched some prime bacon fer your supper, sir,” said Polly Ann, + all rosy from her walk; “what I have ain't fit to give ye.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple rose. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, “what you have is too good for us. And if you + do such a thing again, I shall be very angry.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, ma'am,” exclaimed Polly Ann, “and you use' ter dainties an' + silver an' linen! Tom is gone to try to git a turkey for ye.” She + paused, and looked compassionately at the lady. “Bless ye, ma'am, + ye're that tuckered from the mountains! 'Tis a fearsome journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the lady, simply, “I am tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Small wonder!” exclaimed Polly Ann. “To think what ye've been + through—yere husband near to dyin' afore yere eyes, and ye a-reskin' + yere own life to save him—so Tom tells me. When Tom goes out + a-fightin' redskins I'm that fidgety I can't set still. I wouldn't let + him know what I feel fer the world. But well ye know the pain of it, + who love yere husband like that.” + </p> + <p> + The lady would have smiled bravely, had the strength been given her. She + tried. And then, with a shudder, she hid her face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't!” she exclaimed, “don't!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Riddle went out. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, ma'am,” she said, “I hedn't no right ter speak, + and ye fair worn out.” She drew her gently into a chair. + “Set down, ma'am, and don't ye stir tell supper's ready.” + She brushed her eyes with her sleeve, and, stepping briskly to my bed, + bent over me. “Davy,” she said, “Davy, how be ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” + </p> + <p> + It was the lady's voice. She stood facing us, and never while I live shall + I forget that which I saw in her eyes. Some resemblance it bore to the + look of the hunted deer, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> + but in the animal it is dumb, appealing. Understanding made the look of + the woman terrible to behold,—understanding, ay, and courage. For + she did not lack this last quality. Polly Ann gave back in a kind of + dismay, and I shivered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “I am David Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you dare to judge me!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + I knew not why she said this. + </p> + <p> + “To judge you?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to judge me,” she answered. “I know you, David Ritchie, and + the blood that runs in you. Your mother was a foolish—saint” (she + laughed), “who lifted her eyebrows when I married her brother, John + Temple. That was her condemnation of me, and it stung me more than had a + thousand sermons. A doting saint, because she followed your father into + the mountain wilds to her death for a whim of his. And your father. A + Calvinist fanatic who had no mercy on sin, save for that particular + weakness of his own—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Mrs. Temple!” I cried, lifting up in bed. And to my + astonishment she was silenced, looking at me in amazement. + “You had your vengeance when I came to you, when you turned from + me with a lift of your shoulders at the news of my father's death. + And now—” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” she repeated questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “Now I thought you were changed,” I said slowly, for the excitement + was telling on me. + </p> + <p> + “You listened!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I pitied you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pity!” she cried. “My God, that you should pity me!” She + straightened, and summoned all the spirit that was in her. “I would + rather be called a name than have the pity of you and yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot change it, Mrs. Temple,” I answered, and fell back on the + nettle-bark sheets. “You cannot change it,” I heard myself repeating, + as though it were another's voice. And I knew that Polly Ann was bending + over me and calling me. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> + “Where did they go, Polly Ann?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Acrost the Mississippi, to the lands of the Spanish King,” said + Polly Ann. + </p> + <p> + “And where in those dominions?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “John Saunders took 'em as far as the Falls,” Polly Ann answered. + “He 'lowed they was goin' to St. Louis. But they never said a word. + I reckon they'll be hunted as long as they live.” + </p> + <p> + I had thought of them much as I lay on my back recovering from the + fever,—the fever for which Mrs. Temple was to blame. Yet I bore + her no malice. And many other thoughts I had, probing back into childhood + memories for the solving of problems there. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed ye come of gentlefolks, Davy,” Polly Ann had said + when we talked together. + </p> + <p> + So I was first cousin to Nick, and nephew to that selfish gentleman, Mr. + Temple, in whose affectionate care I had been left in Charlestown by my + father. And my father? Who had he been? I remembered the speech that he + had used and taught me, and how his neighbors had dubbed him + “aristocrat.” But Mrs. Temple was gone, and it was not in + likelihood that I should ever see her more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER III</a> + </h2> + <h3>We go to Danville</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Two</span> years went by, two uneventful years for me, + two mighty years for Kentucky. Westward rolled the tide of emigrants to + change her character, but to swell her power. Towns and settlements sprang + up in a season and flourished, and a man could scarce keep pace with the + growth of them. Doctors came, and ministers, and lawyers; generals and + majors, and captains and subalterns of the Revolution, to till their + grants and to found families. There were gentry, too, from the + tide-waters, come to retrieve the fortunes which they had lost by their + patriotism. There were storekeepers like Mr. Scarlett, adventurers and + ne'er-do-weels who hoped to start with a clean slate, and a host of lazy + vagrants who thought to scratch the soil and find abundance. + </p> + <p> + I must not forget how, at the age of seventeen, I became a landowner, + thanks to my name being on the roll of Colonel Clark's regiment. For, in a + spirit of munificence, the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Virginia had + awarded to every private in that regiment one hundred and eight acres of + land on the Ohio River, north of the Falls. Sergeant Thomas McChesney, as + a reward for his services in one of the severest campaigns in history, + received a grant of two hundred and sixteen acres! You who will may look + at the plat made by William Clark, Surveyor for the Board of + Commissioners, and find sixteen acres marked for Thomas McChesney in + Section 169, and two hundred more in Section 3. Section 3 fronted the Ohio + some distance above Bear Grass Creek, and was, of course, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> + on the Illinois + shore. As for my own plots, some miles in the interior, I never saw them. + But I own them to this day. + </p> + <p> + I mention these things as bearing on the story of my life, with which I + must get on. And, therefore, I may not dwell upon this injustice to the + men who won an empire and were flung a bone long afterwards. + </p> + <p> + It was early autumn once more, and such a busy week we had had at the + mill, that Tom was perforce obliged to remain at home and help, though he + longed to be gone with Cowan and Ray a-hunting to the southwest. Up rides + a man named Jarrott, flings himself from his horse, passes the time of day + as he watches the grinding, helps Tom to tie up a sack or two, and hands + him a paper. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” says Tom, staring at it blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Ye won't blame me, Mac,” answers Mr. Jarrott, somewhat ashamed of + his rôle of process-server. “'Tain't none of my doin's.” + </p> + <p> + “Read it, Davy,” said Tom, giving it to me. + </p> + <p> + I stopped the mill, and, unfolding the paper, read. I remember not the + quaint wording of it, save that it was ill-spelled and ill-writ generally. + In short, it was a summons for Tom to appear before the court at Danville + on a certain day in the following week, and I made out that a Mr. Neville + Colfax was the plaintiff in the matter, and that the suit had to do with + land. + </p> + <p> + “Neville Colfax!” I exclaimed, “that's the man for whom Mr. + Potts was agent.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said Tom, and sat him down on the meal-bags. + “Drat the varmint, he kin hev the land.” + </p> + <p> + “Hev the land?” cried Polly Ann, who had come in upon us. “Hev ye + no sperrit, Tom McChesney?” + </p> + <p> + “There's no chance ag'in the law,” said Tom, hopelessly. “Thar's + Perkins had his land tuck away last year, and Terrell's moved out, and + twenty more I could name. And thar's Dan'l Boone, himself. Most the rich + bottom he tuck up the critters hev got away from him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll go to Danville and take Davy with ye and fight + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> + it,” answered Polly + Ann, decidedly. “Davy has a word to say, I reckon. 'Twas he made the + mill and scar't that Mr. Potts away. I reckon he'll git us out of this + fix.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jarrott applauded her courage. + </p> + <p> + “Ye have the grit, ma'am,” he said, as he mounted his horse again. + “Here's luck to ye!” + </p> + <p> + The remembrance of Mr. Potts weighed heavily upon my mind during the next + week. Perchance Tom would have to pay for this prank likewise. 'Twas + indeed a foolish, childish thing to have done, and I might have known that + it would only have put off the evil day of reckoning. Since then, by + reason of the mill site and the business we got by it, the land had become + the most valuable in that part of the country. Had I known Colonel Clark's + whereabouts, I should have gone to him for advice and comfort. As it was, + we were forced to await the issue without counsel. Polly Ann and I talked + it over many times while Tom sat, morose and silent, in a corner. He was + the pioneer pure and simple, afraid of no man, red or white, in open + combat, but defenceless in such matters as this. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis Davy will save us, Tom,” said Polly Ann, “with the l'arnin' + he's got while the corn was grindin'.” + </p> + <p> + I had, indeed, been reading at the mill while the hopper emptied itself, + such odd books as drifted into Harrodstown. One of these was called + “Bacon's Abridgment”; it dealt with law and it puzzled me sorely. + </p> + <p> + “And the children,” Polly Ann continued,—“ye'll not make + me pick up the four of 'em, and pack it to Louisiana, because Mr. + Colfax wants the land we've made for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + There were four of them now, indeed,—the youngest still in the bark + cradle in the corner. He bore a no less illustrious name than that of the + writer of these chronicles. + </p> + <p> + It would be hard to say which was the more troubled, Tom or I, that windy + morning we set out on the Danville trace. Polly Ann alone had been + serene,—ay, and smiling and hopeful. She had kissed us each good-by + impartially. And we left her, with a future governor of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> + Kentucky on her shoulder, tripping + lightly down to the mill to grind the McGarrys' corn. + </p> + <p> + When the forest was cleared at Danville, Justice was housed first. She was + not the serene, inexorable dame whom we have seen in pictures holding her + scales above the jars of earth. Justice at Danville was a somewhat + high-spirited, quarrelsome lady who decided matters oftenest with the + stroke of a sword. There was a certain dignity about her temple + withal,—for instance, if a judge wore linen, that linen must not be + soiled. Nor was it etiquette for a judge to lay his own hands in + chastisement on contemptuous persons, though Justice at Danville had more + compassion than her sisters in older communities upon human failings. + </p> + <p> + There was a temple built to her “of hewed or sawed logs nine inches + thick”—so said the specifications. Within the temple was a rude + platform which served as a bar, and since Justice is supposed to carry a + torch in her hand, there were no windows,—nor any windows in the + jail next door, where some dozen offenders languished on the afternoon + that Tom and I rode into town. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing auspicious in the appearance of Danville, and no man + might have said then that the place was to be the scene of portentous + conventions which were to decide the destiny of a State. Here was a + sprinkling of log cabins, some in the building, and an inn, by courtesy so + called. Tom and I would have preferred to sleep in the woods near by, with + our feet to the blaze; this was partly from motives of economy, and partly + because Tom, in common with other pioneers, held an inn in contempt. But + to come back to our arrival. + </p> + <p> + It was a sunny and windy afternoon, and the leaves were flying in the air. + Around the court-house was a familiar, buzzing scene,—the + backwoodsmen, lounging against the wall or brawling over their claims, the + sleek agents and attorneys, and half a dozen of a newer type. These were + adventurous young gentlemen of family, some of them lawyers and some of + them late officers in the Continental army who had been rewarded with + grants of land. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> + These were the patrons of the log tavern which stood near + by with the blackened stumps around it, where there was much card-playing + and roistering, ay, and even duelling, of nights. + </p> + <p> + “Thar's Mac,” cried a backwoodsman who was sitting on the court-house + steps as we rode up. “Howdy, Mac; be they tryin' to git your land, + too?” + </p> + <p> + “Howdy, Mac,” said a dozen more, paying a tribute to Tom's + popularity. And some of them greeted me. + </p> + <p> + “Is this whar they take a man's land away?” says Tom, jerking his + thumb at the open door. + </p> + <p> + Tom had no intention of uttering a witticism, but his words were followed + by loud guffaws from all sides, even the lawyers joining in. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon this is the place, Tom,” came the answer. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon I'll take a peep in thar,” said Tom, leaping off his horse and + shouldering his way to the door. I followed him, curious. The building was + half full. Two elderly gentlemen of grave demeanor sat on stools behind a + puncheon table, and near them a young man was writing. Behind the young + man was a young gentleman who was closing a speech as we entered, and he + had spoken with such vehemence that the perspiration stood out on his + brow. There was a murmur from those listening, and I saw Tom pressing his + way to the front. + </p> + <p> + “Hev any of ye seen a feller named Colfax?” cries Tom, in a loud voice. + “He says he owns the land I settled, and he ain't ever seed it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a roar of laughter, and even the judges smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Whar is he?” cries Tom; “said he'd be here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Another gust of laughter drowned his words, and then one of the judges got + up and rapped on the table. The gentleman who had just made the speech + glared mightily, and I supposed he had lost the effect of it. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by interrupting the court?” cried the judge. + “Get out, sir, or I'll have you fined for contempt.” + </p> + <p> + Tom looked dazed. But at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and + Tom turned. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> + “Why,” says he, “thar's no devil if it ain't the Colonel. Polly Ann + told me not to let 'em scar' me, Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “And quite right, Tom,” Colonel Clark answered, smiling. He turned to + the judges. “If your Honors please,” said he, “this gentleman is an + old soldier of mine, and unused to the ways of court. I beg your Honors to + excuse him.” + </p> + <p> + The judges smiled back, and the Colonel led us out of the building. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Tom,” said he, after he had given me a nod and a kind word, + “I know this Mr. Colfax, and if you will come into the tavern this + evening after court, we'll see what can be done. I have a case of my + own at present.” + </p> + <p> + Tom was very grateful. He spent the remainder of the daylight hours with + other friends of his, shooting at a mark near by, serenely confident of + the result of his case now that Colonel Clark had a hand in it. Tom being + one of the best shots in Kentucky, he had won two beaver skins before the + early autumn twilight fell. As for me, I had an afternoon of excitement in + the court, fascinated by the marvels of its procedures, by the impassioned + speeches of its advocates, by the gravity of its judges. Ambition stirred + within me. + </p> + <p> + The big room of the tavern was filled with men in heated talk over the + day's doings, some calling out for black betty, some for rum, and some + demanding apple toddies. The landlord's slovenly negro came in with + candles, their feeble rays reënforcing the firelight and revealing + the mud-chinked walls. Tom and I had barely sat ourselves down at a table + in a corner, when in came Colonel Clark. Beside him was a certain swarthy + gentleman whom I had noticed in the court, a man of some thirty-five + years, with a fine, fleshy face and coal-black hair. His expression was + not one to give us the hope of an amicable settlement,—in fact, he + had the scowl of a thundercloud. He was talking quite angrily, and seemed + not to heed those around him. + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil should I see the man, Clark?” he was saying. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> + The Colonel did not answer until they had stopped in front of us. + </p> + <p> + “Major Colfax,” said he, “this is Sergeant Tom McChesney, one of + the best friends I have in Kentucky. I think a vast deal of Tom, Major. + He was one of the few that never failed me in the Illinois campaign. He + is as honest as the day; you will find him plain-spoken if he speaks at + all, and I have great hopes that you will agree. Tom, the Major and I + are boyhood friends, and for the sake of that friendship he has + consented to this meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear that your kind efforts will be useless, Colonel,” Major + Colfax put in, rather tartly. “Mr. McChesney not only ignores my + rights, but was near to hanging my agent.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” says Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + I glanced at Tom. However helpless he might be in a court, he could be + counted on to stand up stanchly in a personal argument. His retorts would + certainly not be brilliant, but they surely would be dogged. Major Colfax + had begun wrong. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon ye've got no rights that I know on,” said Tom. “I cleart + the land and settled it, and I have a better right to it nor any man. + And I've got a grant fer it.” + </p> + <p> + “A Henderson grant!” cried the Major; “'tis so much worthless + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it's good enough fer me,” answered Tom. “It come from + those who blazed their way out here and druv the redskins off. I don't + know nothin' about this newfangled law, but 'tis a queer thing to my + thinkin' if them that fit fer a place ain't got the fust right to it.” + </p> + <p> + Major Colfax turned to Colonel Clark with marked impatience. + </p> + <p> + “I told you it would be useless, Clark,” said he. “I care not a + fig for a few paltry acres, and as God hears me I'm a reasonable man.” + (He did not look it then.) “But I swear by the evangels I'll let no + squatter have the better of me. I did not serve Virginia for gold or + land, but I lost my fortune in that service, and before I know it these + backwoodsmen will have every acre of my grant. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> + It's an old story,” said Mr. Colfax, hotly, “and + why the devil did we fight England if it wasn't that every man should have + his rights? By God, I'll not be frightened or wheedled out of mine. I sent + an agent to Kentucky to deal politely and reasonably with these gentry. + What did they do to him? Some of them threw him out neck and crop. And if + I am not mistaken,” said Major Colfax, fixing a piercing eye upon Tom, + “if I am not mistaken, it was this worthy sergeant of yours who came + near to hanging him, and made the poor devil flee Kentucky for his + life.” + </p> + <p> + This remark brought me near to an untimely laugh at the remembrance of Mr. + Potts, and this though I was far too sober over the outcome of the + conference. Colonel Clark seized hold of a chair and pushed it under Major + Colfax. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, gentlemen, we are not so far apart,” said the Colonel, + coolly. The slovenly negro lad passing at that time, he caught him by the + sleeve. “Here, boy, a bowl of toddy, quick. And mind you brew it strong. + Now, Tom,” said he, “what is this fine tale about a hanging?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twan't nothin',” said Tom. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me you didn't try to hang Mr. Potts!” cried Major Colfax. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you nothin',” said Tom, and his jaw was set more stubbornly + than ever. + </p> + <p> + Major Colfax glanced at Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + “You see!” he said a little triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + I could hold my tongue no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Major Colfax is unjust, sir,” I cried. “'Twas Tom saved + the man from hanging.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” says Colonel Clark, turning to me sharply. “So you had a hand + in this, Davy. I might have guessed as much.” + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil is this?” says Mr. Colfax. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_283-T1" id="Page_283-T1"></a> + “A sort of ward of mine,” answers the Colonel. “Drummer boy, + financier, strategist, in my Illinois campaign. Allow me to present to + you, Major, Mr. David + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> + Ritchie. When my men objected to marching through ice-skimmed + water up to their necks, Mr. Ritchie showed them how.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul!” exclaimed the Major, staring at me from under + his black eyebrows, “he was but a child.” + </p> + <p> + “With an old head on his shoulders,” said the Colonel, and his banter + made me flush. + </p> + <p> + The negro boy arriving with the toddy, Colonel Clark served out three + generous gourdfuls, a smaller one for me. “Your health, my friends, and + I drink to a peaceful settlement.” + </p> + <p> + “You may drink to the devil if you like,” says Major Colfax, glaring + at Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Davy,” said Colonel Clark, when he had taken half the gourd, + “let's have the tale. I'll warrant you're behind this.” + </p> + <p> + I flushed again, and began by stammering. For I had a great fear that + Major Colfax's temper would fly into bits when he heard it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said I, “I was grinding corn at the mill when the man + came. I thought him a smooth-mannered person, and he did not give his + business. He was just for wheedling me. 'And was this McChesney's mill?' + said he. 'Ay,' said I. 'Thomas McChesney?' 'Ay,' said I. Then he was all + for praise of Thomas McChesney. 'Where is he?' said he. 'He is at the far + pasture,' said I, 'and may be looked for any moment.' Whereupon he sits + down and tries to worm out of me the business of the mill, the yield of + the land. After that he begins to talk about the great people he knows, + Sevier and Shelby and Robertson and Boone and the like. Ay, and his + intimates, the Randolphs and the Popes and the Colfaxes in Virginia. + 'Twas then I asked him if he knew Colonel Campbell of Abingdon.” + </p> + <p> + “And what deviltry was that?” demanded the Colonel, as he + dipped himself more of the toddy. + </p> + <p> + “I'll come to it, sir. Yes, Colonel Campbell was his intimate, and + ranted if he did not tarry a week with him + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> + at Abingdon on his journeys. After + that he follows me to the cabin, and sees Polly Ann and Tom and the + children on the floor poking a 'possum. ‘Ah,’ says he, in + his softest voice, ‘a pleasant family scene. And this is Mr. + McChesney?’ ‘I’m your man,’ says Tom. Then he + praised the mill site and the land all over again. ‘‘Tis + good enough for a farmer,’ says Tom. ‘Who holds under + Henderson's grant,’ I cried. ‘‘Twas that you wished + to say an hou ago,’ and I saw I had caught him fair.” + </p> + <p> + “By the eternal!” cried Colonel Clark, bringing down his fist upon + the table. “And what then?” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at Major Colfax, but for the life of me I could make nothing of + his look. + </p> + <p> + “And what did your man say?” said Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + “He called on the devil to bite me, sir,” I answered. The Colonel put + down his gourd and began to laugh. The Major was looking at me fixedly. + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “It was then Polly Ann called him a thief to take away the land Tom had + fought for and paid for and tilled. The man was all politeness once more, + said that the matter was unfortunate, and that a new and good title might + be had for a few skins.” + </p> + <p> + “He said that?” interrupted Major Colfax, half rising in his chair. + “He was a damned scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + “So I thought, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The devil you did!” said the Major. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, Colfax,” said the Colonel, pulling him by the sleeve of his + greatcoat, “sit down and let the lad finish. And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Boone had told me of a land agent who had made off with Colonel + Campbell's silver spoons from Abingdon, and how the Colonel had ridden + east and west after him for a week with a rope hanging on his saddle. I + began to tell this story, and instead of the description of Mr. Boone's + man, I put in that of Mr. Potts,—in height some five feet nine, + spare, of sallow complexion and a green greatcoat.” + </p> + <p> + Major Colfax leaped up in his chair. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> + “Great Jehovah!” he shouted, “you described the wrong man.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark roared with laughter, thereby spilling some of his toddy. + </p> + <p> + “I'll warrant he did so,” he cried; “and I'll warrant your + agent went white as birch bark. Go on, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “There's not a great deal more, sir,” I answered, looking + apprehensively at Major Colfax, who still stood. “The man vowed I lied, + but Tom laid hold of him and was for hurrying him off to Harrodstown at + once.” + </p> + <p> + “Which would ill have suited your purpose,” put in the Colonel. + “And what did you do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “We put him in a loft, sir, and then I told Tom that he was not Campbell's + thief at all. But I had a craving to scare the man out of Kentucky. So I + rode off to the neighbors and gave them the tale, and bade them come after + nightfall as though to hang Campbell's thief, which they did, and they + were near to smashing the door trying to get in the cabin. Tom told them + the rascal had escaped, but they must needs come in and have jigs and + toddies until midnight. When they were gone, and we called down the man + from the loft, he was in such a state that he could scarce find the rungs + of the ladder with his feet. He rode away into the night, and that was the + last we heard of him. Tom was not to blame, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Clark was speechless. And when for the moment he would conquer his + mirth, a glance at Major Colfax would set him off again in laughter. I was + puzzled. I thought my Colonel more human than of old. + </p> + <p> + “How now, Colfax?” he cried, giving a poke to the Major's ribs; + “you hold the sequel to this farce.” + </p> + <p> + The Major's face was purple,—with what emotion I could not say. + Suddenly he swung full at me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that you were the general of this + hoax—you?” he demanded in a strange voice. + </p> + <p> + “The thing seemed an injustice to me, sir,” I replied in + self-defence, “and the man a rascal.” + </p> + <p> + “A rascal!” cried the Major, “a knave, a poltroon, a simpleton! + And he came to me with no tale of having + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> + been outwitted by a stripling.” + Whereupon Major Colfax began to shake, gently at first, and presently he + was in such a gale of laughter that I looked on him in amazement, Colonel + Clark joining in again. The Major's eye rested at length upon Tom, and + gradually he grew calm. + </p> + <p> + “McChesney,” said he, “we'll have no bickerings in court among + soldiers. The land is yours, and to-morrow my attorney shall give you + a deed of it. Your hand, McChesney.” + </p> + <p> + The stubbornness vanished from Tom's face, and there came instead a dazed + expression as he thrust a great, hard hand into the Major's. + </p> + <p> + “'Twan't the land, sir,” he stammered; “these varmints of settlers + is gittin' thick as flies in July. 'Twas Polly Ann. I reckon I'm obleeged + to ye, Major.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” said the Major, “I thank the Lord I came to + Kentucky to see for myself. Damn the land. I have plenty more,—and + little else.” He turned quizzically to Colonel Clark, revealing a + line of strong, white teeth. “Suppose we drink a health to your + drummer boy,” said he, lifting up his gourd. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER IV</a> + </h2> + <h3>I cross the Mountains once more</h3> + <p> + “'<span class="smcap">Tis</span> what ye've a right to, Davy,” said + Polly Ann, and she handed me a + little buckskin bag on which she had been sewing. I opened it with + trembling fingers, and poured out, chinking on the table, such a motley + collection of coins as was never seen,—Spanish milled dollars, + English sovereigns and crowns and shillings, paper issues of the + Confederacy, and I know not what else. Tom looked on with a grin, while + little Tom and Peggy reached out their hands in delight, their mother + vigorously blocking their intentions. + </p> + <p> + “Ye've earned it yerself,” said Polly Ann, forestalling my protest; + “'tis what ye got by the mill, and I've laid it by bit by bit for yer + eddication.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you get?” I cried, striving by feigned anger to keep the + tears back from my eyes. “Have you no family to support?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” she answered, “we have the mill that ye gave us, and the + farm, and Tom's rifle. I reckon we'll fare better than ye think, tho' + we'll miss ye sore about the place.” + </p> + <p> + I picked out two sovereigns from the heap, dropped them in the bag, and + thrust it into my hunting shirt. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said I, my voice having no great steadiness, + “not a penny more. I'll keep the bag for your sake, Polly Ann, + and I'll take the mare for Tom's.” + </p> + <p> + She had had a song on her lips ever since our coming back from Danville, + seven days agone, a song on her lips and banter on her tongue, as she made + me a new hunting shirt and breeches for the journey across the mountains. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> + And now with a sudden movement she burst into tears and flung her arms + about my neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Davy, 'tis no time to be stubborn,” she sobbed, “and + eddication is a costly thing. Ever sence I found ye on the trace, + years ago, I've thought of ye one day as a great man. And when ye + come back to us so big and l'arned, I'd wish to be saying with + pride that I helped ye.” + </p> + <p> + “And who else, Polly Ann?” I faltered, my heart racked with the + parting. “You found me a homeless waif, and you gave me a home and a + father and mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Davy, ye'll not forget us when ye're great, I know ye'll not. + 'Tis not in ye.” + </p> + <p> + She stood back and smiled at me through her tears. The light of heaven was + in that smile, and I have dreamed of it even since age has crept upon me. + Truly, God sets his own mark on the pure in heart, on the unselfish. + </p> + <p> + I glanced for the last time around the rude cabin, every timber of which + was dedicated to our sacrifices and our love: the fireplace with its rough + stones, on the pegs the quaint butternut garments which Polly Ann had + stitched, the baby in his bark cradle, the rough bedstead and the little + trundle pushed under it,—and the very homely odor of the place is + dear to me yet. Despite the rigors and the dangers of my life here, should + I ever again find such happiness and peace in the world? The children + clung to my knees; and with a “God bless ye, Davy, and come back to + us,” Tom squeezed my hand until I winced with pain. I leaped on the + mare, and with blinded eyes rode down the familiar trail, past the mill, + to Harrodsburg. + </p> + <p> + There Mr. Neville Colfax was waiting to take me across the mountains. + </p> + <p> + There is a story in every man's life, like the kernel in the shell of a + hickory nut. I am ill acquainted with the arts of a biographer, but I seek + to give in these pages little of the shell and the whole of the kernel of + mine. 'Twould be unwise and tiresome to recount the journey + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> + over the bare mountains with my new friend and benefactor. He was a + strange gentleman, now jolly enough to make me shake with laughter and + forget the sorrow of my parting, now moody for a night and a day; now + he was all sweetness, now all fire; now he was abstemious, now + self-indulgent and prodigal. He had a will like flint, and under it a + soft heart. Cross his moods, and he hated you. I never thought to + cross them, therefore he called me Davy, and his friendliness grew + with our journey. His anger turned against rocks and rivers, landlords + and emigrants, but never against me. And for this I was silently thankful. + </p> + <p> + And how had he come to take me over the mountains, and to put me in the + way of studying law? Mindful of the kernel of my story, I have shortened + the chapter to tell you out of the proper place. Major Colfax had made Tom + and me sup with himself and Colonel Clark at the inn in Danville. And so + pleased had the Major professed himself with my story of having outwitted + his agent, that he must needs have more of my adventures. Colonel Clark + gave him some, and Tom,—his tongue loosed by the toddy,—others. + And the Colonel added to the debt I owed him by suggesting that Major + Colfax take me to Virginia and recommend me to a lawyer there. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” cried the Major, “I will do more. I like the lad, for he is + modest despite the way you have paraded him. I have an uncle in Richmond, + Judge Wentworth, to whom I will take him in person. And when the Judge has + done with him, if he is not flayed and tattooed with Blackstone, you may + flay and tattoo me.” + </p> + <p> + Thus did I break through my environment. And it was settled that I should + meet the Major in seven days at Harrodstown. + </p> + <p> + Once in the journey did the Major make mention of a subject which had + troubled me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “Clark has changed. He is not the same man he was + when I saw him in Williamsburg demanding supplies for his campaign.” + </p> + <p> + “Virginia has used him shamefully, sir,” I answered, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> + and suddenly there came flooding to my mind things I had heard the + Colonel say in the campaign. + </p> + <p> + “Commonwealths have short memories,” said the Major; “they will + accept any sacrifice with a smile. Shakespeare, I believe, speaks of royal + ingratitude—he knew not commonwealths. Clark was close-lipped once, + not given to levity and—to toddy. There, there, he is my friend as + well as yours, and I will prove it by pushing his cause in Virginia. Is + yours Scotch anger? Then the devil fend me from it. A monarch would have + given him fifty thousand acres on the Wabash, a palace, and a sufficient + annuity. Virginia has given him a sword, eight thousand wild acres to be + sure, repudiated the debts of his army, and left him to starve. Is there + no room for a genius in our infant military establishment?” + </p> + <p> + At length, as Christmas drew near, we came to Major Colfax's seat, some + forty miles out of the town of Richmond. It was called Neville's Grange, + the Major's grandfather having so named it when he came out from England + some sixty years before. It was a huge, rambling, draughty house of + wood,—mortgaged, so the Major cheerfully informed me, thanks to + the patriotism of the family. At Neville's Grange the Major kept a + somewhat roisterous bachelor's hall. The place was overrun with negroes + and dogs, and scarce a night went by that there was not merrymaking in the + house with the neighbors. The time passed pleasantly enough until one + frosty January morning Major Colfax had a twinge of remembrance, cried out + for horses, took me into Richmond, and presented me to that very learned + and decorous gentleman, Judge Wentworth. + </p> + <p> + My studies began within the hour of my arrival. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER V</a> + </h2> + <h3>I meet an Old Bedfellow</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I shall</span> burden no one with the dry chronicles + of a law office. The acquirement of learning is a slow process in life, + and perchance a slower one in the telling. I lacked not application + during the three years of my stay in Richmond, and to earn my living + I worked at such odd tasks as came my way. + </p> + <p> + The Judge resembled Major Colfax in but one trait: he was choleric. But he + was painstaking and cautious, and I soon found out that he looked askance + upon any one whom his nephew might recommend. He liked the Major, but he + vowed him to be a roisterer and spendthrift, and one day, some months + after my advent, the Judge asked me flatly how I came to fall in with + Major Colfax. I told him. At the end of this conversation he took my + breath away by bidding me come to live with him. Like many lawyers of that + time, he had a little house in one corner of his grounds for his office. + It stood under great spreading trees, and there I was wont to sit through + many a summer day wrestling with the authorities. In the evenings we would + have political arguments, for the Confederacy was in a seething state + between the Federalists and the Republicans over the new Constitution, now + ratified. Between the Federalists and the Jacobins, I would better say, + for the virulence of the French Revolution was soon to be reflected among + the parties on our side. Kentucky, swelled into an unmanageable territory, + was come near to rebellion because the government was not strong enough to + wrest from Spain the free navigation of the Mississippi. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> + And yet I yearned to go back, and looked forward eagerly to the time when + I should have stored enough in my head to gain admission to the bar. I was + therefore greatly embarrassed, when my examinations came, by an offer from + Judge Wentworth to stay in Richmond and help him with his practice. It was + an offer not to be lightly set aside, and yet I had made up my mind. He + flew into a passion because of my desire to return to a wild country of + outlaws and vagabonds. + </p> + <p> + “Why, damme,” he cried, “Kentucky and this pretty State of + Franklin which desired to chip off from North Carolina are traitorous + places. Disloyal to Congress! Intriguing with a Spanish minister and + the Spanish governor of Louisiana to secede from their own people and + join the King of Spain. Bah!” he exclaimed, “if our new Federal + Constitution is adopted I would hang Jack Sevier of Franklin and your + Kentuckian Wilkinson to the highest trees west of the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + I can see the little gentleman as he spoke, his black broadcloth coat and + lace ruffles, his hand clutching the gold head of his cane, his face + screwed up with indignation under his white wig. It was on a Sunday, and + he was standing by the lilac bushes on the lawn in front of his square + brick house. + </p> + <p> + “David,” said he, more calmly, “I trust I have taught you something + besides the law. I trust I have taught you that a strong Federal + government alone will be the salvation of our country.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot blame Kentucky greatly, sir,” said I, feeling that I must + stand up for my friends. “The Federal government has done little enough + for its people, and treated them to a deal of neglect. They won that + western country for themselves with no Federal nor Virginia or North + Carolina troops to help them. No man east of the mountains knows what that + fight has been. No man east of the mountains knows the horror of that + Indian warfare. This government gives them no protection now. Nay, + Congress cannot even procure for them an outlet for their commerce. They + must trade or perish. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> + Spain closes the Mississippi, arrests our merchants, + seizes their goods, and often throws them into prison. No wonder they + scorn the Congress as weak and impotent.” + </p> + <p> + The Judge stared at me aghast. It was the first time I had dared oppose + him on this subject. + </p> + <p> + “What,” he sputtered, “what? You are a Separatist,—you whom I + have received into the bosom of my family!” Seizing the cane at the + middle, he brandished it in my face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't misunderstand me, sir,” said I. “You have given me books to + read, and have taught me what may be the destiny of our nation on this + continent. But you must forgive a people whose lives have been spent in a + fierce struggle for their homes, whose families have nearly all lost some + member by massacre, who are separated by hundreds of miles of wilderness + from you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me speechless, and turned and walked into the house. I + thought I had sinned past forgiveness, and I was beyond description + uncomfortable, for he had been like a parent to me. But the next morning, + at half after seven, he walked into the little office and laid down some + gold pieces on my table. Gold was very scarce in those days. + </p> + <p> + “They are for your journey, David,” said he. “My only comfort in + your going back is that you may grow up to put some temperance into their + wild heads. I have a commission for you at Jonesboro, in what was once the + unspeakable State of Franklin. You can stop there on your way to + Kentucky.” He drew from his pocket a great bulky letter, addressed to + “Thomas Wright, Esquire, Barrister-at-law in Jonesboro, North + Carolina.” For the good gentleman could not bring himself to write + Franklin. + </p> + <p> + It was late in September of the year 1788 when I set out on my homeward + way—for Kentucky was home to me. I was going back to Polly Ann and + Tom, and visions of that home-coming rose before my eyes as I rode. In a + packet in my saddle-bags were some dozen letters which Mr. Wrenn, the + schoolmaster at Harrodstown, had writ + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> + at Polly Ann's bidding. I have the + letters yet. For Mr. Wrenn was plainly an artist, and had set down on the + paper the words just as they had flowed from her heart. Ay, and there was + news in the letters, though not surprising news among those pioneer + families whom God blessed so abundantly. Since David Ritchie McChesney (I + mention the name with pride) had risen above the necessities of a bark + cradle, two more had succeeded him, a brother and a sister. I spurred my + horse onward, and thought impatiently of the weary leagues between my + family and me. + </p> + <p> + I have often pictured myself on that journey. I was twenty-one years of + age, though one would have called me older. My looks were nothing to boast + of, and I was grown up tall and weedy, so that I must have made quite a + comical sight, with my long legs dangling on either side of the pony. I + wore a suit of gray homespun, and in my saddle-bags I carried four + precious law books, the stock in trade which my generous patron had given + me. But as I mounted the slopes of the mountains my spirits rose too at + the prospect of the life before me. The woods were all aflame with color, + with wine and amber and gold, and the hills wore the misty mantle of + shadowy blue so dear to my youthful memory. As I left the rude taverns of + a morning and jogged along the heights, I watched the vapors rise and + roll away from the valleys far beneath, and saw great flocks of ducks and + swans and cackling geese darkening the air in their southward flight. + Strange that I fell in with no company, for the trail leading into the + Tennessee country was widened and broadened beyond belief, and everywhere + I came upon blackened fires and abandoned lean-tos, and refuse bones + gnawed by the wolves and bleached by the weather. I slept in some of these + lean-tos, with my fire going brightly, indifferent to the howl of wolves + in chase or the scream of a panther pouncing on its prey. For I was born + of the wilderness. It had no terrors for me, nor did I ever feel alone. + The great cliffs with their clinging, gnarled trees, the vast mountains + clothed in the motley colors of the autumn, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> + the sweet and smoky smell of the Indian summer,—all were dear to me. + </p> + <p> + As I drew near to Jonesboro my thoughts began to dwell upon that strange + and fascinating man who had entertained Polly Ann and Tom and me so + lavishly on our way to Kentucky,—Captain John Sevier. For he had + made a great noise in the world since then, and the wrath of such men as + my late patron was heavy upon him. Yes, John Sevier, Nollichucky Jack, had + been a king in all but name since I had seen him, the head of such a + principality as stirred the blood to read about. It comprised the Watauga + settlement among the mountains of what is now Tennessee, and was called + prosaically (as is the wont of the Anglo-Saxon) the free State of + Franklin. There were certain conservative and unimaginative souls in this + mountain principality who for various reasons held their old allegiance to + the State of North Carolina. One Colonel Tipton led these loyalist forces, + and armed partisans of either side had for some years ridden up and down + the length of the land, burning and pillaging and slaying. We in Virginia + had heard of two sets of courts in Franklin, of two sets of legislators. + But of late the rumor had grown persistently that Nollichucky Jack was now + a kind of fugitive, and that he had passed the summer pleasantly enough + fighting Indians in the vicinity of Nick-a-jack Cave. + </p> + <p> + It was court day as I rode into the little town of Jonesboro, the air + sparkling like a blue diamond over the mountain crests, and I drew deep + into my lungs once more the scent of the frontier life I had loved so + well. In the streets currents of excited men flowed and backed and eddied, + backwoodsmen and farmers in the familiar hunting shirts of hide or + homespun, and lawyers in dress less rude. A line of horses stood kicking + and switching their tails in front of the log tavern, rough carts and + wagons had been left here and there with their poles on the ground, and + between these, piles of skins were heaped up and bags of corn and grain. + The log meeting-house was deserted, but the court-house was the centre of + such a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span> + swirling crowd as I had often seen at Harrodstown. Now there are + brawls and brawls, and I should have thought with shame of my Kentucky + bringing-up had I not perceived that this was no ordinary court day, and + that an unusual excitement was in the wind. + </p> + <p> + Tying my horse, and making my way through the press in front of the tavern + door, I entered the common room, and found it stifling, brawling and + drinking going on apace. Scarce had I found a seat before the whole room + was emptied by one consent, all crowding out of the door after two men who + began a rough-and-tumble fight in the street. I had seen rough-and-tumble + fights in Kentucky, and if I have forborne to speak of them it is because + there always has been within me a loathing for them. And so I sat quietly + in the common room until the landlord came. I asked him if he could direct + me to Mr. Wright's house, as I had a letter for that gentleman. His answer + was to grin at me incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “I reckoned you wah'nt from these parts,” said he. + “Wright's—out o' town.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the excitement?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + He stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Nollichucky Jack's been heah, in Jonesboro, young man,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What,” I exclaimed, “Colonel Sevier?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Sevier,” he repeated. “With Martin and Tipton and all the + Caroliny men right heah, having a council of mility officers in the + court-house, in rides Jack with his frontier boys like a whirlwind. He + bean't afeard of 'em, and a bench warrant out ag'in him for high treason. + Never seed sech a recklessness. Never had sech a jamboree sence I kept the + tavern. They was in this here room most of the day, and they was five + fights before they set down to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “And Colonel Tipton?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Tipton,” said he, “he hain't afeard neither, but he hain't + got men enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is Sevier now?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “How long hev you ben in town?” was his answer. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> + I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Wal,” said he, shifting his tobacco from one sallow cheek to the + other, “I reckon he and his boys rud out just afore you come in. Mark + me,” he added, “when I tell ye there'll be trouble yet. Tipton and + Martin and the Caroliny folks is burnin' mad with Chucky Jack for the + murder of Corn Tassel and other peaceful chiefs. But Jack hez a wild lot + with him,—some of the Nollichucky Cave traders, and there's one + young lad that looks like he was a gentleman once. I reckon Jack himself + wouldn't like to get into a fight with him. He's a wild one. Great + Goliah,” he exclaimed, running to the door, “ef thar ain't a-goin' + to be another fight! Never seed sech a day in Jonesboro.” + </p> + <p> + I likewise ran to the door, and this fight interested me. There was a + great, black-bearded mountaineer-farmer-desperado in the midst of a + circle, pouring out a torrent of abuse at a tall young man. + </p> + <p> + “That thar's Hump Gibson,” said the landlord, genially pointing out + the black-bearded ruffian, “and the young lawyer feller hez git a + jedgment ag'in him. He's got spunk, but I reckon Hump 'll t'ar the innards + out'n him ef he stands thar a great while.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye'll git jedgment ag'in me, ye Caroliny splinter, will ye?” yelled + Mr. Gibson, with an oath. “I'll pay Bill Wilder the skins when I git + ready, and all the pinhook lawyers in Washington County won't budge me a + mite.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll pay Bill Wilder or go to jail, by the eternal,” cried the + young man, quite as angrily, whereupon I looked upon him with a mixture of + admiration and commiseration, with a gulping certainty in my throat that I + was about to see murder done. He was a strange young man, with the rare + marked look that would compel even a poor memory to pick him out again. + For example, he was very tall and very slim, with red hair blown every + which way over a high and towering forehead that seemed as long as the + face under it. The face, too, was long, and all freckled by the weather. + The blue eyes held me in wonder, and these blazed with such + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> + prodigious + wrath that, if a look could have killed, Hump Gibson would have been + stricken on the spot. Mr. Gibson was, however, very much alive. + </p> + <p> + “Skin out o' here afore I kill ye,” he shouted, and he charged at the + slim young man like a buffalo, while the crowd held its breath. I, who had + looked upon cruel sights in my day, was turning away with a kind of + sickening when I saw the slim young man dodge the rush. He did more. With + two strides of his long legs he reached the fence, ripped off the topmost + rail, and his huge antagonist, having changed his direction and coming at + him with a bellow, was met with the point of a scantling in the pit of his + stomach, and Mr. Gibson fell heavily to the ground. It had all happened in + a twinkling, and there was a moment's lull while the minds of the + onlookers needed readjustment, and then they gave vent to ecstasies of + delight. + </p> + <p> + “Great Goliah!” cried the landlord, breathlessly, “he shet him up + jest like a jack-knife.” + </p> + <p> + Awe-struck, I looked at the tall young man, and he was the very essence of + wrath. Unmindful of the plaudits, he stood brandishing the fence-rail over + the great, writhing figure on the ground. And he was slobbering. I recall + that this fact gave a twinge to something in my memory. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Hump Gibson,” he cried, “come on!”—at which the + crowd went wild with pure joy. Witticisms flew. + </p> + <p> + “Thought ye was goin' to eat 'im up, Hump?” said a friend. + </p> + <p> + “Ye ain't hed yer meal yet, Hump,” reminded another. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hump Gibson arose slowly out of the dust, yet he did not stand + straight. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, come on!” cried the young lawyer-fellow, and he thrust the + point of the rail within a foot of Mr. Gibson's stomach. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Hump!” howled the crowd, but Mr. Gibson stood irresolute. + He lacked the supreme test of courage which was demanded on this occasion. + Then he turned and walked away very slowly, as though his pace might + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> + mitigate in some degree the shame of his retreat. The young man flung away + the fence-rail, and, thrusting aside the overzealous among his admirers, + he strode past me into the tavern, his anger still hot. + </p> + <p> + “Hooray fer Jackson!” they shouted. “Hooray fer Andy Jackson!” + </p> + <p> + Andy Jackson! Then I knew. Then I remembered a slim, wild, sandy-haired + boy digging his toes in the red mud long ago at the Waxhaws Settlement. + And I recalled with a smile my own fierce struggle at the schoolhouse with + the same boy, and how his slobbering had been my salvation. I turned and + went in after him with the landlord, who was rubbing his hands with glee. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon Hump won't come crowin' round heah any more co't days, Mr. + Jackson,” said our host. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Jackson swept the room with his eyes and then glared at the + landlord so that he gave back. + </p> + <p> + “Where's my man?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Your man, Mr. Jackson?” stammered the host. + </p> + <p> + “Great Jehovah!” cried Mr. Jackson, “I believe he's afraid to race. + He had a horse that could show heels to my Nancy, did he? And he's gone, + you say?” + </p> + <p> + A light seemed to dawn on the landlord's countenance. + </p> + <p> + “God bless ye, Mr. Jackson!” he cried, “ye don't mean that young + daredevil that was with Sevier?” + </p> + <p> + “With Sevier?” says Jackson. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” says the landlord; “he's been a-fightin with Sevier all + summer, and I reckon he ain't afeard of nothin' any more than you. + Wait—his name was Temple—Nick Temple, they called him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nick Temple!” I cried, starting forward. + </p> + <p> + “Where's he gone?” said Mr. Jackson. “He was going to bet me a + six-forty he has at Nashboro that his horse could beat mine on the + Greasy Cove track. Where's he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” said the landlord, apologetically, “Nollichucky Jack and + his boys left town an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a man of honor or isn't he?” said Mr. Jackson, fiercely. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> + “Lord, sir, I only seen him once, but I'd stake my oath on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say Mr. Temple has been here—Nicholas Temple?” + I said. + </p> + <p> + The bewildered landlord turned towards me helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil are you, sir?” cried Mr. Jackson. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what this Mr. Temple was like,” said I. + </p> + <p> + The landlord's face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, a thoroughbred hoss,” says he; “sech nostrils, and sech a + gray eye with the devil in it fer go—yellow ha'r, and ez tall ez + Mr. Jackson heah.” + </p> + <p> + “And you say he's gone off again with Sevier?” + </p> + <p> + “They rud into town” (he lowered his voice, for the room was filling), + “snapped their fingers at Tipton and his warrant, and rud out ag'in. My + God, but that was like Nollichucky Jack. Say, stranger, when your Mr. + Temple smiled—” + </p> + <p> + “He is the man!” I cried; “tell me where to find him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jackson, who had been divided between astonishment and impatience and + anger, burst out again. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean by interfering with my business, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is my business too,” I answered, quite as testily; + “my claim on Mr. Temple is greater than yours.” + </p> + <p> + “By Jehovah!” cried Jackson, “come outside, sir, come outside!” + </p> + <p> + The landlord backed away, and the men in the tavern began to press around + us expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “Gallop into him, Andy!” cried one. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let him git near no fences, stranger,” said another. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jackson turned on this man with such truculence that he edged away to + the rear of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Step out, sir,” said Mr. Jackson, starting for the door before I + could reply. I followed perforce, not without misgivings, the crowd + pushing eagerly after. Before we reached the dusty street Jackson began + pulling off his coat. In a trice the shouting onlookers had made a ring, + and we stood facing each other, he in his shirt-sleeves. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span> + “We'll fight fair,” said he, his lips wetting. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” said I, “if you are still accustomed to this hasty + manner. You have not asked my name, my standing, nor my reasons for + wanting Mr. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + I know not whether it was what I said that made him stare, or how I said + it. + </p> + <p> + “Pistols, if you like,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I; “I am in a hurry to find Mr. Temple. I fought you + this way once, and it's quicker.” + </p> + <p> + “You fought me this way once?” he repeated. The noise of the crowd + was hushed, and they drew nearer to hear. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Jackson,” said I, “you are a lawyer and a gentleman, + and so am I. I do not care to be beaten to a pulp, but I am not afraid + of you. And I am in a hurry. If you will step back into the tavern, I + will explain to you my reasons for wishing to get to Mr. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jackson stared at me the more. + </p> + <p> + “By the eternal,” said he, “you are a cool man. Give me my + coat,” he shouted to the bystanders, and they helped him on with it. + “Now,” said he, as they made to follow him, “keep back. I would + talk to this gentleman. By the heavens,” he cried, when he had gained + the room, “I believe you are not afraid of me. I saw it in your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Then I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jackson,” said I, “doubtless you do not remember a homeless + boy named David whom you took to your uncle's house in the Waxhaws—” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he exclaimed, “as I live I do. Why, we slept together.” + </p> + <p> + “And you stumped your toe getting into bed and swore,” said I. + </p> + <p> + At that he laughed so heartily that the landlord came running across the + room. + </p> + <p> + “And we fought together at the Old Fields School. Are you that boy?” + and he scanned me again. “By God, I believe you are.” Suddenly his + face clouded once more. “But what about Temple?” said he. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> + “Ah,” I answered, “I come to that quickly. Mr. Temple is my cousin. + After I left your uncle's house my father took me to Charlestown.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a Charlestown Temple?” demanded Mr. Jackson. “For I spent + some time gambling and horse-racing with the gentry there, and I know many + of them. I was a wild lad” (I repeat his exact words), “and I ran up + a bill in Charlestown that would have filled a folio volume. Faith, all I + had left me was the clothes on my back and a good horse. I made up my mind + one night that if I could pay my debts and get out of Charlestown I would + go into the back country and study law and sober down. There was a Mr. + Braiden in the ordinary who staked me two hundred dollars at + rattle-and-snap against my horse. Gad, sir, that was providence. I won. I + left Charlestown with honor, I studied law at Salisbury in North Carolina, + and I have come here to practise it.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have the talent,” said I, smiling at the remembrance of + the Hump Gibson incident. + </p> + <p> + “That is my history in a nutshell,” said Mr. Jackson. + “And now,” he added, “since you are Mr. Temple's cousin and + friend and an old acquaintance of mine to boot, I will tell you + where I think he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is that?” I asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stake a cowbell that Sevier will stop at the Widow Brown's,” he + replied. “I'll put you on the road. But mind you, you are to tell Mr. + Temple that he is to come back here and race me at Greasy Cove.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll warrant him to come,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon we left the inn together, more amicably than before. Mr. Jackson + had a thoroughbred horse near by that was a pleasure to see, and my + admiration of his mount seemed to set me as firmly in Mr. Jackson's esteem + again as that gentleman himself sat in the saddle. He was as good as his + word, rode out with me some distance on the road, and reminded me at the + last that Nick was to race him. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER VI</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Widow Brown's</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">It</span> was not to my credit that I should have + lost the trail, after Mr. Jackson put me straight. But the night was dark, + the country unknown to me, and heavily wooded and mountainous. In + addition to these things my mind ran like fire. My thoughts sometimes + flew back to the wondrous summer evening when I trod the Nollichucky + trace with Tom and Polly Ann, when I first looked down upon the log + palace of that prince of the border, John Sevier. Well I remembered him, + broad-shouldered, handsome, gay, a courtier in buckskin. Small wonder + he was idolized by the Watauga settlers, that he had been their leader + in the struggle of Franklin for liberty. And small + wonder that Nick Temple should be in his following. + </p> + <p> + Nick! My mind was in a torment concerning him. What of his mother? Should + I speak of having seen her? I went blindly through the woods for hours + after the night fell, my horse stumbling and weary, until at length I came + to a lonely clearing on the mountain side, and a fierce pack of dogs + dashed barking at my horse's heels. There was a dark cabin ahead, + indistinct in the starlight, and there I knocked until a gruff voice + answered me and a tousled man came to the door. Yes, I had missed the + trail. He shook his head when I asked for the Widow Brown's, and bade me + share his bed for the night. No, I would go on, I was used to the + backwoods. Thereupon he thawed a little, kicked the dogs, and pointed to + where the mountain dipped against the star-studded sky. There was a trail + there which led direct to the Widow Brown's, if I could follow it. So I + left him. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> + Once the fear had settled deeply of missing Nick at the Widow Brown's, I + put my mind on my journey, and thanks to my early training I was able to + keep the trail. It doubled around the spurs, forded stony brooks in + diagonals, and often in the darkness of the mountain forest I had to feel + for the blazes on the trees. There was no making time. I gained the notch + with the small hours of the morning, started on with the descent, + crisscrossing, following a stream here and a stream there, until at length + the song of the higher waters ceased and I knew that I was in the valley. + Suddenly there was no crown-cover over my head. I had gained the road once + more, and I followed it hopefully, avoiding the stumps and the deep wagon + ruts where the ground was spongy. + </p> + <p> + The morning light revealed a milky mist through which the trees showed + like phantoms. Then there came stains upon the mist of royal purple, of + scarlet, of yellow like a mandarin's robe, peeps of deep blue fading into + azure as the mist lifted. The fiery eye of the sun was cocked over the + crest, and beyond me I saw a house with its logs all golden brown in the + level rays, the withered cornstalks orange among the blackened stumps. My + horse stopped of his own will at the edge of the clearing. A cock crew, a + lean hound prostrate on the porch of the house rose to his haunches, + sniffed, growled, leaped down, and ran to the road and sniffed again. I + listened, startled, and made sure of the distant ring of many hoofs. And + yet I stayed there, irresolute. Could it be Tipton and his men riding from + Jonesboro to capture Sevier? The hoof-beats grew louder, and then the + hound in the road gave tongue to the short, sharp bark that is the call to + arms. Other dogs, hitherto unseen, took up the cry, and turning in my + saddle I saw a body of men riding hard at me through the alley in the + forest. At their head, on a heavy, strong-legged horse, was one who might + have stood for the figure of turbulence, and I made no doubt that this was + Colonel Tipton himself,—Colonel Tipton, once secessionist, now + champion of the Old North State and arch-enemy of John Sevier. At sight of + me he reined up + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> + so violently that his horse went back on his haunches, and + the men behind were near overriding him. + </p> + <p> + “Look out, boys,” he shouted, with a fierce oath, “they've got + guards out!” He flung back one hand to his holster for a pistol, while + the other reached for the powder flask at his belt. He primed the pan, + and, seeing me immovable, set his horse forward at an amble, his pistol + at the cock. + </p> + <p> + “Who in hell are you?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “A traveller from Virginia,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you doing here?” he demanded, with another oath. + </p> + <p> + “I have just this moment come here,” said I, as calmly as I might. + “I lost the trail in the darkness.” + </p> + <p> + He glared at me, purpling, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Is Sevier there?” said he, pointing at the house. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Tipton turned to his men, who were listening. + </p> + <p> + “Surround the house,” he cried, “and watch this fellow.” + </p> + <p> + I rode on perforce towards the house with Tipton and three others, while + his men scattered over the corn-field and cursed the dogs. And then we saw + in the open door the figure of a woman shading her eyes with her hand. We + pulled up, five of us, before the porch in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mrs. Brown,” said Tipton, gruffly. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Colonel,” answered the widow. + </p> + <p> + Tipton leaped from his horse, flung the bridle to a companion, and put his + foot on the edge of the porch to mount. Then a strange thing happened. The + lady turned deftly, seized a chair from within, and pulled it across the + threshold. She sat herself down firmly, an expression on her face which + hinted that the late lamented Mr. Brown had been a dominated man. Colonel + Tipton stopped, staggering from the very impetus of his charge, and gazed + at her blankly. + </p> + <p> + “I have come for Colonel Sevier,” he blurted. And then, his anger + rising, “I will have no trifling, ma'am. He is in this house.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> + “La! you don't tell me,” answered the widow, in a tone that was + wholly conversational. + </p> + <p> + “He is in this house,” shouted the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon you've guessed wrong, Colonel,” said the widow. + </p> + <p> + There was an awkward pause until Tipton heard a titter behind him. Then + his wrath exploded. + </p> + <p> + “I have a warrant against the scoundrel for high treason,” he cried, + “and, by God, I will search the house and serve it.” + </p> + <p> + Still the widow sat tight. The Rock of Ages was neither more movable nor + calmer than she. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, Colonel, you would not invade the house of an unprotected + female.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, evidently with a great effort, throttled his wrath for the + moment. His new tone was apologetic but firm. + </p> + <p> + “I regret to have to do so, ma'am,” said he, “but both sexes are + equal before the law.” + </p> + <p> + “The law!” repeated the widow, seemingly tickled at the word. She + smiled indulgently at the Colonel. “What a pity, Mr. Tipton, that the + law compels you to arrest such a good friend of yours as Colonel Sevier. + What self-sacrifice, Colonel Tipton! What nobility!” + </p> + <p> + There was a second titter behind him, whereat he swung round quickly, and + the crimson veins in his face looked as if they must burst. He saw me with + my hand over my mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You warned him, damn you!” he shouted, and turning again leaped to + the porch and tried to squeeze past the widow into the house. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you, sir?” she shrieked, giving him a vigorous push backwards. + The four of us, his three men and myself, laughed outright. Tipton's rage + leaped its bounds. He returned to the attack again and again, and yet at + the crucial moment his courage would fail him and he would let the widow + thrust him back. Suddenly I became aware that there were two new + spectators of this comedy. I started and looked again, and was near to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> + crying out at sight of one of them. The others did cry out, but Tipton + paid no heed. + </p> + <p> + Ten years had made his figure more portly, but I knew at once the man in + the well-fitting hunting shirt, with the long hair flowing to his + shoulders, with the keen, dark face and courtly bearing and humorous eyes. + Yes, humorous even now, for he stood, smiling at this comedy played by his + enemy, unmindful of his peril. The widow saw him before Tipton did, so + intent was he on the struggle. + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” she cried, “enough, John Tipton!” Tipton drew back + involuntarily, and a smile broadened on the widow's face. “Shame on you + for doubting a lady's word! Allow me to present to you—Colonel + Sevier.” + </p> + <p> + Tipton turned, stared as a man might who sees a ghost, and broke into such + profanity as I have seldom heard. + </p> + <p> + “By the eternal God, John Sevier,” he shouted, “I'll hang you to + the nearest tree!” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Sevier merely made a little ironical bow and looked at the + gentleman beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I have surrendered to Colonel Love,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Tipton snatched from his belt the pistol which he might have used on me, + and there flashed through my head the thought that some powder might yet + be held in its pan. We cried out, all of us, his men, the widow, and + myself,—all save Sevier, who stood quietly, smiling. Suddenly, while + we waited for murder, a tall figure shot out of the door past the widow, + the pistol flew out of Tipton's hand, and Tipton swung about with + something like a bellow, to face Mr. Nicholas Temple. + </p> + <p> + Well I knew him! And oddly enough at that time Riddle's words of long ago + came to me, “God help the woman you love or the man you fight.” How + shall I describe him? He was thin even to seeming frailness,—yet it + was the frailness of the race-horse. The golden hair, sun-tanned, awry + across his forehead, the face the same thin and finely cut face of the + boy. The gray eyes held an anger that did not blaze; it was far more + dangerous than that. Colonel John Tipton looked, and as I live he + recoiled. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span> + “If you touch him, I'll kill you,” said Mr. Temple. Nor did he say it + angrily. I marked for the first time that he held a pistol in his slim + fingers. What Tipton might have done when he swung to his new bearings is + mere conjecture, for Colonel Sevier himself stepped up on the porch, laid + his hand on Temple's arm, and spoke to him in a low tone. What he said we + didn't hear. The astonishing thing was that neither of them for the moment + paid any attention to the infuriated man beside them. I saw Nick's + expression change. He smiled,—the smile the landlord had described, + the smile that made men and women willing to die for him. After that + Colonel Sevier stooped down and picked up the pistol from the floor of the + porch and handed it with a bow to Tipton, butt first. Tipton took it, + seemingly without knowing why, and at that instant a negro boy came around + the house, leading a horse. Sevier mounted it without a protest from any + one. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to go with you, gentlemen,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Tipton slipped his pistol back into his belt, stepped down from + the porch, and leaped into his saddle, and he and his men rode off into + the stump-lined alley in the forest that was called a road. Nick stood + beside the widow, staring after them until they had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “My horse, boy!” he shouted to the gaping negro, who vanished on the + errand. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do, Mr. Temple?” asked the widow. + </p> + <p> + “Rescue him, ma'am,” cried Nick, beginning to pace up and down. + “I'll ride to Turner's. Cozby and Evans are there, and before night we + shall have made Jonesboro too hot to hold Tipton and his cutthroats.” + </p> + <p> + “La, Mr. Temple,” said the widow, with unfeigned admiration, “I + never saw the like of you. But I know John Tipton, and he'll have Colonel + Sevier started for North Carolina before our boys can get to + Jonesboro.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll follow,” says Nick, beginning to pace again. Suddenly, at + a cry from the widow, he stopped and stared at me, a light in his eye like + a point of steel. His hand slipped to his waist. + </p> + <p> + “A spy,” he said, and turned and smiled at the lady, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> + who was watching him with a kind of fascination; “but damnably + cool,” he continued, looking at me. “I wonder if he thinks to + outride me on that beast? Look you, sir,” he cried, as Mrs. Brown's + negro came back struggling with a deep-ribbed, high-crested chestnut + that was making half circles on his hind legs, “I'll give you to the + edge of the woods, and lay you a six-forty against a pair + of moccasins that you never get back to Tipton.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid that I ever do,” I answered fervently. + </p> + <p> + “What,” he exclaimed, “and you here with him on this sneak's + errand!” + </p> + <p> + “I am here with him on no errand,” said I. “He and his crew came on + me a quarter of an hour since at the edge of the clearing. Mr. Temple, I + am here to find you, and to save time I will ride with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Egad, you'll have to ride like the devil then,” said he, and he + stooped and snatched the widow's hand and kissed it with a daring + gallantry that I had thought to find in him. He raised his eyes to hers. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_310-T1" id="Page_310-T1"></a> + “Good-by, Mr. Temple,” + she said,—there was a tremor in her voice,—“and + may you save our Jack!” + </p> + <p> + He snatched the bridle from the boy, and with one leap he was on the + rearing, wheeling horse. “Come on,” he cried to me, and, waving his + hat at the lady on the porch, he started off with a gallop up the trail in + the opposite direction from that which Tipton's men had taken. + </p> + <p> + All that I saw of Mr. Nicholas Temple on that ride to Turner's was his + back, and presently I lost sight of that. In truth, I never got to + Turner's at all, for I met him coming back at the wind's pace, a huge, + swarthy, determined man at his side and four others spurring after, the + spume dripping from the horses' mouths. They did not so much as look at me + as they passed, and there was nothing left for me to do but to turn my + tired beast and follow at any pace I could make towards Jonesboro. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the afternoon before I reached the town, the town set down + among the hills like a caldron boiling over with the wrath of Franklin. + The news of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> + the capture of their beloved Sevier had flown through the + mountains like seeds on the autumn wind, and from north, south, east, and + west the faithful were coming in, cursing Tipton and Carolina as they + rode. + </p> + <p> + I tethered my tired beast at the first picket, and was no sooner on my + feet than I was caught in the hurrying stream of the crowd and fairly + pushed and beaten towards the court-house. Around it a thousand furious + men were packed. I heard cheering, hoarse and fierce cries, threats and + imprecations, and I knew that they were listening to oratory. I was + suddenly shot around the corner of a house, saw the orator himself, and + gasped. + </p> + <p> + It was Nicholas Temple. There was something awe-impelling in the tall, + slim, boyish figure that towered above the crowd, in the finely wrought, + passionate face, in the voice charged with such an anger as is given to + few men. + </p> + <p> + “What has North Carolina done for Franklin?” he cried. “Protected + her? No. Repudiated her? Yes. You gave her to the Confederacy for a war + debt, and the Confederacy flung her back. You shook yourselves free from + Carolina's tyranny, and traitors betrayed you again. And now they have + betrayed your leader. Will you avenge him, or will you sit down like + cowards while they hang him for treason?” + </p> + <p> + His voice was drowned, but he stood immovable with arms folded until there + was silence again. + </p> + <p> + “Will you rescue him?” he cried, and the roar rose again. “Will you + avenge him? By to-morrow we shall have two thousand here. Invade North + Carolina, humble her, bring her to her knees, and avenge John Sevier!” + </p> + <p> + Pandemonium reigned. Hats were flung in the air, rifles fired, shouts and + curses rose and blended into one terrifying note. Gradually, in the midst + of this mad uproar, the crowd became aware that another man was standing + upon the stump from which Nicholas Temple had leaped. “Cozby!” some + one yelled, “Cozby!” The cry was taken up. “Huzzay for Cozby! He'll + lead us into Caroliny.” He was the huge, swarthy man I had seen riding + hard with Nick that morning. A sculptor + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> + might have chosen his face and frame for a + type of the iron-handed leader of pioneers. Will was supreme in the great + features,—inflexible, indomitable will. His hunting shirt was open + across his great chest, his black hair fell to his shoulders, and he stood + with a compelling hand raised for silence. And when he spoke, slowly, + resonantly, men fell back before his words. + </p> + <p> + “I admire Mr. Temple's courage, and above all his loyalty to our beloved + General,” said Major Cozby. “But Mr. Temple is young, and the heated + counsels of youth must not prevail. My friends, in order to save Jack + Sevier we must be moderate.” + </p> + <p> + His voice, strong as it was, was lost. “To hell with moderation!” + they shouted. “Down with North Carolina! We'll fight her!” + </p> + <p> + He got silence again by the magnetic strength he had in him. + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” he said, “but get your General first. If we lead you + across the mountains now, his blood will be upon your heads. No man is a + better friend to Jack Sevier than I. Leave his rescue to me, and I will + get him for you.” He paused, and they were stilled perforce. “I will + get him for you,” he repeated slowly, “or North Carolina will pay + for the burial of James Cozby.” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant when they might have swung either way. + </p> + <p> + “How will ye do it?” came in a thin, piping voice from somewhere near the + stump. It may have been this that turned their minds. Others took up the + question, “How will ye do it, Major Cozby?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” cried the Major, “I don't know. And if I did know, I + wouldn't tell you. But I will get Nollichucky Jack if I have to burn + Morganton and rake the General out of the cinders!” + </p> + <p> + Five hundred hands flew up, five hundred voices cried, “I'm with ye, + Major Cozby!” But the Major only shook his head and smiled. What he + said was lost in the roar. Fighting my way forward, I saw him get down + from the stump, put his hand kindly on Nick's shoulder, and lead + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> + him into the court-house. They were followed by a score of others, and + the door was shut behind them. + </p> + <p> + It was then I bethought myself of the letter to Mr. Wright, and I sought + for some one who would listen to my questions as to his whereabouts. At + length the man himself was pointed out to me, haranguing an excited crowd + of partisans in front of his own gate. Some twenty minutes must have + passed before I could get any word with him. He was a vigorous little man, + with black eyes like buttons, he wore brown homespun and white stockings, + and his hair was clubbed. When he had yielded the ground to another + orator, I handed him the letter. He drew me aside, read it on the spot, + and became all hospitality at once. The town was full, and though he had + several friends staying in his house I should join them. Was my horse fed? + Dinner had been forgotten that day, but would I enter and partake? In + short, I found myself suddenly provided for, and I lost no time in getting + my weary mount into Mr. Wright's little stable. And then I sat down, with + several other gentlemen, at Mr. Wright's board, where there was much + guessing as to Major Cozby's plan. + </p> + <p> + “No other man west of the mountains could have calmed that crowd after + that young daredevil Temple had stirred them up,” declared Mr. Wright. + </p> + <p> + I ventured to say that I had business with Mr. Temple. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, then, I will invite him here,” said my host. “But I warn + you, Mr. Ritchie, that he is a trigger set on the hair. If he does not + fancy you, he may quarrel with you and shoot you. And he is in no temper + to bectrifled with to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not an easy person to quarrel with,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “To look at you, I shouldn't say that you were,” said he. + “We are going to the court-house, and I will see if I can get a word + with the young Hotspur and send him to you. Do you wait here.” + </p> + <p> + I waited on the porch as the day waned. The tumult of the place had died + down, for men were gathering in the houses to discuss and conjecture. And + presently, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> + sauntering along the street in a careless fashion, his spurs + trailing in the dust, came Nicholas Temple. He stopped before the house + and stared at me with a fine insolence, and I wondered whether I myself + had not been too hasty in reclaiming him. A greeting died on my lips. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir” he said, “so you are the gentleman who has been + dogging me all day.” + </p> + <p> + “I dog no one, Mr. Temple,” I replied bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “We'll not quibble about words,” said he. “Would it be impertinent + to ask your business—and perhaps your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Did not Mr. Wright give you my name?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He might have mentioned it, I did not hear. Is it of such + importance?” + </p> + <p> + At that I lost my temper entirely. + </p> + <p> + “It may be, and it may not,” I retorted. “I am David Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + He changed before my eyes as he stared at me, and then, ere I knew it, he + had me by both arms, crying out:— + </p> + <p> + “David Ritchie! My Davy—who ran away from me—and we were + going to Kentucky together. Oh, I have never forgiven you,”—the + smile that there was no resisting belied his words as he put his face + close to mine—“I never will forgive you. I might have known + you—you've grown, but I vow you're still an old man,—Davy, + you renegade. And where the devil did you run to?” + </p> + <p> + “Kentucky,” I said, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you traitor—and I trusted you. I loved you, Davy. Do you + remember how I clung to you in my sleep? And when I woke up, the world was + black. I followed your trail down the drive and to the + cross-roads—” + </p> + <p> + “It was not ingratitude, Nick,” I said; “you were all I had in the + world.” And then I faltered, the sadness of that far-off time coming + over me in a flood, and the remembrance of his generous sorrow for me. + </p> + <p> + “And how the devil did you track me to the Widow Brown's?” he + demanded, releasing me. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> + “A Mr. Jackson had a shrewd notion you were there. And by the way, he + was in a fine temper because you had skipped a race with him.” + </p> + <p> + “That sorrel-topped, lantern-headed Mr. Jackson?” said Nick. “He'll + be killed in one of his fine tempers. Damn a man who can't keep his + temper. I'll race him, of course. And where are you bound now, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “For Louisville, in Kentucky, at the Falls of the Ohio. It is a growing + place, and a promising one for a young man in the legal profession to + begin life.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you leave?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning, Nick,” said I. “You wanted once to go to + Kentucky; why not come with me?” + </p> + <p> + His face clouded. + </p> + <p> + “I do not budge from this town,” said he, “I do not budge until I + hear that Jack Sevier is safe. Damn Cozby! If he had given me my way, we + should have been forty miles from here by this. I'll tell you. Cozby is + even now picking five men to go to Morganton and steal Sevier, and he puts + me off with a kind word. He'll not have me, he says.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks you too hot. It needs discretion and an old head,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Egad, then, I'll commend you to him,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” I said, “it's time for you to tell me something of yourself, + and how you chanced to come into this country.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas Darnley's fault,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Darnley!” I exclaimed; “he whom you got into the duel + with—” I stopped abruptly, with a sharp twinge of remembrance + that was like a pain in my side. 'Twas Nick took up the name. + </p> + <p> + “With Harry Riddle.” He spoke quietly, that was the terrifying part + of it. “David, I've looked for that man in Italy and France, I've + scoured London for him, and, by God, I'll find him before he dies. And + when I do find him I swear to you that there will be no such thing as time + wasted, or mercy.” + </p> + <p> + I shuddered. In all my life I had never known such a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> + moment of indecision. + Should I tell him? My conscience would give me no definite reply. The + question had haunted me all the night, and I had lost my way in + consequence, nor had the morning's ride from the Widow Brown's sufficed to + bring me to a decision. Of what use to tell him? Would Riddle's death mend + matters? The woman loved him, that had been clear to me; yet, by telling + Nick what I knew I might induce him to desist from his search, and if I + did not tell, Nick might some day run across the trail, follow it up, take + Riddle's life, and lose his own. The moment, made for confession as it + was, passed. + </p> + <p> + “They have ruined my life,” said Nick. “I curse him, and I curse + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” I cried; “she is your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore I curse her the more,” he said. “You know what she + is, you've tasted of her charity, and you are my father's nephew. If you + have been without experience, I will tell you what she is. A + common—” + </p> + <p> + I reached out and put my hand across his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” I cried; “you shall say no such thing. And have you + not manhood enough to make your own life for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Manhood!” he repeated, and laughed. It was a laugh that I did not + like. “They made a man of me, my parents. My father played false with + the Rebels and fled to England for his reward. A year after he went I was + left alone at Temple Bow to the tender mercies of the niggers. Mr. Mason + came back and snatched what was left of me. He was a good man; he saved me + an annuity out of the estate, he took me abroad after the war on a grand + tour, and died of a fever in Rome. I made my way back to Charlestown, and + there I learned to gamble, to hold liquor like a gentleman, to run horses + and fight like a gentleman. We were speaking of Darnley,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of Darnley,” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “The devil of a man,” said Nick; “do you remember him, with the + cracked voice and fat calves?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> + At any other time I should have laughed at the recollection. + </p> + <p> + “Darnley turned Whig, became a Continental colonel, and got a grant out + here in the Cumberland country of three thousand acres. And now I own + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You own it!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_317-T1" id="Page_317-T1"></a> + “Rattle-and-snap,” said Nick; “I played him for the land at the + ordinary one night, and won it. It is out here near a place called + Nashboro, where this wild, long-faced Mr. Jackson says he is going soon. + I crossed the mountains to have a look at it, fell in with Nollichucky + Jack, and went off with him for a summer campaign. There's a man for you, + Davy,” he cried, “a man to follow through hell-fire. If they + touch a hair of his head we'll sack the State of North Carolina from + Morganton to the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But the land?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a fig for the land,” answered Nick; “as soon as Nollichucky + Jack is safe I'll follow you into Kentucky.” He slapped me on the knee. + “Egad, Davy, it seems like a fairy tale. We always said we were going to + Kentucky, didn't we? What is the name of the place you are to startle with + your learning and calm by your example?” + </p> + <p> + “Louisville,” I answered, laughing, “by the Falls of the Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall turn up there when Jack Sevier is safe and I have won some more + land from Mr. Jackson. We'll have a rare old time together, though I have + no doubt you can drink me under the table. Beware of these sober men. + Egad, Davy, you need only a woolsack to become a full-fledged judge. And + now tell me how fortune has buffeted you.” + </p> + <p> + It was my second night without sleep, for we sat burning candles in Mr. + Wright's house until the dawn, making up the time which we had lost away + from each other. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER VII</a> + </h2> + <h3>I meet a Hero</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">When</span> left to myself, I was wont to slide into + the commonplace; and where my own dull life intrudes to clog the action + I cut it down here and pare it away there until I am merely explanatory, + and not too much in evidence. I rode out the Wilderness Trail, fell in + with other travellers, was welcomed by certain old familiar faces at + Harrodstown, and pressed on. I have a vivid recollection of a beloved, + vigorous figure swooping out of a cabin door and scattering a brood of + children right and left. “Polly Ann!” I said, and she halted, + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she cried, “Tom, it's Davy come back;” and Tom himself + flew out of the door, ramrod in one hand and rifle in the other. Never + shall I forget them as they stood there, he grinning with sheer joy as of + yore, and she, with her hair flying and her blue gown snapping in the + wind, in a tremor between tears and laughter. I leaped to the ground, and + she hugged me in her arms as though I had been a child, calling my name + again and again, and little Tom pulling at the skirts of my coat. I caught + the youngster by the collar. + </p> + <p> + “Polly Ann,” said I, “he's grown to what I was when you picked me + up, a foundling.” + </p> + <p> + “And now it's little Davy no more,” she answered, swept me a + courtesy, and added, with a little quiver in her voice, “ye are a + gentleman now.” + </p> + <p> + “My heart is still where it was,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” said Tom, “I'm sure o' that, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + I was with them a fortnight in the familiar cabin, and then I took up my + journey northward, heavy at + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> + leaving again, but promising to see them from + time to time. For Tom was often at the Falls when he went a-scouting into + the Illinois country. It was, as of old, Polly Ann who ran the mill and + was the real bread-winner of the family. + </p> + <p> + Louisville was even then bursting with importance, and as I rode into it, + one bright November day, I remembered the wilderness I had seen here not + ten years gone when I had marched hither with Captain Harrod's company to + join Clark on the island. It was even then a thriving little town of log + and clapboard houses and schools and churches, and wise men were saying of + it—what Colonel Clark had long ago predicted—that it would + become the first city of commercial importance in the district of + Kentucky. + </p> + <p> + I do not mean to give you an account of my struggles that winter to obtain + a foothold in the law. The time was a heyday for young barristers, and + troubles in those early days grew as plentifully in Kentucky as corn. In + short, I got a practice, for Colonel Clark was here to help me, and, + thanks to the men who had gone to Kaskaskia and Vincennes, I had a fairly + large acquaintance in Kentucky. I hired rooms behind Mr. Crede's store, + which was famed for the glass windows which had been fetched all the way + from Philadelphia. Mr. Crede was the embodiment of the enterprising spirit + of the place, and often of an evening he called me in to see the new + fashionable things his barges had brought down the Ohio. The next day + certain young sparks would drop into my room to waylay the belles as they + came to pick a costume to be worn at Mr. Nickle's dancing school, or at + the ball at Fort Finney. + </p> + <p> + The winter slipped away, and one cool evening in May there came a negro to + my room with a note from Colonel Clark, bidding me sup with him at the + tavern and meet a celebrity. + </p> + <p> + I put on my best blue clothes that I had brought with me from Richmond, + and repaired expectantly to the tavern about eight of the clock, pushed + through the curious + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span> + crowd outside, and entered the big room where the + company was fast assembling. Against the red blaze in the great + chimney-place I spied the figure of Colonel Clark, more portly than of + yore, and beside him stood a gentleman who could be no other than General + Wilkinson. + </p> + <p> + He was a man to fill the eye, handsome of face, symmetrical of figure, + easy of manner, and he wore a suit of bottle-green that became him + admirably. In short, so fascinated and absorbed was I in watching him as + he greeted this man and the other that I started as though something had + pricked me when I heard my name called by Colonel Clark. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, Davy,” he cried across the room, and I came and stood + abashed before the hero. “General, allow me to present to you the + drummer boy of Kaskaskia and Vincennes, Mr. David Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear that you drummed them to victory through a very hell of torture, + Mr. Ritchie,” said the General. “It is an honor to grasp the hand of + one who did such service at such a tender age.” + </p> + <p> + General Wilkinson availed himself of that honor, and encompassed me with a + smile so benignant, so winning in its candor, that I could only mutter my + acknowledgment, and Colonel Clark must needs apologize, laughing, for my + youth and timidity. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie is not good at speeches, General,” said he, “but I + make no doubt he will drink a bumper to your health before we sit down. + Gentlemen,” he cried, filling his glass from a bottle on the table, + “a toast to General Wilkinson, emancipator and saviour of Kentucky!” + </p> + <p> + The company responded with a shout, tossed off the toast, and sat down at + the long table. Chance placed me between a young dandy from + Lexington—one of several the General had brought in his + train—and Mr. Wharton, a prominent planter of the neighborhood with + whom I had a speaking acquaintance. This was a backwoods feast, though + served in something better than the old backwoods style, and we had + venison and bear's meat and prairie fowl as well as pork and beef, and + breads that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span> + came stinging + hot from the Dutch ovens. Toasts to this and that were flung back and + forth, and jests and gibes, and the butt of many of these was that poor + Federal government which (as one gentleman avowed) was like a bantam hen + trying to cover a nestful of turkey's eggs, and clucking with importance + all the time. This picture brought on gusts of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “And what say you of the Jay?” cried one; “what will he hatch?” + </p> + <p> + Hisses greeted the name, for Mr. Jay wished to enter into a treaty with + Spain, agreeing to close the river for five and twenty years. Colonel + Clark stood up, and rapped on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said he, “Louisville has as her guest of + honor to-night a man of whom Kentucky may well be proud [loud cheering]. + Five years ago he favored Lexington by making it his home, and he came to + us with the laurel of former achievements still clinging to his brow. He + fought and suffered for his country, and attained the honorable rank of + Major in the Continental line. He was chosen by the people of Pennsylvania + to represent them in the august body of their legislature, and now he has + got new honor in a new field [renewed cheering]. He has come to Kentucky + to show her the way to prosperity and glory. Kentucky had a grievance + [loud cries of ‘Yes, yes!’]. Her hogs and cattle had no + market, her tobacco and agricultural products of all kinds were rotting + because the Spaniards had closed the Mississippi to our traffic. Could + the Federal government open the river? [shouts of ‘No, no!’ + and hisses]. Who opened it? [cries of ‘Wilkinson, + Wilkinson!’]. He said to the Kentucky planters, ‘Give your + tobacco to me, and I will sell it.*’ He put it in barges, he + floated down the river, and, as became a man of such distinction, he was + met by Governor-general Miro on the levee at New Orleans. Where is that + tobacco now, gentlemen?” Colonel Clark was here interrupted by such + roars and stamping that he paused a moment, and during this interval Mr. + Wharton leaned over and whispered quietly in my ear:— + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span> + “Ay, where is it?” + </p> + <p> + I stared at Mr. Wharton blankly. He was a man nearing the middle age, with + a lacing of red in his cheeks, a pleasant gray eye, and a singularly quiet + manner. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks to the genius of General Wilkinson,” Colonel Clark continued, + waving his hand towards the smilingly placid hero, “that tobacco has + been deposited in the King's store at ten dollars per hundred,—a + privilege heretofore confined to Spanish subjects. Well might Wilkinson + return from New Orleans in a chariot and four to a grateful Kentucky! This + year we have tripled, nay, quadrupled, our crop of tobacco, and we are + here to-night to give thanks to the author of this prosperity.” Alas, + Colonel Clark's hand was not as steady as of yore, and he spilled the + liquor on the table as he raised his glass. “Gentlemen, a health to our + benefactor.” + </p> + <p> + They drank it willingly, and withal so lengthily and noisily that Mr. + Wilkinson stood smiling and bowing for full three minutes before he could + be heard. He was a very paragon of modesty, was the General, and a man + whose attitudes and expressions spoke as eloquently as his words. None + looked at him now but knew before he opened his mouth that he was + deprecating such an ovation. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,—my friends and fellow-Kentuckians,” he said, + “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness, but I + assure you that I have done nothing worthy of it [loud protests]. I am a + simple, practical man, who loves Kentucky better than he loves himself. + This is no virtue, for we all have it. We have the misfortune to be + governed by a set of worthy gentlemen who know little about Kentucky and + her wants, and think less [cries of ‘Ay, ay!’]. I am not + decrying General Washington and his cabinet; it is but natural that the + wants of the seaboard and the welfare and opulence of the Eastern cities + should be uppermost in their minds [another interruption]. Kentucky, if + she would prosper, must look to her own welfare. And if any credit is due + to me, gentlemen, it is because I reserved my decision of his Excellency, + Governor-general Miro, and his people + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> + until I saw them for myself. A little calm reason, a plain + statement of the case, will often remove what seems an insuperable + difficulty, and I assure you that Governor-general Miro is a most + reasonable and courteous gentleman, who looks with all kindliness and + neighborliness on the people of Kentucky. Let us drink a toast to him. To + him your gratitude is due, for he sends you word that your tobacco will be + received.” + </p> + <p> + “In General Wilkinson's barges,” said Mr. Wharton, leaning over and + subsiding again at once. + </p> + <p> + The General was the first to drink the toast, and he sat down very + modestly amidst a thunder of applause. + </p> + <p> + The young man on the other side of me, somewhat flushed, leaped to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + “Down with the Federal government!” he cried; “what have they done + for us, indeed? Before General Wilkinson went to New Orleans the Spaniards + seized our flat boats and cargoes and flung our traders into prison, ay, + and sent them to the mines of Brazil. The Federal government takes sides + with the Indians against us. And what has that government done for you, + Colonel?” he demanded, turning to Clark, “you who have won for them + half of their territory? They have cast you off like an old moccasin. The + Continental officers who fought in the East have half-pay for life or + five years' full pay. And what have you?” + </p> + <p> + There was a breathless hush. A swift vision came to me of a man, young, + alert, commanding, stern under necessity, self-repressed at all + times—a man who by the very dominance of his character had awed into + submission the fierce Northern tribes of a continent, who had compelled + men to follow him until the life had all but ebbed from their bodies, who + had led them to victory in the end. And I remembered a boy who had stood + awe-struck before this man in the commandant's house at Fort Sackville. + Ay, and I heard again his words as though he had just spoken them, + “Promise me that you will not forget me if I am—unfortunate.” + I did not understand then. And now, because of a certain blinding of my + eyes, I did not see him + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span> + clearly as he got slowly to his feet. He clutched the table. He looked + around him—I dare not say—vacantly. And then, suddenly, he + spoke with a supreme anger and a supreme bitterness. + </p> + <p> + “Not a shilling has this government given me,” he cried. “Virginia + has more grateful; from her I have some acres of wild land + and—a sword.” He laughed. “A sword, gentlemen, and not new at + that. Oh, a grateful government we serve, one careful of the honor of her + captains. Gentlemen, I stand to-day a discredited man because the honest + debts I incurred in the service of that government are repudiated, because + my friends who helped it, Father Gibault, Vigo, and Gratiot, and others + have never been repaid. One of them is ruined.” + </p> + <p> + A dozen men had sprung clamoring to their feet before he sat down. One, + more excited than the rest, got the ear of the company. + </p> + <p> + “Do we lack leaders?” he cried. “We have them here with us + to-night, in this room. Who will stop us? Not the contemptible enemies + in Kentucky who call themselves Federalists. Shall we be supine forever? + We have fought once for our liberties, let us fight again. Let us make a + common cause with our real friends on the far side of the + Mississippi.” + </p> + <p> + I rose, sick at heart, but every man was standing. And then a strange + thing happened. I saw General Wilkinson at the far end of the room; his + hand was raised, and there was that on his handsome face which might have + been taken for a smile, and yet was not a smile. Others saw him too, I + know not by what exertion of magnetism. They looked at him and they held + their tongues. + </p> + <p> + “I fear that we are losing our heads, gentlemen,” he said; “and I + propose to you the health of the first citizen of Kentucky, Colonel George + George Rogers Clark.” + </p> + <p> + I found myself out of the tavern and alone in the cool May night. And as I + walked slowly down the deserted street, my head in a whirl, a hand was + laid on my shoulder. I turned, startled, to face Mr. Wharton, the planter. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span> + “I would speak a word with you, Mr. Ritchie,” he said. “May I come + to your room for a moment?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + After that we walked along together in silence, my own mind heavily + occupied with what I had seen and heard. We came to Mr. Crede's store, + went in at the picket gate beside it and down the path to my own door, + which I unlocked. I felt for the candle on the table, lighted it, and + turned in surprise to discover that Mr. Wharton was poking up the fire and + pitching on a log of wood. He flung off his greatcoat and sat down with + his feet to the blaze. I sat down beside him and waited, thinking him a + sufficiently peculiar man. + </p> + <p> + “You are not famous, Mr. Ritchie,” said he, presently. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Nor particularly handsome,” he continued, “nor conspicuous in + any way.” + </p> + <p> + I agreed to this, perforce. + </p> + <p> + “You may thank God for it,” said Mr. Wharton. + </p> + <p> + “That would be a strange outpouring, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “What think you of this paragon, General Wilkinson?” + he demanded suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I have Federal leanings, sir,” I answered + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said he, “we'll add caution to your lack of negative + accomplishments. I have had an eye on you this winter, though you did not + know it. I have made inquiries about you, and hence I am not here to-night + entirely through impulse. You have not made a fortune at the law, but you + have worked hard, steered wide of sensation, kept your mouth shut. Is it + not so?” + </p> + <p> + Astonished, I merely nodded in reply. + </p> + <p> + “I am not here to waste your time or steal your sleep,” he went on, + giving the log a push with his foot, “and I will come to the point. When + first laid eyes on this fine gentleman, General Wilkinson, I too fell a + victim to his charms. It was on the eve of this epoch-making trip of which + we heard so glowing an account to-night, and I + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span> + made up my mind that no + Spaniard, however wily, could resist his persuasion. He said to me, + 'Wharton, give me your crop of tobacco and I promise you to sell it in + spite of all the royal mandates that go out of Madrid.' He went, he saw, + he conquered the obdurate Miro as he has apparently conquered the rest of + the world, and he actually came back in a chariot and four as befitted + him. A heavy crop of tobacco was raised in Kentucky that year. I helped to + raise it,” added Mr. Wharton, dryly. “I gave the General my second + crop, and he sent it down. Mr. Ritchie, I have to this day never received + a <i>piastre</i> for my merchandise, nor am I the only planter in this + situation. Yet General Wilkinson is prosperous.” + </p> + <p> + My astonishment somewhat prevented me from replying to this, too. Was it + possible that Mr. Wharton meant to sue the General? I reflected while he + paused. I remembered how inconspicuous he had named me, and hope died. Mr. + Wharton did not look at me, but stared into the fire, for he was plainly + not a man to rail and rant. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie, you are young, but mark my words, that man Wilkinson will + bring Kentucky to ruin if he is not found out. The whole district from + Crab Orchard to Bear Grass is mad about him. Even Clark makes a fool of + himself—” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Clark, sir!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + He put up a hand. + </p> + <p> + “So you have some hot blood,” he said. “I know you love him. So do + I, or I should not have been there tonight. Do I blame his bitterness? + Do I blame—anything he does? The treatment he has had would bring + a blush of shame to the cheek of any nation save a republic. Republics + are wasteful, sir. In George Rogers Clark they have thrown away a general + who might some day have decided the fate of this country, they have left + to stagnate a man fit to lead a nation to war. And now he is ready to + intrigue against the government with any adventurer who may have + convincing ways and a smooth tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wharton,” I said, rising, “did you come here to tell me + this?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span> + But Mr. Wharton continued to stare into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I like you the better for it, my dear sir,” said he, “and I assure + you that I mean no offence. Colonel Clark is enshrined in our hearts, + Democrats and Federalists alike. Whatever he may do, we shall love him + always. But this other man,—pooh!” he exclaimed, which was as + near a vigorous expression as he got. “Now, sir, to the point. I, too, + am a Federalist, a friend of Mr. Humphrey Marshall, and, as you know, we + are sadly in the minority in Kentucky now. I came here to-night to ask you + to undertake a mission in behalf of myself and certain other gentlemen, + and I assure you that my motives are not wholly mercenary.” He paused, + smiled, and put the tips of his fingers together. “I would willingly + lose every crop for the next ten years to convict this Wilkinson of + treason against the Federal government.” + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” I repeated involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie,” answered the planter, “I gave you credit for some + shrewdness. Do you suppose the Federal government does not realize the + danger of this situation in Kentucky. They have tried in vain to open the + Mississippi, and are too weak to do it. This man Wilkinson goes down to + see Miro, and Miro straightway opens the river to us through him. How do + you suppose Wilkinson did it? By his charming personality?” + </p> + <p> + I said something, I know not what, as the light began to dawn on me. And + then I added, “I had not thought about the General.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” replied Mr. Wharton, “just so. And now you may easily imagine + that General Wilkinson has come to a very pretty arrangement with Miro. + For a certain stipulated sum best known to Wilkinson and Miro, General + Wilkinson agrees gradually to detach Kentucky from the Union and join it + to his Catholic Majesty's dominion of Louisiana. The bribe—the + opening of the river. What the government could not do Wilkinson did by + the lifting of his finger.” + </p> + <p> + Still Mr. Wharton spoke without heat. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you,” he said, “we have no proof of this, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> + that is my reason for + coming here to-night, Mr. Ritchie. I want you to get proof of it if you + can.” + </p> + <p> + “You want me—” I said, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I repeat that you are not handsome,”—I think he emphasized + this unduly,—“that you are self-effacing, inconspicuous; in short, + you are not a man to draw suspicion. You might travel anywhere and + scarcely be noticed,—I have observed that about you. In addition to + this you are wary, you are discreet, you are painstaking. I ask you to go + first to St. Louis, in Louisiana territory, and this for two reasons. + First, because it will draw any chance suspicion from your real objective, + New Orleans; and second, because it is necessary to get letters to New + Orleans from such leading citizens of St. Louis as Colonel Chouteau and + Monsieur Gratiot, and I will give you introductions to them. You are then + to take passage to New Orleans in a barge of furs which Monsieur Gratiot + is sending down. Mind, we do not expect that you will obtain proof that + Miro is paying Wilkinson money. If you do, so much the better; but we + believe that both are too sharp to leave any tracks. You will make a + report, however, upon the conditions under which our tobacco is being + received, and of all other matters which you may think germane to the + business in hand. Will you go?” + </p> + <p> + I had made up my mind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will go,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said Mr. Wharton, but with no more enthusiasm than he had + previously shown; “I thought I had not misjudged you. Is your law + business so onerous that you could not go to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I think I could settle what affairs I have by noon, Mr. Wharton,” I + replied. + </p> + <p> + “Egad, Mr. Ritchie, I like your manner,” said he; “and now for a + few details, and you may go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + He sat with me half an hour longer, carefully reviewing his instructions, + and then he left me to a night of contemplation. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER VIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>To St. Louis</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">By</span> eleven o'clock the next morning I had wound + up my affairs, having arranged with a young lawyer of my acquaintance to + take over such cases as I had, and I was busy in my room packing my + saddle-bags for the journey. The warm scents of spring were wafted through + the open door and window, smells of the damp earth giving forth the green + things, and tender shades greeted my eyes when I paused and raised my head + to think. Purple buds littered the black ground before my door-step, and + against the living green of the grass I saw the red stain of a robin's + breast as he hopped spasmodically hither and thither, now pausing + immovable with his head raised, now tossing triumphantly a wriggling worm + from the sod. Suddenly he flew away, and I heard a voice from the street + side that brought me stark upright. + </p> + <p> + “Hold there, neighbor; can you direct me to the mansion of that + celebrated barrister, Mr. Ritchie?” + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking that voice—it was Nicholas Temple's. I heard + a laugh and an answer, the gate slammed, and Mr. Temple himself in a long + gray riding-coat, booted and spurred, stood before me. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he cried, “come out here and hug me. Why, you look as if + I were your grandmother's ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you were,” I answered, “you could not have surprised me + more. Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + “At Jonesboro, acting the gallant with the widow, winning and losing + skins and cow-bells and land at rattle-and-snap, horse-racing with that + wild Mr. Jackson. Faith, he near shot the top of my head off because I + beat him at Greasy Cove.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span> + I laughed, despite my anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “And Sevier?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “You have not heard how Sevier got off?” exclaimed Nick. “Egad, + that was a crowning stroke of genius! Cozby and Evans, Captains Greene + and Gibson, and Sevier's two boys whom you met on the Nollichucky rode + over the mountains to Morganton. Greene and Gibson and Sevier's boys + hid themselves with the horses in a clump outside the town, while Cozby + and Evans, disguised as bumpkins in hunting shirts, jogged into the town + with Sevier's racing mare between them. They jogged into the town, I say, + through the crowds of white trash, and rode up to the court-house where + Sevier was being tried for his life. Evans stood at the open door and held + the mare and gaped, while Cozby stalked in and shouldered his way to the + front within four feet of the bar, like a big, awkward countryman. Jack + Sevier saw him, and he saw Evans with the mare outside. Then, by thunder, + Cozby takes a step right up to the bar and cries out, 'Judge, aren't you + about done with that man?' Faith, it was like judgment day, such a mix-up + as there was after that, and Nollichucky Jack made three leaps and got on + the mare, and in the confusion Cozby and Evans were off too, and the whole + State of North Carolina couldn't catch 'em then.” Nick sighed. “I'd + have given my soul to have been there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said I, for lack of something better. + </p> + <p> + “Cursed if you haven't given me a sweet reception, Davy,” said he. + “Have you lost your practice, or is there a lady here, you rogue,” + and he poked into the cupboard with his stick. “Hullo, where are you + going now?” he added, his eye falling on the saddle-bags. + </p> + <p> + I had it on my lips to say, and then I remembered Mr. Wharton's + injunction. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going on a journey,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “When?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “I leave in about an hour,” said I. + </p> + <p> + He sat down. “Then I leave too,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Nick?” I demanded. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span> + “I mean that I will go with you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But I shall be gone three months or more,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to do,” said Nick, placidly. + </p> + <p> + A vague trouble had been working in my mind, but now the full horror of it + dawned upon me. I was going to St. Louis. Mrs. Temple and Harry Riddle + were gone there, so Polly Ann had avowed, and Nick could not help meeting + Riddle. Sorely beset, I bent over to roll up a shirt, and refrained from + answering. + </p> + <p> + He came and laid a hand on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil ails you, Davy?” he cried. “If it is an elopement, + of course I won't press you. I'm hanged if I'll make a third.” + </p> + <p> + “It is no elopement,” I retorted, my face growing hot in spite of + myself. + </p> + <p> + “Then I go with you,” said he, “for I vow you need taking care of. + You can't put me off, I say. But never in my life have I had such a + reception, and from my own first cousin, too.” + </p> + <p> + I was in a quandary, so totally unforeseen was this situation. And then a + glimmer of hope came to me that perhaps his mother and Riddle might not be + in St. Louis after all. I recalled the conversation in the cabin, and + reflected that this wayward pair had stranded on so many beaches, had + drifted off again on so many tides, that one place could scarce hold them + long. Perchance they had sunk,—who could tell? I turned to Nick, who + stood watching me. + </p> + <p> + “It was not that I did not want you,” I said, “you must believe + that. I have wanted you ever since that night long ago when I slipped out + of your bed and ran away. I am going first to St. Louis and then to New + Orleans on a mission of much delicacy, a mission that requires discretion + and secrecy. You may come, with all my heart, with one condition + only—that you do not ask my business.” + </p> + <p> + “Done!” cried Nick. “Davy, I was always sure of you; you are the + one fixed quantity in my life. To St. Louis, eh, and to New Orleans? + Egad, what havoc we'll + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span> + make among the Creole girls. May I bring my nigger? He'll do + things for you too.” + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” said I, laughing, “only hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll run to the inn,” said Nick, “and be back in ten minutes.” + He got as far as the door, slapped his thigh, and looked back. + “Davy, we may run across—” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” I asked, with a catch of my breath. + </p> + <p> + “Harry Riddle,” he answered; “and if so, may God have mercy on + his soul!” + </p> + <p> + He ran down the path, the gate clicked, and I heard him whistling in the + street on his way to the inn. + </p> + <p> + After dinner we rode down to the ferry, Nick on the thoroughbred which had + beat Mr. Jackson's horse, and his man, Benjy, on a scraggly pony behind. + Benjy was a small, black negro with a very squat nose, alert and talkative + save when Nick turned on him. Benjy had been born at Temple Bow; he + worshipped his master and all that pertained to him, and he showered upon + me all the respect and attention that was due to a member of the Temple + family. For this I was very grateful. It would have been an easier journey + had we taken a boat down to Fort Massac, but such a proceeding might have + drawn too much attention to our expedition. I have no space to describe + that trip overland, which reminded me at every stage of the march against + Kaskaskia, the woods, the chocolate streams, the coffee-colored swamps + flecked with dead leaves,—and at length the prairies, the grass not + waist-high now, but young and tender, giving forth the acrid smell of + spring. Nick was delighted. He made me recount every detail of my trials + as a drummer boy, or kept me in continuous spells of laughter over his own + escapades. In short, I began to realize that we were as near to each other + as though we had never been parted. + </p> + <p> + We looked down upon Kaskaskia from the self-same spot where I had stood on + the bluff with Colonel Clark, and the sounds were even then the + same,—the sweet tones of the church bell and the lowing of the + cattle. We found a few Virginians and Pennsylvanians scattered in amongst + the French, the forerunners of that change which + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span> + was to come over this country. And we + spent the night with my old friend, Father Gibault, still the faithful + pastor of his flock; cheerful, though the savings of his lifetime had + never been repaid by that country to which he had given his allegiance so + freely. Travelling by easy stages, on the afternoon of the second day + after leaving Kaskaskia we picked our way down the high bluff that rises + above the American bottom, and saw below us that yellow monster among the + rivers, the Mississippi. A blind monster he seemed, searching with + troubled arms among the islands for his bed, swept onward by an inexorable + force, and on his heaving shoulders he carried great trees pilfered from + the unknown forests of the North. + </p> + <p> + Down in the moist and shady bottom we came upon the log hut of a + half-breed trapper, and he agreed to ferry us across. As for our horses, a + keel boat must be sent after these, and Monsieur Gratiot would no doubt + easily arrange for this. And so we found ourselves, about five o'clock on + that Saturday evening, embarked in a wide pirogue on the current, dodging + the driftwood, avoiding the eddies, and drawing near to a village set on a + low bluff on the Spanish side and gleaming white among the trees. And as I + looked, the thought came again like a twinge of pain that Mrs. Temple and + Riddle might be there, thinking themselves secure in this spot, so removed + from the world and its doings. + </p> + <p> + “How now, my man of mysterious affairs?” cried Nick, from the bottom + of the boat; “you are as puckered as a sour persimmon. Have you a treaty + with Spain in your pocket or a declaration of war? What can trouble + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, if you do not,” I answered, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Lord send we don't admire the same lady, then,” said Nick. + “Pierrot,” he cried, turning to one of the boatmen, “<i>il y a + des belles demoiselles là, n'est-ce pas</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The man missed a stroke in his astonishment, and the boat swung lengthwise + in the swift current. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dame, Monsieur, il y en a</i>,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn French, Nick?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mason had it hammered into me,” he answered + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span> + carelessly, his eyes on + the line of keel boats moored along the shore. Our guides shot the canoe + deftly between two of these, the prow grounded in the yellow mud, and we + landed on Spanish territory. + </p> + <p> + We looked about us while our packs were being unloaded, and the place had + a strange flavor in that year of our Lord, 1789. A swarthy boatman in a + tow shirt with a bright handkerchief on his head stared at us over the + gunwale of one of the keel boats, and spat into the still, yellow water; + three high-cheeked Indians, with smudgy faces and dirty red blankets, + regarded us in silent contempt; and by the water-side above us was a sled + loaded with a huge water cask, a bony mustang pony between the shafts, and + a chanting negro dipping gourdfuls from the river. A road slanted up the + little limestone bluff, and above and below us stone houses could be seen + nestling into the hill, houses higher on the river side, and with + galleries there. We climbed the bluff, Benjy at our heels with the + saddle-bags, and found ourselves on a yellow-clay street lined with grass + and wild flowers. A great peace hung over the village, an air of a + different race, a restfulness strange to a Kentuckian. Clematis and + honeysuckle climbed the high palings, and behind the privacy of these, + low, big-chimneyed houses of limestone, weathered gray, could be seen, + their roofs sloping in gentle curves to the shaded porches in front; or + again, houses of posts set upright in the ground and these filled between + with plaster, and so immaculately whitewashed that they gleamed against + the green of the trees which shaded them. Behind the houses was often a + kind of pink-and-cream paradise of flowering fruit trees, so dear to the + French settlers. There were vineyards, too, and thrifty patches of + vegetables, and lines of flowers set in the carefully raked mould. + </p> + <p> + We walked on, enraptured by the sights around us, by the heavy scent of + the roses and the blossoms. Here was a quaint stone horse-mill, a stable, + or a barn set uncouthly on the street; a baker's shop, with a glimpse of + the white-capped baker through the shaded doorway, and an + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span> + appetizing smell of hot bread in the air. A little farther on we heard the + tinkle of the blacksmith's hammer, and the man himself looked up from + where the hoof rested on his leather apron to give us a kindly + “<i>Bon soir, Messieurs,</i>” as we passed. And here was a cabaret, + with the inevitable porch, from whence came the sharp click of billiard + balls. + </p> + <p> + We walked on, stopping now and again to peer between the palings, when we + heard, amidst the rattling of a cart and the jingling of bells, a chorus + of voices:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-2.5em;"> + "À cheval, à cheval, pour aller voir ma mie,</span><br /> + Lon, lon, la!"</p> + <p> + A shaggy Indian pony came ambling around the corner between the long + shafts of a charette. A bareheaded young man in tow shirt and trousers was + driving, and three laughing girls were seated on the stools in the cart + behind him. Suddenly, before I quite realized what had happened, the young + man pulled up the pony, the girls fell silent, and Nick was standing in + the middle of the road, with his hat in his hand, bowing elaborately. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Je vous salue, Mesdemoiselles</i>,” he cried, “<i>mes anges + à char-à-banc. Pouvez-vous me diriger chez Monsieur + Gratiot</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sapristi!</i>” exclaimed the young man, but he laughed. The young + women stood up, giggling, and peered at Nick over the young man's + shoulder. One of them wore a fresh red-and-white calamanco gown. She had + a complexion of ivory tinged with red, raven hair, and dusky, long-lashed, + mischievous eyes brimming with merriment. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Volontiers, Monsieur</i>,” she answered, before the others could + catch their breath, “<i>première droite et première + gauche. Allons, Gaspard!</i>” she cried, tapping the young man sharply + on the shoulder, “<i>es tu fou</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Gaspard came to himself, flicked the pony, and they went off down the road + with shouts of laughter, while Nick stood waving his hat until they turned + the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said he, “I'd take to the highway if I could be sure of + holding up such a cargo every time. Off with you, Benjy, and find out + where she lives,” he cried; + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span> + and the obedient Benjy dropped the saddle-bags as though + such commands were not uncommon. + </p> + <p> + “Pick up those bags, Benjy,” said I, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Benjy glanced uncertainly at his master. + </p> + <p> + “Do as I tell you, you black scalawag,” said Nick, “or I'll tan + you. What are you waiting for?” + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave—” began Benjy, rolling his eyes in discomfiture. + </p> + <p> + “Look you, Nick Temple,” said I, “when you shipped with me you + promised that I should command. I can't afford to have the town about + our ears.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well, if you put it that way,” said Nick. “A little + honest diversion—Pick up the bags, Benjy, and follow the parson.” + </p> + <p> + Obeying Mademoiselle's directions, we trudged on until we came to a + comfortable stone house surrounded by trees and set in a half-block + bordered by a seven-foot paling. Hardly had we opened the gate when a tall + gentleman of grave demeanor and sober dress rose from his seat on the + porch, and I recognized my friend of Cahokia days, Monsieur Gratiot. He + was a little more portly, his hair was dressed now in an eelskin, and he + looked every inch the man of affairs that he was. He greeted us kindly and + bade us come up on the porch, where he read my letter of introduction. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he exclaimed immediately, giving me a cordial grasp of the + hand “of course. The strategist, the John Law, the reader of character + of Colonel Clark's army. Yes, and worse, the prophet, Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + “And why worse, sir?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “You predicted that Congress would never repay me for the little loan I + advanced to your Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not such a little loan, Monsieur,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “<i>N'importe,</i>” said he; “I went to Richmond with my box of + scrip and promissory notes, but I was not ill repaid. If I did not get + my money, I acquired, at least, a host of distinguished acquaintances. + But, Mr. Ritchie, you must introduce me to your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “My cousin, Mr. Nicholas Temple,” I said. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span> + Monsieur Gratiot looked at him fixedly. + </p> + <p> + “Of the Charlestown Temples?” he asked, and a sudden vague fear + seized me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Nick, “there was once a family of that name.” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” said Monsieur Gratiot, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Nick, “now they are become a worthless lot of refugees + and outlaws, who by good fortune have escaped the gallows.” + </p> + <p> + Before Monsieur Gratiot could answer, a child came running around the + corner of the house and stood, surprised, staring at us. Nick made a face, + stooped down, and twirled his finger. Shouting with a terrified glee, the + boy fled to the garden path, Nick after him. + </p> + <p> + “I like Mr. Temple,” said Monsieur Gratiot, smiling. “He is young, + but he seems to have had a history.” + </p> + <p> + “The Revolution ruined many families—his was one,” I answered, + with what firmness of tone I could muster. And then Nick came back, + carrying the shouting youngster on his shoulders. At that instant a + lady appeared in the doorway, leading another child, and we were + introduced to Madame Gratiot. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said Monsieur Gratiot, “you must make my house your + home. I fear your visit will not be as long as I could wish, Mr. + Ritchie,” he added, turning to me, “if Mr. Wharton correctly states + your business. I have an engagement to have my furs in New Orleans by a + certain time. I am late in loading, and as there is a moon I am sending + off my boats to-morrow night. The men will have to work on Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “We were fortunate to come in such good season,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + After a delicious supper of gumbo, a Creole dish, of fricassee, of + <i>crême brûlé</i>, of red wine and fresh wild + strawberries, we sat on the porch. The crickets chirped in the garden, + the moon cast fantastic shadows from the pecan tree on the grass, while + Nick, struggling with his French, talked to Madame Gratiot; and now and + then their gay laughter made Monsieur Gratiot pause and smile as he + talked to me of my errand. It seemed strange + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span> + to me + that a man who had lost so much by his espousal of our cause should still + be faithful to the American republic. Although he lived in Louisiana, he + had never renounced the American allegiance which he had taken at Cahokia. + He regarded with no favor the pretensions of Spain toward Kentucky. And + (remarkably enough) he looked forward even then to the day when Louisiana + would belong to the republic. I exclaimed at this. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_338-T1" id="Page_338-T1"></a> + “Mr. Ritchie,” said he, “the most casual student of your race must + come to the same conclusion. You have seen for yourself how they have + overrun and conquered Kentucky and the Cumberland districts, despite a + hideous warfare waged by all the tribes. Your people will not be denied, + and when they get to Louisiana, they will take it, as they take + everything else.” + </p> + <p> + He was a man strong in argument, was Monsieur Gratiot, for he loved it. + And he beat me fairly. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” he said finally, “Spain might as well try to dam the + Mississippi as to dam your commerce on it. As for France, I love her, + though my people were exiled to Switzerland by the Edict of Nantes. + But France is rotten through the prodigality of her kings and nobles, + and she cannot hold Louisiana. The kingdom is sunk in debt.” He + cleared his throat. “As for this Wilkinson of whom you speak, I + know something of him. I have no doubt that Miro pensions him, but + I know Miro likewise, and you will obtain no proof of that. You will, + however, discover in New Orleans many things of interest to your + government and to the Federal party in Kentucky. Colonel Chouteau and + I will give you letters to certain French gentlemen in New Orleans who + can be trusted. There is Saint-Gré, for instance, who puts a + French Louisiana into his prayers. He has never forgiven O'Reilly + and his Spaniards for the murder of his father in sixty-nine. + Saint-Gré is a good fellow,—a cousin of the present Marquis + in France,—and his ancestors held many positions of trust in the + colony under the French régime. He entertains lavishly at + <i>Les Îles</i>, his plantation on the Mississippi. He has the + gossip of New Orleans at his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> + tongue's tip, and you will be suspected of nothing save a desire to amuse + yourselves if you go there.” He paused, interrupted by the laughter of + the others. “When strangers of note or of position drift here and pass + on to New Orleans, I always give them letters to Saint-Gré. He has + a charming daughter and a worthless son.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gratiot produced his tabatière and took a pinch of snuff. + I summoned my courage for the topic which had trembled all the evening on + my lips. + </p> + <p> + “Some years ago, Monsieur Gratiot, a lady and a gentleman were rescued + on the Wilderness Trail in Kentucky. They left us for St. Louis. Did they + come here?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gratiot leaned forward quickly. + </p> + <p> + “They were people of quality?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And their name?” + </p> + <p> + “They—they did not say.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have been the Clives,” he cried; “it can have been no + other. Tell me—a woman still beautiful, commanding, of perhaps + eight and thirty? A woman who had a sorrow?—a great sorrow, though + we have never learned it. And Mr. Clive, a man of fashion, ill content + too, and pining for the life of a capital?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said eagerly, my voice sinking near to a whisper, + “yes—it is they. And are they here?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Gratiot took another pinch of snuff. It seemed an age before he + answered:— + </p> + <p> + “It is curious that you should mention them, for I gave them letters to + New Orleans,—amongst others, to Saint-Gré. Mrs. Clive + was—what shall I say?—haunted. Monsieur Clive talked of + nothing but Paris, where they had lived once. And at last she gave in. + They have gone there.” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris?” I said, taking breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It is more than a year ago,” he continued, seeming not to + notice my emotion; “they went by way of New Orleans, in one of + Chouteau's boats. Mrs. Clive seemed a woman with a great sorrow.” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER IX</a> + </h2> + <h3>“Cherchez la Femme”</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Sunday</span> came with the soft haziness of a + June morning, and the dew sucked a + fresh fragrance from the blossoms and the grass. I looked out of our + window at the orchard, all pink and white in the early sun, and across a + patch of clover to the stone kitchen. A pearly, feathery smoke was wafted + from the chimney, a delicious aroma of Creole coffee pervaded the odor of + the blossoms, and a cotton-clad negro <i>à pieds nus</i> came down + the path with two steaming cups and knocked at our door. He who has tasted + Creole coffee will never forget it. The effect of it was lost upon Nick, + for he laid down the cup, sighed, and promptly went to sleep again, while + I dressed and went forth to make his excuses to the family. I found + Monsieur and Madame with their children walking among the flowers. + Madame laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He is charming, your cousin,” said she. “Let him sleep, by all + means, until after Mass. Then you must come with us to Madame Chouteau's, + my mother's. Her children and grandchildren dine with her every + Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Chouteau, my mother-in-law, is the queen regent of St. Louis, + Mr. Ritchie,” said Monsieur Gratiot, gayly. “We are all afraid of + her, and I warn you that she is a very determined and formidable + personage. She is the widow of the founder of St. Louis, the Sieur + Laclède, although she prefers her own name. She rules us with a + strong hand, dispenses justice, settles disputes, and—sometimes + indulges in them herself. It is her right.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see a very pretty French custom of submission to parents,” + said Madame Gratiot. “And afterwards there is a ball.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span> + “A ball!” I exclaimed involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “It may seem very strange to you, Mr. Ritchie, but we believe that + Sunday was made to enjoy. They will have time to attend the ball before + you send them down the river?” she added mischievously, turning to her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said he, “the loading will not be finished before + eight o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + Presently Madame Gratiot went off to Mass, while I walked with Monsieur + Gratiot to a storehouse near the river's bank, whence the skins, neatly + packed and numbered, were being carried to the boats on the sweating + shoulders of the negroes, the half-breeds, and the Canadian + boatmen,—bulky bales of yellow elk, from the upper plains of the + Missouri, of buffalo and deer and bear, and priceless little packages of + the otter and the beaver trapped in the green shade of the endless + Northern forests, and brought hither in pirogues down the swift river by + the red tribesmen and Canadian adventurers. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards I strolled about the silent village. Even the cabarets were + deserted. A private of the Spanish Louisiana Regiment in a dirty uniform + slouched behind the palings in front of the commandant's quarters,—a + quaint stone house set against the hill, with dormer windows in its + curving roof, with a wide porch held by eight sturdy hewn pillars; here + and there the muffled figure of a prowling Indian loitered, or a + barefooted negress shuffled along by the fence crooning a folk-song. All + the world had obeyed the call of the church bell save these—and + Nick. I bethought myself of Nick, and made my way back to Monsieur + Gratiot's. + </p> + <p> + I found my cousin railing at Benjy, who had extracted from the saddle-bags + a wondrous gray suit of London cut in which to array his master. Clothes + became Nick's slim figure remarkably. This coat was cut away smartly, like + a uniform, towards the tails, and was brought in at the waist with an + infinite art. + </p> + <p> + “Whither now, my <i>conquistador</i>?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “To Mass,” said he. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span> + “To Mass!” I exclaimed; “but you have slept through the greater + part of it.” + </p> + <p> + “The best part is to come,” said Nick, giving a final touch to his + neck-band. Followed by Benjy's adoring eyes, he started out of the door, + and I followed him perforce. We came to the little church, of upright logs + and plaster, with its crudely shingled, peaked roof, with its tiny belfry + crowned by a cross, with its porches on each side shading the line of + windows there. Beside the church, a little at the back, was the + curé's modest house of stone, and at the other hand, under + spreading trees, the graveyard with its rough wooden crosses. And behind + these graves rose the wooded hill that stretched away towards the + wilderness. + </p> + <p> + What a span of life had been theirs who rested here! Their youth, + perchance, had been spent amongst the crooked streets of some French + village, streets lined by red-tiled houses and crossing limpid streams by + quaint bridges. Death had overtaken them beside a monster tawny river of + which their imaginations had not conceived, a river which draws tribute + from the remote places of an unknown land,—a river, indeed, which, + mixing all the waters, seemed to symbolize a coming race which was to + conquer the land by its resistless flow, even as the Mississippi bore + relentlessly towards the sea. + </p> + <p> + These were my own thoughts as I listened to the tones of the priest as + they came, droningly, out of the door, while Nick was exchanging jokes in + doubtful French with some half-breeds leaning against the palings. Then we + heard benches scraping on the floor, and the congregation began to file + out. + </p> + <p> + Those who reached the steps gave back, respectfully, and there came an + elderly lady in a sober turban, a black mantilla wrapped tightly about her + shoulders, and I made no doubt that she was Monsieur Gratiot's + mother-in-law, Madame Chouteau, she whom he had jestingly called the queen + regent. I was sure of this when I saw Madame Gratiot behind her. Madame + Chouteau indeed had the face of authority, a high-bridged nose, a + determined chin, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span> + a mouth that shut tightly. Madame Gratiot presented us to her mother, and + as she passed on to the gate Madame Chouteau reminded us + that we were to dine with her at two. + </p> + <p> + After her the congregation, the well-to-do and the poor alike, poured out + of the church and spread in merry groups over the grass: keel boatmen in + tow shirts and party-colored worsted belts, the blacksmith, the shoemaker, + the farmer of a small plot in the common fields in large cotton pantaloons + and light-wove camlet coat, the more favored in skull-caps, linen + small-clothes, cotton stockings, and silver-buckled shoes,—every man + pausing, dipping into his tabatière, for a word with his neighbor. + The women, too, made a picture strange to our eyes, the matrons in jacket + and petticoat, a Madras handkerchief flung about their shoulders, the + girls in fresh cottonade or calamanco. + </p> + <p> + All at once cries of “'Polyte! 'Polyte!” were heard, and a nimble + young man with a jester-like face hopped around the corner of the church, + trundling a barrel. Behind 'Polyte came two rotund little men perspiring + freely, and laden down with various articles,—a bird-cage with two + yellow birds, a hat-trunk, an inlaid card box, a roll of scarlet cloth, + and I know not what else. They deposited these on the grass beside the + barrel, which 'Polyte had set on end and proceeded to mount, encouraged by + the shouts of his friends, who pressed around the barrel. + </p> + <p> + “It's an auction,” I said. + </p> + <p> + But Nick did not hear me. I followed his glance to the far side of the + circle, and my eye was caught by a red ribbon, a blush that matched it. A + glance shot from underneath long lashes,—but not for me. Beside the + girl, and palpably uneasy, stood the young man who had been called + Gaspard. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said I, “your angel of the tumbrel.” + </p> + <p> + But Nick had pulled off his hat and was sweeping her a bow. The girl + looked down, smoothing her ribbon, Gaspard took a step forward, and other + young women near us tittered with delight. The voice of Hippolyte rolling + his r's called out in a French dialect:— + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span> + “<i>M'ssieurs et Mesdames, ce sont des effets d'un pauvre officier qui + est mort.</i> Who will buy?” He opened the hat-trunk, produced an + antiquated beaver with a gold cord, and surveyed it with a covetousness + that was admirably feigned. For 'Polyte was an actor. “M'ssieurs, to own + such a hat were a patent of nobility. Am I bid twenty livres?” + </p> + <p> + There was a loud laughter, and he was bid four. + </p> + <p> + “Gaspard,” cried the auctioneer, addressing the young man of the + tumbrel, “Suzanne would no longer hesitate if she saw you in such a hat. + And with the trunk, too. Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>, can you afford to miss + it?” + </p> + <p> + The crowd howled, Suzanne simpered, and Gaspard turned as pink as clover. + But he was not to be bullied. The hat was sold to an elderly person, the + red cloth likewise; a pot of grease went to a housewife, and there was a + veritable scramble for the box of playing cards; and at last Hippolyte + held up the wooden cage with the fluttering yellow birds. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” he cried, his eyes on Gaspard once more, “a gentle + present—a present to make a heart relent. And Monsieur Léon, + perchance you will make a bid, although they are not gamecocks.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly, from somewhere under the barrel, a cock crew. Even the yellow + birds looked surprised, and as for 'Polyte, he nearly dropped the cage. + One elderly person crossed himself. I looked at Nick. His face was + impassive, but suddenly I remembered his boyhood gift, how he had imitated + the monkeys, and I began to shake with inward laughter. There was an + uncomfortable silence. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Peste, c'est la magie</i>!” said an old man at last, searching + with an uncertain hand for his snuff. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” cried Nick to the auctioneer, “I will make a bid. But + first you must tell me whether they are cocks or yellow birds.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Parbleu</i>,” answered the puzzled Hippolyte, “that I do not + know, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody looked at Nick, including Suzanne. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said he, “I will make a bid. And if they + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span> + turn out to be gamecocks, I will fight them with Monsieur Léon + behind the cabaret. Two livres!” + </p> + <p> + There was a laugh, as of relief. + </p> + <p> + “Three!” cried Gaspard, and his voice broke. + </p> + <p> + Hippolyte looked insulted. + </p> + <p> + “<i>M'ssieurs</i>,” he shouted, “they are from the Canaries. + <i>Diable, un berger doit être généreux</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Another laugh, and Gaspard wiped the perspiration from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Five!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Six!” said Nick, and the villagers turned to him in wonderment. What + could such a fine Monsieur want with two yellow birds? + </p> + <p> + “<i>En avant</i>, Gaspard,” said Hippolyte, and Suzanne shot another + barbed glance in our direction. + </p> + <p> + “Seven,” muttered Gaspard. + </p> + <p> + “Eight!” said Nick, immediately. + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” said Gaspard. + </p> + <p> + “Ten,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Ten,” cried Hippolyte, “I am offered ten livres for the yellow + birds. <i>Une bagatelle! Onze, Gaspard! Onze! onze livres, pour l'amour de + Suzanne</i>!” + </p> + <p> + But Gaspard was silent. No appeals, entreaties, or taunts could persuade + him to bid more. And at length Hippolyte, with a gesture of disdain, + handed Nick the cage, as though he were giving it away. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, “the birds are yours, since there are no more + lovers who are worthy of the name. They do not exist.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” answered Nick, “it is to disprove that statement that + I have bought the birds. Mademoiselle,” he added, turning to the + flushing Suzanne, “I pray that you will accept this present with every + assurance of my humble regard.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle took the cage, and amidst the laughter of the village at the + discomfiture of poor Gaspard, swept Nick a frightened courtesy,—one + that nevertheless was full of coquetry. And at that instant, to cap the + situation, a rotund little man with a round face under a linen biretta + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span> + grasped Nick by the hand, and cried in painful but sincere English:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you mek my daughter ver' happy. She want those bird ever + sence Captain Lopez he die. Monsieur, I am Jean Baptiste Lenoir, Colonel + Chouteau's miller, and we ver' happy to see you at the pon'.” + </p> + <p> + “If Monsieur will lead the way,” said Nick, instantly, taking the + little man by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “But you are to dine at Madame Chouteau's,” I expostulated. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said he. “<i>Au revoir, Monsieur. Au revoir, + Mademoiselle. Plus tard, Mademoiselle; nous danserons plus tard</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “What devil inhabits you?” I said, when I had got him started on + the way to Madame Chouteau's. + </p> + <p> + “Your own, at present, Davy,” he answered, laying a hand on my + shoulder, “else I should be on the way to the pon' with Lenoir. But the + ball is to come,” and he executed several steps in anticipation. + “Davy, I am sorry for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I demanded, though feeling a little self-commiseration also. + </p> + <p> + “You will never know how to enjoy yourself,” said he, with + conviction. + </p> + <p> + Madame Chouteau lived in a stone house, wide and low, surrounded by trees + and gardens. It was a pretty tribute of respect her children and + grandchildren paid her that day, in accordance with the old French usage + of honoring the parent. I should like to linger on the scene, and tell how + Nick made them all laugh over the story of Suzanne Lenoir and the yellow + birds, and how the children pressed around him and made him imitate all + the denizens of wood and field, amid deafening shrieks of delight. + </p> + <p> + “You have probably delayed Gaspard's wooing another year, Mr. Temple. + Suzanne is a sad coquette,” said Colonel Auguste Chouteau, laughing, + as we set out for the ball. + </p> + <p> + The sun was hanging low over the western hills as we approached the + barracks, and out of the open windows came the merry, mad sounds of + violin, guitar, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span> + flageolet, the tinkle of a triangle now and then, the + shouts of laughter, the shuffle of many feet over the puncheons. Within + the door, smiling and benignant, unmindful of the stifling atmosphere, sat + the black-robed village priest talking volubly to an elderly man in a + scarlet cap, and several stout ladies ranged along the wall: beyond them, + on a platform, Zéron, the baker, fiddled as though his life + depended on it, the perspiration dripping from his brow, frowning, + gesticulating at them with the flageolet and the triangle. And in a dim, + noisy, heated whirl the whole village went round and round and round under + the low ceiling in the <i>valse</i>, young and old, rich and poor, high + and low, the sound of their laughter and the scraping of their feet cut + now and again by an agonized squeak from Zéron's fiddle. From time + to time a staggering, panting couple would fling themselves out, help + themselves liberally to pink <i>sirop</i> from the bowl on the side table, + and then fling themselves in once more, until Zéron stopped from + sheer exhaustion, to tune up for a <i>pas de deux</i>. + </p> + <p> + Across the room, by the <i>sirop</i> bowl, a pair of red ribbons flaunted, + a pair of eyes sent a swift challenge, Zéron and his assistants + struck up again, and there in a corner was Nick Temple, with + characteristic effrontery attempting a <i>pas de deux</i> with Suzanne. + Though Nick was ignorant, he was not ungraceful, and the village laughed + and admired. And when Zéron drifted back into a <i>valse</i> he + seized Suzanne's plump figure in his arms and bore her, unresisting, like + a prize among the dancers, avoiding alike the fat and unwieldy, the + clumsy and the spiteful. For a while the tune held its mad pace, and + ended with a shriek and a snap on a high note, for Zéron + had broken a string. Amid a burst of laughter from the far end of the room + I saw Nick stop before an open window in which a prying Indian was framed, + swing Suzanne at arm's length, and bow abruptly at the brave with a grunt + that startled him into life. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Va-t'en, méchant</i>!” shrieked Suzanne, excitedly. + </p> + <p> + Poor Gaspard! Poor Hippolyte! They would gain Suzanne for a dance only to + have her snatched away at the next by the slim and reckless young + gentleman in the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span> + gray court clothes. Little Nick cared that the affair + soon became the amusement of the company. From time to time, as he glided + past with Suzanne on his shoulder, he nodded gayly to Colonel Chouteau or + made a long face at me, and to save our souls we could not help laughing. + </p> + <p> + “The girl has met her match, for she has played shuttle-cock with all the + hearts in the village,” said Monsieur Chouteau. “But perhaps it is + just as well that Mr. Temple is leaving to-night. I have signed a + <i>bon</i>, Mr. Ritchie, by which you can obtain money at New Orleans. And + do not forget to present our letter to Monsieur de Saint Gré. He + has a daughter, by the way, who will be more of a match for your friend's + fascinations than Suzanne.” + </p> + <p> + The evening faded into twilight, with no signs of weariness from the + dancers. And presently there stood beside us Jean Baptiste Lenoir, the + Colonel's miller. + </p> + <p> + “<i>B'soir, Monsieur le Colonel</i>,” he said, touching his + skull-cap, “the water is very low. You fren',” he added, turning + to me, “he stay long time in St. Louis?” + </p> + <p> + “He is going away to-night,—in an hour or so,” I answered, with + thanksgiving in my heart. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said Monsieur Lenoir, politely, but his looks belied + his words. “He is ver' fond Suzanne. <i>Peut-être</i> he marry + her, but I think not. I come away from France to escape the fine + gentlemen; long time ago they want to run off with my wife. She was like + Suzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “How long ago did you come from France, Monsieur?” I asked, to get + away from an uncomfortable subject. + </p> + <p> + “It is twenty years,” said he, dreamily, in French. “I was born in + the <i>Quartier Saint Jean</i>, on the harbor of the city of Marseilles + near <i>Notre Dame de la Nativité</i>.” And he told of a tall, + uneven house of four stories, with a high pitched roof, and a little + barred door and window at the bottom giving out upon the rough cobbles. + He spoke of the smell of the sea, of the rollicking sailors who surged + through the narrow street to embark on his Majesty's men-of-war, and of + the King's white soldiers in ranks of four going to foreign lands. And + how he had become a farmer, the tenant of a country family. Excitement + grew on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span> + him, and he mopped his brow with his blue rumal handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “They desire all, the nobles,” he cried, “I make the land good, and + they seize it. I marry a pretty wife, and Monsieur le Comte he want her. + <i>L'bon Dieu</i>,” he added bitterly, relapsing into French. “France + is for the King and the nobility, Monsieur. The poor have but little + chance there. In the country I have seen the peasants eat roots, and in + the city the poor devour the refuse from the houses of the rich. It was we + who paid for their luxuries, and with mine own eyes I have seen their + gilded coaches ride down weak men and women in the streets. But it cannot + last. They will murder Louis and burn the great châteaux. I, who + speak to you, am of the people, Monsieur, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + The sun had long set, and with flint and tow they were touching the flame + to the candles, which flickered transparent yellow in the deepening + twilight. So absorbed had I become in listening to Lenoir's description + that I had forgotten Nick. Now I searched for him among the promenading + figures, and missed him. In vain did I seek for a glimpse of Suzanne's red + ribbons, and I grew less and less attentive to the miller's reminiscences + and arraignments of the nobility. Had Nick indeed run away with his + daughter? + </p> + <p> + The dancing went on with unabated zeal, and through the open door in the + fainting azure of the sky the summer moon hung above the hills like a + great yellow orange. Striving to hide my uneasiness, I made my farewells + to Madame Chouteau's sons and daughters and their friends, and with + Colonel Chouteau I left the hall and began to walk towards Monsieur + Gratiot's, hoping against hope that Nick had gone there to change. But we + had scarce reached the road before we could see two figures in the + distance, hazily outlined in the mid-light of the departed sun and the + coming moon. The first was Monsieur Gratiot himself, the second Benjy. + Monsieur Gratiot took me by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “I regret to inform you, Mr. Ritchie,” said he, politely, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span> + “that my keel boats are loaded and ready to leave. Were you on any other + errand I should implore you to stay with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Temple at your house?” I asked faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” said Monsieur Gratiot; “I thought he was with you + at the ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is your master?” I demanded sternly of Benjy. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't seed him, Marse Dave, sence I put him inter dem fine + clothes 'at he w'ars a-cou'tin'.” + </p> + <p> + “He has gone off with the girl,” put in Colonel Chouteau, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “But where?” I said, with growing anger at this lack of + consideration on Nick's part. + </p> + <p> + “I'll warrant that Gaspard or Hippolyte Beaujais will know, if they can + be found,” said the Colonel. “Neither of them willingly lets the girl + out of his sight.” + </p> + <p> + As we hurried back towards the throbbing sounds of Zéron's fiddle I + apologized as best I might to Monsieur Gratiot, declaring that if Nick + were not found within the half-hour I would leave without him. My host + protested that an hour or so would make no difference. We were about to + pass through the group of loungers that loitered by the gate when the + sound of rapid footsteps arrested us, and we turned to confront two + panting and perspiring young men who halted beside us. One was Hippolyte + Beaujais, more fantastic than ever as he faced the moon, and the other was + Gaspard. They had plainly made a common cause, but it was Hippolyte who + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he cried, “you seek your friend? Ha, we have found + him,—we will lead you to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” said Colonel Chouteau, repressing another laugh. + </p> + <p> + “On the pond, Monsieur,—in a boat, Monsieur, with Suzanne, + Monsieur le Colonel! And, moreover, he will come ashore for no one.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Parbleu</i>,” said the Colonel, “I should think not for any + arguments that you two could muster. But we will go there.” + </p> + <p> + “How far is it?” I asked, thinking of Monsieur Gratiot. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span> + “About a mile,” said Colonel Chouteau, “a pleasant walk.” + </p> + <p> + We stepped out, Hippolyte and Gaspard running in front, the Colonel and + Monsieur Gratiot and myself following; and a snicker which burst out now + and then told us that Benjy was in the rear. On any other errand I should + have thought the way beautiful, for the country road, rutted by wooden + wheels, wound in and out through pleasant vales and over gentle rises, + whence we caught glimpses from time to time of the Mississippi gleaming + like molten gold to the eastward. Here and there, nestling against the + gentle slopes of the hillside clearing, was a low-thatched farmhouse among + its orchards. As we walked, Nick's escapade, instead of angering Monsieur + Gratiot, seemed to present itself to him in a more and more ridiculous + aspect, and twice he nudged me to call my attention to the two vengefully + triumphant figures silhouetted against the moon ahead of us. From time to + time also I saw Colonel Chouteau shaking with laughter. As for me, it was + impossible to be angry at Nick for any space. Nobody else would have + carried off a girl in the face of her rivals for a moonlight row on a pond + a mile away. + </p> + <p> + At length we began to go down into the valley where Chouteau's pond was, + and we caught glimpses of the shimmering of its waters through the trees, + ay, and presently heard them tumbling lightly over the mill-dam. The spot + was made for romance,—a sequestered vale, clad with forest trees, + cleared a little by the water-side, where Monsieur Lenoir raised his maize + and his vegetables. Below the mill, so Monsieur Gratiot told me, where the + creek lay in pools on its limestone bed, the village washing was done; and + every Monday morning bare-legged negresses strode up this road, the + bundles of clothes balanced on their heads, the paddles in their hands, + followed by a stream of black urchins who tempted Providence to drown + them. + </p> + <p> + Down in the valley we came to a path that branched from the road and led + under the oaks and hickories towards the pond, and we had not taken twenty + paces in it before the notes of a guitar and the sound of a voice reached + our + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span> + ears. And then, when the six of us stood huddled in the rank growth at + the water's edge, we saw a boat floating idly in the forest shadow on the + far side. + </p> + <p> + I put my hand to my mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Nick!” I shouted. + </p> + <p> + There came for an answer, with the careless and unskilful thrumming of the + guitar, the end of the verse:— + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-1.5em">"Thine eyes are bright as the stars at night,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Thy cheeks like the rose of the dawning, oh!"</span> + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hélas</i>!” exclaimed Hippolyte, sadly, + “there is no other boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Nick!” I shouted again, reënforced vociferously by the others. + </p> + <p> + The music ceased, there came feminine laughter across the water, then + Nick's voice, in French that dared everything:— + </p> + <p> + “Go away and amuse yourselves at the dance. <i>Peste</i>, it is scarce + an hour ago I threatened to row ashore and break your heads. + <i>Allez vous en, jaloux</i>!” + </p> + <p> + A scream of delight from Suzanne followed this sally, which was received + by Gaspard and Hippolyte with a rattle of <i>sacrés</i>, + and—despite our irritation—the Colonel, Monsieur Gratiot, + and myself with a burst of involuntary laughter. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Parbleu</i>,” said the Colonel, choking, “it is a pity to + disturb such a one. Gratiot, if it was my boat, I'd delay the + departure till morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I shall have had no small entertainment as a solace,” said + Monsieur Gratiot. “Listen!” + </p> + <p> + The tinkle of the guitar was heard again, and Nick's voice, strong and + full and undisturbed:— + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">"S'posin' I was to go to N' O'leans an' take sick an' die,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-2.5em">Like a bird into the country my spirit would fly.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-.5em">Go 'way, old man, and leave me alone,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-.5em">For I am a stranger and a long way from home."</span> + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of voices in the boat, the sound of a paddle gurgling + as it dipped, and the dugout shot out towards the middle of the pond and + drifted again. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span> + I shouted once more at the top of my lungs:— + </p> + <p> + “Come in here, Nick, instantly!” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence. + </p> + <p> + “By gad, it's Parson Davy!” I heard Nick exclaim. “Halloo, Davy, + how the deuce did you get there?” + </p> + <p> + “No thanks to you,” I retorted hotly. “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord,” said he, “is it time to go to New Orleans?” + </p> + <p> + “One might think New Orleans was across the street,” said Monsieur + Gratiot. “What an attitude of mind!” + </p> + <p> + The dugout was coming towards us now, propelled by easy strokes, and Nick + could be heard the while talking in low tones to Suzanne. We could only + guess at the tenor of his conversation, which ceased entirely as they drew + near. At length the prow slid in among the rushes, was seized vigorously + by Gaspard and Hippolyte, and the boat hauled ashore. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Messieurs; you are most obliging,” said Nick. + And taking Suzanne by the hand, he helped her gallantly over the gunwale. + “Monsieur,” he added, turning in his most irresistible manner to + Monsieur Gratiot, “if I have delayed the departure of your boat, I am + exceedingly sorry. But I appeal to you if I have not the best of + excuses.” + </p> + <p> + And he bowed to Suzanne, who stood beside him coyly, looking down. As for + 'Polyte and Gaspard, they were quite breathless between rage and + astonishment. But Colonel Chouteau began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Diable</i>, Monsieur, you are right,” he cried, “and rather + than have missed this entertainment I would pay Gratiot for his cargo.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Au revoir</i>, Mademoiselle,” said Nick, “I will return when + I am released from bondage. When this terrible mentor relaxes vigilance, + I will escape and make my way back to you through the forests.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Mademoiselle to me, “you will let him come back, + Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly, Mademoiselle,” I said, “but I have known him longer + than you, and I tell you that in a month he will not wish to come + back.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span> + Hippolyte gave a grunt of approval to this plain speech. Suzanne + exclaimed, but before Nick could answer footsteps were heard in the path + and Lenoir himself, perspiring, panting, exhausted, appeared in the midst + of us. + </p> + <p> + “Suzanne!” he cried, “Suzanne!” And turning to Nick, he added + quite simply, “So, Monsieur, you did not run off with her, after + all?” + </p> + <p> + “There was no place to run, Monsieur,” answered Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Praise be to God for that!” said the miller, heartily; “there is + some advantage in living in the wilderness, when everything is said.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come back and try, Monsieur,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + The miller raised his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that he will not, Monsieur,” I put in. + </p> + <p> + He thanked me profusely, and suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. + </p> + <p> + “There is the priest,” he cried; “<i>Monsieur le curé</i> + retires late. There is the priest, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + There was an awkward silence, broken at length by an exclamation from + Gaspard. Colonel Chouteau turned his back, and I saw his shoulders heave. + All eyes were on Nick, but the rascal did not seem at all perturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, bowing, “marriage is a serious thing, and not + to be entered into lightly. I thank you from my heart, but I am bound now + with Mr. Ritchie on an errand of such importance that I must make a + sacrifice of my own interests and affairs to his.” + </p> + <p> + “If Mr. Temple wishes—” I began, with malicious delight. But + Nick took me by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Davy,” he said, giving me a vicious kick, “I could not + think of it. I will go with you at once. <i>Adieu</i>, Mademoiselle,” + said he, bending over Suzanne's unresisting hand. “<i>Adieu</i>, + Messieurs, and I thank you for your great interest in me.” + (This to Gaspard and Hippolyte.) “And now, Monsieur Gratiot, I + have already presumed too much on your patience. I + will follow you, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + We left them, Lenoir, Suzanne, and her two suitors, standing at the pond, + and made our way through the path in the forest. It was not until we + reached the road and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span> + had begun to climb out of the valley that the silence + was broken between us. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Colonel Chouteau, slyly, “do you have many such + escapes?” + </p> + <p> + “It might have been closer,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Closer?” ejaculated the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly,” said Nick, “to the extent of abducting <i>Monsieur le + curé</i>. As for you, Davy,” he added, between his teeth, + “I mean to get even with you.” + </p> + <p> + It was well for us that the Colonel and Monsieur Gratiot took the escapade + with such good nature. And so we walked along through the summer night, + talking gayly, until at length the lights of the village twinkled ahead of + us, and in the streets we met many parties making merry on their homeward + way. We came to Monsieur Gratiot's, bade our farewells to Madame, picked + up our saddle-bags, the two gentlemen escorting us down to the river bank + where the keel boat was tugging at the ropes that held her, impatient to + be off. Her captain, a picturesque Canadian by the name of Xavier Paret, + was presented to us; we bade our friends farewell, and stepped across the + plank to the deck. As we were casting off, Monsieur Gratiot called to us + that he would take the first occasion to send our horses back to Kentucky. + The oars were manned, the heavy hulk moved, and we were shot out into the + mighty current of the river on our way to New Orleans. + </p> + <p> + Nick and I stood for a long time on the deck, and the windows of the + little village gleamed like stars among the trees. We passed the last of + its houses that nestled against the hill, and below that the forest lay + like velvet under the moon. The song of our boatmen broke the silence of + the night:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-1.5em">"Voici le temps et la saison,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Voici le temps et la saison,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ah! vrai, que les journées sont longues,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ah! vrai, que les journées sont longues!"</span> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER X</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Keel Boat</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">We</span> were embarked on a strange river, in a strange boat, and bound for a + strange city. To us Westerners a halo of romance, of unreality, hung over + New Orleans. To us it had an Old World, almost Oriental flavor of mystery + and luxury and pleasure, and we imagined it swathed in the moisture of the + Delta, built of quaint houses, with courts of shining orange trees and + magnolias, and surrounded by flowering plantations of unimagined beauty. + It was most fitting that such a place should be the seat of dark intrigues + against material progress, and this notion lent added zest to my errand + thither. As for Nick, it took no great sagacity on my part to predict that + he would forget Suzanne and begin to look forward to the Creole beauties + of the Mysterious City. + </p> + <p> + First, there was the fur-laden keel boat in which we travelled, gone + forever now from Western navigation. It had its rude square sail to take + advantage of the river winds, its mast strongly braced to hold the long + tow-ropes. But tow-ropes were for the endless up-river journey, when a + numerous crew strained day after day along the bank, chanting the + voyageurs' songs. Now we were light-manned, two half-breeds and two + Canadians to handle the oars in time of peril, and Captain Xavier, who + stood aft on the cabin roof, leaning against the heavy beam of the long, + curved tiller, watching hawklike for snag and eddy and bar. Within the + cabin was a great fireplace of stones, where our cooking was done, and + bunks set round for the men in cold weather and rainy. But in these fair + nights we chose to sleep on deck. + </p> + <p> + Far into the night we sat, Nick and I, our feet dangling over the forward + edge of the cabin, looking at the glory of the moon on the vast river, at + the endless forest crown, at the haze which hung like silver dust under + the high bluffs on the American side. We slept. We awoke again as the moon + was shrinking abashed before the light that glowed above these cliffs, and + the river was turned from brown to gold and then to burnished copper, the + forest to a thousand shades of green from crest to the banks where the + river was licking the twisted roots to nakedness. The south wind wafted + the sharp wood-smoke from the chimney across our faces. In the stern + Xavier stood immovable against the tiller, his short pipe clutched between + his teeth, the colors of his new worsted belt made gorgeous by the rising + sun. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">357</a></span> + “<i>B'jour</i>, Michié,” he said, and added in the English he + had picked up from the British traders, “the breakfas' he is ready, and + Jean make him good. Will you have the grace to descen'?” + </p> + <p> + We went down the ladder into the cabin, where the odor of the furs mingled + with the smell of the cooking. There was a fricassee steaming on the + crane, some of Zéron's bread, brought from St. Louis, and coffee + that Monsieur Gratiot had provided for our use. We took our bowls and cups + on deck and sat on the edge of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “By gad,” cried Nick, “it lacks but the one element to make it a + paradise.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “A woman,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Xavier, who overheard, gave a delighted laugh. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Parbleu</i>, Michié, you have right,” he said, “but + Michié Gratiot, he say no. In Nouvelle Orléans we find + some.” + </p> + <p> + Nick got to his feet, and if anything he did could have surprised me, I + should have been surprised when he put his arm coaxingly about Xavier's + neck. Xavier himself was surprised and correspondingly delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Xavier,” he said, with a look not to be resisted, + “do you think I shall find some beauties there?” + </p> + <p> + “Beauties!” exclaimed Xavier, “La Nouvelle Orléans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">358</a></span>—it is the home of beauty, Michié. They promenade themselves + on the levee, they look down from ze gallerie, <i>mais</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “But what, Xavier?” + </p> + <p> + “But, <i>mon Dieu</i>, Michié, they are vair' <i>difficile</i>. + They are not like Englis' beauties, there is the father and the mother, + and—the convent.” And Xavier, who had a wen under his eye, laid + his finger on it. + </p> + <p> + “For shame, Xavier,” cried Nick; “and you are balked by such + things?” + </p> + <p> + Xavier thought this an exceedingly good joke, and he took his pipe out of + his mouth to laugh the better. + </p> + <p> + “Me? <i>Mais non</i>, Michié. And yet ze Alcalde, he mek me + afraid. Once he put me in ze calaboose when I tried to climb ze + balcon'.” + </p> + <p> + Nick roared. + </p> + <p> + “I will show you how, Xavier,” he said; “as to climbing the + balconies, there is a <i>convenance</i> in it, as in all else. For + instance, one must be daring, and discreet, and nimble, and ready to + give the law a presentable answer, and lacking that, a piastre. And + then the fair one must be a fair one indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Diable</i>, Michié,” cried Xavier, “you are ze + mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Nick, “I learned it all and much more from my cousin, + Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + Xavier stared at me for an instant, and considering that he knew nothing + of my character, I thought it extremely impolite of him to laugh. Indeed, + he tried to control himself, for some reason standing in awe of my + appearance, and then he burst out into such loud haw-haws that the crew + poked their heads above the cabin hatch. + </p> + <p> + “Michié Reetchie,” said Xavier, and again he burst into + laughter that choked further speech. He controlled himself and laid his + finger on his wen. + </p> + <p> + “You don't believe it,” said Nick, offended. + </p> + <p> + “Michié Reetchie a gallant!” said Xavier. + </p> + <p> + “An incurable,” said Nick, “an amazingly clever rogue at device + when there is a petticoat in it. Davy, do I do you justice?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span> + Xavier roared again. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Quel maître</i>!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Xavier,” said Nick, gently taking the tiller out of his hand, + “I will teach you how to steer a keel boat.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>,” said Xavier, “and who is to pay Michié + Gratiot for his fur? The river, she is full of things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, Xavier, but you will teach me to steer.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Volontiers</i>, Michié, as we go now. But there come a time + when I, even I, who am twenty year on her, do not know whether it is + right or left. Ze rock—he vair' hard. Ze snag, he grip you like dat,” + and Xavier twined his strong arms around Nick until he was helpless. + “Ze bar—he hol' you by ze leg. An' who is to tell you how far he run + under ze yellow water, Michié? I, who speak to you, know. But I + know not how I know. Ze water, sometime she tell, sometime she say + not'ing.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>À bas</i>, Xavier!” said Nick, pushing him away, “I will + teach you the river.” + </p> + <p> + Xavier laughed, and sat down on the edge of the cabin. Nick took easily to + accomplishments, and he handled the clumsy tiller with a certainty and + distinction that made the boatmen swear in two languages and a patois. A + great water-logged giant of the Northern forests loomed ahead of us. + Xavier sprang to his feet, but Nick had swung his boat swiftly, smoothly, + into the deeper water on the outer side. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Saint Jacques</i>, Michié,” cried Xavier, “you mek him + better zan I thought.” + </p> + <p> + Fascinated by a new accomplishment, Nick held to the tiller, while Xavier + with a trained eye scanned the troubled, yellow-glistening surface of the + river ahead. The wind died, the sun beat down with a moist and venomous + sting, and northeastward above the edge of the bluff a bank of cloud like + sulphur smoke was lifted. Gradually Xavier ceased his jesting and became + quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like a hurricane,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>,” said Xavier, “you have right, Michié,” + and he called in his rapid patois to the crew, who lounged forward in the + cabin's shade. There came to my mind + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span> + the memory of that hurricane at Temple Bow long ago, a + storm that seemed to have brought so much sorrow into my life. I glanced + at Nick, but his face was serene. + </p> + <p> + The cloud-bank came on in black and yellow masses, and the saffron light I + recalled so well turned the living green of the forest to a sickly pallor + and the yellow river to a tinge scarce to be matched on earth. Xavier had + the tiller now, and the men were straining at the oars to send the boat + across the current towards the nearer western shore. And as my glance took + in the scale of things, the miles of bluff frowning above the bottom, the + river that seemed now like a lake of lava gently boiling, and the + wilderness of the western shore that reached beyond the ken of man, I + could not but shudder to think of the conflict of nature's forces in such + a place. A grim stillness reigned over all, broken only now and again by a + sharp command from Xavier. The men were rowing for their lives, the sweat + glistening on their red faces. + </p> + <p> + “She come,” said Xavier. + </p> + <p> + I looked, not to the northeast whence the banks of cloud had risen, but to + the southwest, and it seemed as though a little speck was there against + the hurrying film of cloud. We were drawing near the forest line, where a + little creek made an indentation. I listened, and from afar came a sound + like the strumming of low notes on a guitar, and sad. The terrified scream + of a panther broke the silence of the forest, and then the other distant + note grew stronger, and stronger yet, and rose to a high hum like unto no + sound on this earth, and mingled with it now was a lashing like water + falling from a great height. We grounded, and Xavier, seizing a great + tow-rope, leaped into the shallow water and passed the bight around a + trunk. I cried out to Nick, but my voice was drowned. He seized me and + flung me under the cabin's lee, and then above the fearful note of the + storm came cracklings like gunshots of great trees snapping at their + trunk. We saw the forest wall burst out—how far away I know + not—and the air was filled as with a flock of giant birds, and + boughs crashed on the roof of the cabin and tore the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span> + water in the darkness. How long we lay + clutching each other in terror on the rocking boat I may not say, but when + the veil first lifted there was the river like an angry sea, and + limitless, the wind in its fury whipping the foam from the crests and + bearing it off into space. And presently, as we stared, the note lowered + and the wind was gone again, and there was the water tossing foolishly, + and we lay safe amidst the green wreckage of the forest as by a miracle. + </p> + <p> + It was Nick who moved first. With white face he climbed to the roof of the + cabin and idly seizing the great limb that lay there tried to move it. + Xavier, who lay on his face on the bank, rose to a sitting posture and + crossed himself. Beyond me crowded the four members of the crew, unhurt. + Then we heard Xavier's voice, in French, thanking the Blessed Virgin for + our escape. + </p> + <p> + Further speech was gone from us, for men do not talk after such a matter. + We laid hold of the tree across the cabin and, straining, flung it over + into the water. A great drop of rain hit me on the forehead, and there + came a silver-gray downpour that blotted out the scene and drove us down + below. And then, from somewhere in the depths of the dark cabin, came a + sound to make a man's blood run cold. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” I said, clutching Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Benjy,” said he; “thank God he did not die of fright.” We + lighted a candle, and poking around, found the negro where he had crept + into the farthest corner of a bunk with his face to the wall. And when + we touched him he gave vent to a yell that was blood-curdling. + </p> + <p> + “I'se a bad nigger, Lo'd, yes, I is,” he moaned. “I ain't fit fo' + jedgment, Lo'd.” + </p> + <p> + Nick shook him and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Come out of that, Benjy,” he said; “you've got another chance.” + </p> + <p> + Benjy turned, perforce, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the + candle-light, and stared at us. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't gone yit, Marse,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Gone where?” said Nick. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span> + “I'se done been tole de quality 'll be jedged fust, Marse,” + said Benjy. + </p> + <p> + Nick hauled him out on the floor. Climbing to the deck, we found that the + boat was already under way, running southward in the current through the + misty rain. And gazing shoreward, a sight met my eyes which I shall never + forget. A wide vista, carpeted with wreckage, was cut through the forest + to the river's edge, and the yellow water was strewn for miles with green + boughs. We stared down it, overwhelmed, until we had passed beyond its + line. + </p> + <p> + “It is as straight,” said Nick, “as straight as one of her + Majesty's alleys I saw cut through the forest at Saint-Cloud.” + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + Had I space and time to give a faithful account of this journey it would + be chiefly a tribute to Xavier's skill, for they who have not put + themselves at the mercy of the Mississippi in a small craft can have no + idea of the dangers of such a voyage. Infinite experience, a keen eye, a + steady hand, and a nerve of iron are required. Now, when the current + swirled almost to a rapid, we grazed a rock by the width of a ripple; and + again, despite the effort of Xavier and the crew, we would tear the limbs + from a huge tree, which, had we hit it fair, would have ripped us from bow + to stern. Once, indeed, we were fast on a sand-bar, whence (as Nick said) + Xavier fairly cursed us off. We took care to moor at night, where we could + be seen as little as possible from the river, and divided the watches lest + we should be surprised by Indians. And, as we went southward, our hands + and faces became blotched all over by the bites of mosquitoes and flies, + and we smothered ourselves under blankets to get rid of them. At times we + fished, and one evening, after we had passed the expanse of water at the + mouth of the Ohio, Nick pulled a hideous thing from the inscrutable yellow + depths,—a slimy, scaleless catfish. He came up like a log, and must + have weighed seventy pounds. Xavier and his men and myself made two good + meals of him, but Nick would not touch the meat. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">363</a></span> + The great river teemed with life. There were flocks of herons and cranes + and water pelicans, and I know not what other birds, and as we slipped + under the banks we often heard the paroquets chattering in the forests. + And once, as we drifted into an inlet at sunset, we caught sight of the + shaggy head of a bear above the brown water, and leaping down into the + cabin I primed the rifle that stood there and shot him. It took the seven + of us to drag him on board, and then I cleaned and skinned him as Tom had + taught me, and showed Jean how to put the caul fat and liver in rows on a + skewer and wrap it in the bear's handkerchief and roast it before the + fire. Nick found no difficulty in eating this—it was a dish fit for + any gourmand. + </p> + <p> + We passed the great, red Chickasaw Bluff, which sits facing westward + looking over the limitless Louisiana forests, where new and wondrous vines + and flowers grew, and came to the beautiful Walnut Hills crowned by a + Spanish fort. We did not stop there to exchange courtesies, but pressed on + to the Grand Gulf, the grave of many a keel boat before and since. This + was by far the most dangerous place on the Mississippi, and Xavier was + never weary of recounting many perilous escapes there, or telling how such + and such a priceless cargo had sunk in the mud by reason of the lack of + skill of particular boatmen he knew of. And indeed, the Canadian's face + assumed a graver mien after the Walnut Hills were behind us. + </p> + <p> + “You laugh, Michié,” he said to Nick, a little resentfully. + “I who speak to you say that there is four foot on each side of ze + bateau. Too much <i>tafia</i>, a little too much excite—” and + he made a gesture with his hand expressive of total destruction; “ze + tornado, I would sooner have him—” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Nick, stroking Xavier's black beard, “give me the + tiller. I will see you through safely, and we will not spare the + <i>tafia</i> either.” And he began to sing a song of Xavier's + own:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-.5em">"'Marianson, dame jolie,</span><br /> + Où est allé votre mari?'" + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span> + “<i>Ah, toujours les dames</i>!” said Xavier. “But I tell you, + Michié, <i>le diable</i>,—he is at ze bottom of ze Grand Gulf + and his mouth open—so.” And he suited the action to the word. + </p> + <p> + At night we tied up under the shore within earshot of the mutter of the + place, and twice that night I awoke with clinched hands from a dream of + being spun fiercely against the rock of which Xavier had told, and sucked + into the devil's mouth under the water. Dawn came as I was fighting the + mosquitoes,—a still, sultry dawn with thunder muttering in the + distance. + </p> + <p> + We breakfasted in silence, and with the crew standing ready at the oars + and Xavier scanning the wide expanse of waters ahead, seeking for that + unmarked point whence to embark on this perilous journey, we floated down + the stream. The prospect was sufficiently disquieting on that murky day. + Below us, on the one hand, a rocky bluff reached out into the river, and + on the far side was a timber-clad point round which the Mississippi + doubled and flowed back on itself. It needed no trained eye to guess at + the perils of the place. On the one side the mighty current charged + against the bluff and, furious at the obstacle, lashed itself into a + hundred sucks and whirls, their course marked by the flotsam plundered + from the forests above. Woe betide the boat that got into this devil's + caldron! And on the other side, near the timbered point, ran a counter + current marked by forest wreckage flowing up-stream. To venture too far on + this side was to be grounded or at least to be sent back to embark once + more on the trial. + </p> + <p> + But where was the channel? We watched Xavier with bated breath. Not once + did he take his eyes from the swirling water ahead, but gave the tiller a + touch from time to time, now right, now left, and called in a monotone for + the port or starboard oars. Nearer and nearer we sped, dodging the snags, + until the water boiled around us, and suddenly the boat shot forward as in + a mill-race, and we clutched the cabin's roof. A triumphant gleam was in + Xavier's eyes, for he had hit the channel squarely. And then, like a + monster out of the deep, the scaly, black + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">365</a></span> + back of a great northern pine + was flung up beside us and sheered us across the channel until we were at + the very edge of the foam-specked, spinning water. But Xavier saw it, and + quick as lightning brought his helm over and laughed as he heard it + crunching along our keel. And so we came swiftly around the bend and into + safety once more. The next day there was the Petite Gulf, which bothered + Xavier very little, and the day after that we came in sight of Natchez on + her heights and guided our boat in amongst the others that lined the + shore, scowled at by lounging Indians there, and eyed suspiciously by a + hatchet-faced Spaniard in a tawdry uniform who represented his Majesty's + customs. Here we stopped for a day and a night that Xavier and his crew + might get properly drunk on <i>tafia</i>, while Nick and I walked about + the town and waited until his Excellency, the commandant, had finished + dinner that we might present our letters and obtain his passport. Natchez + at that date was a sufficiently unkempt and evil place of dirty, + ramshackle houses and gambling dens, where men of the four nations gamed + and quarrelled and fought. We were glad enough to get away the following + morning, Xavier somewhat saddened by the loss of thirty livres of which + he had no memory, and Nick and myself relieved at having the passports in + our pockets. I have mine yet among my papers. + </p> + <p class="letter-date">"Natchez, 29 de Junio, de 1789.</p> + <p class="communique" style="padding-top:0;"> + “Concedo libre y seguro pasaporte a Don Davíd Ritchie para que + pase a la Nueva Orleans por Agna. Pido y encargo no se le ponga + embarazo.” + </p> + <p> + A few days more and we were running between low shores which seemed to + hold a dark enchantment. The rivers now flowed out of, and not into the + Mississippi, and Xavier called them bayous, and often it took much skill + and foresight on his part not to be shot into the lane they made in the + dark forest of an evening. And the forest,—it seemed an impenetrable + mystery, a strange tangle of fantastic growths: the live-oak + (<i>chêne vert</i>), its wide-spreading limbs hung funereally with + Spanish moss and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">366</a></span> + twined in + the mistletoe's death embrace; the dark cypress swamp with the conelike + knees above the yellow back-waters; and here and there grew the bridelike + magnolia which we had known in Kentucky, wafting its perfume over the + waters, and wondrous flowers and vines and trees with French names that + bring back the scene to me even now with a whiff of romance, <i>bois + d'arc</i>, <i>lilac</i>, <i>grande volaille</i> (water-lily). Birds flew + hither and thither (the names of every one of which Xavier + knew),—the whistling <i>papabot</i>, the mournful bittern + (<i>garde-soleil</i>), and the night-heron (<i>grosbeck</i>), who stood + like a sentinel on the points. + </p> + <p> + One night I awoke with the sweat starting from my brow, trying to collect + my senses, and I lay on my blanket listening to such plaintive and + heart-rending cries as I had never known. Human cries they were, cries as + of children in distress, and I rose to a sitting posture on the deck with + my hair standing up straight, to discover Nick beside me in the same + position. + </p> + <p> + “God have mercy on us,” I heard him mutter, “what's that? It sounds + like the wail of all the babies since the world began.” + </p> + <p> + We listened together, and I can give no notion of the hideous mournfulness + of the sound. We lay in a swampy little inlet, and the forest wall made a + dark blur against the star-studded sky. There was a splash near the boat + that made me clutch my legs, the wails ceased and began again with + redoubled intensity. Nick and I leaped to our feet and stood staring, + horrified, over the gunwale into the black water. Presently there was a + laugh behind us, and we saw Xavier resting on his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “What devil-haunted place is this?” demanded Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha,” said Xavier, shaking with unseemly mirth, “you have + never heard ze alligator sing, Michié?” + </p> + <p> + “Alligator!” cried Nick; “there are babies in the water, I tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha,” laughed Xavier, flinging off his blanket and searching for + his flint and tinder. He lighted a pine knot, and in the red pulsing flare + we saw what seemed to be a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">367</a></span> + dozen black logs floating on the surface. And then + Xavier flung the cresset at them, fire and all. There was a lashing, a + frightful howl from one of the logs, and the night's silence once more. + </p> + <p> + Often after that our slumbers were disturbed, and we would rise with + maledictions in our mouths to fling the handiest thing at the serenaders. + When we arose in the morning we would often see them by the dozens, + basking in the shallows, with their wide mouths flapped open waiting for + their prey. Sometimes we ran upon them in the water, where they looked + like the rough-bark pine logs from the North, and Nick would have a shot + at them. When he hit one fairly there would be a leviathan-like roar and a + churning of the river into suds. + </p> + <p> + At length there were signs that we were drifting out of the wilderness, + and one morning we came in sight of a rich plantation with its dark orange + trees and fields of indigo, with its wide-galleried manor-house in a + grove. And as we drifted we heard the negroes chanting at their work, the + plaintive cadence of the strange song adding to the mystery of the scene. + Here in truth was a new world, a land of peaceful customs, green and + moist. The soft-toned bells of it seemed an expression of its + life,—so far removed from our own striving and fighting existence in + Kentucky. Here and there, between plantations, a belfry could be seen + above the cluster of the little white village planted in the green; and + when we went ashore amongst these simple French people they treated us + with such gentle civility and kindness that we would fain have lingered + there. The river had become a vast yellow lake, and often as we drifted + of an evening the wail of a slave dance and monotonous beating of a + tom-tom would float to us over the water. + </p> + <p> + At last, late one afternoon, we came in sight of that strange city which + had filled our thoughts for many days. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">368</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER XI</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Strange City</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Nick</span> and I stood by the mast on the forward + part of the cabin, staring at the distant, low-lying city, while Xavier + sought for the entrance to the eddy which here runs along the shore. + If you did not gain this entrance,—so he explained,—you were + carried by a swift current below New Orleans and might by no means get + back save by the hiring of a crew. Xavier, however, was not to be caught + thus, and presently we were gliding quietly along the eastern bank, or + levee, which held back the river from the lowlands. Then, as we looked, + the levee became an esplanade shaded by rows of willows, and through + them we caught sight of the upper galleries and low, curving roofs of + the city itself. There, cried Xavier, was the Governor's house on the + corner, where the great Miro lived, and beyond it the house of the + Intendant; and then, gliding into an open space between the keel boats + along the bank, stared at by a score of boatmen and idlers + from above, we came to the end of our long journey. No sooner had we made + fast than we were boarded by a shabby customs officer who, when he had + seen our passports, bowed politely and invited us to land. We leaped + ashore, gained the gravelled walk on the levee, and looked about us. + </p> + <p> + Squalidity first met our eyes. Below us, crowded between the levee and the + row of houses, were dozens of squalid market-stalls tended by cotton-clad + negroes. Beyond, across the bare Place d'Armes, a blackened gap in the + line of houses bore witness to the devastation of the year gone by, while + here and there a roof, struck by the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">369</a></span> + setting sun, gleamed fiery red with + its new tiles. The levee was deserted save for the negroes and the river + men. + </p> + <p> + “Time for siesta, Michié,” said Xavier, joining us; “I will + show you ze inn of which I spik. She is kep' by my fren', Madame + Bouvet.” + </p> + <p> + “Xavier,” said Nick, looking at the rolling flood of the river, + “suppose this levee should break?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Xavier, “then some Spaniard who never have a + bath—he feel what water is lak.” + </p> + <p> + Followed by Benjy with the saddle-bags, we went down the steps set in the + levee into this strange, foreign city. It was like unto nothing we had + ever seen, nor can I give an adequate notion of how it affected + us,—such a mixture it seemed of dirt and poverty and wealth and + romance. The narrow, muddy streets ran with filth, and on each side along + the houses was a sun-baked walk held up by the curved sides of broken + flatboats, where two men might scarcely pass. The houses, too, had an odd + and foreign look, some of wood, some of upright logs and plaster, and + newer ones, Spanish in style, of adobe, with curving roofs of red tiles + and strong eaves spreading over the <i>banquette</i> (as the sidewalk + was called), casting shadows on lemon-colored walls. Since New Orleans + was in a swamp, the older houses for the most part were lifted some seven + feet above the ground, and many of these houses had wide galleries on the + street side. Here and there a shop was set in the wall; a watchmaker was + to be seen poring over his work at a tiny window, a shoemaker cross-legged + on the floor. Again, at an open wicket, we caught a glimpse through a cool + archway into a flowering court-yard. Stalwart negresses with bright + kerchiefs made way for us on the banquette. Hands on hips, they swung + along erect, with baskets of cakes and sweetmeats on their heads, + musically crying their wares. + </p> + <p> + At length, turning a corner, we came to a white wooden house on the Rue + Royale, with a flight of steps leading up to the entrance. In place of a + door a flimsy curtain hung in the doorway, and, pushing this aside, we + followed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">370</a></span> + Xavier through a darkened hall to a wide gallery that overlooked + a court-yard. This court-yard was shaded by several great trees which grew + there; the house and gallery ran down one other side of it; and the two + remaining sides were made up of a series of low cabins, these forming the + various outhouses and the kitchen. At the far end of this gallery a + sallow, buxom lady sat sewing at a table, and Xavier saluted her very + respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he said, “I have brought you from St. Louis with + Michié Gratiot's compliments two young American gentlemen, + who are travelling to amuse themselves.” + </p> + <p> + The lady rose and beamed upon us. + </p> + <p> + “From Monsieur Gratiot,” she said; “you are very welcome, + gentlemen, to such poor accommodations as I have. It is not unusual to + have American gentlemen in New Orleans, for many come here first and last. + And I am happy to say that two of my best rooms are vacant. Zoey!” + </p> + <p> + There was a shrill answer from the court below, and a negro girl in a + yellow turban came running up, while Madame Bouvet bustled along the + gallery and opened the doors of two darkened rooms. Within I could dimly + see a walnut dresser, a chair, and a walnut bed on which was spread a + mosquito bar. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Voilá</i>! Messieurs,” cried Madame Bouvet, “there is + still a little time for a siesta. No siesta!” cried Madame, eying us + aghast; “ah, the Americans they never rest—never.” + </p> + <p> + We bade farewell to the good Xavier, promising to see him soon; and Nick, + shouting to Benjy to open the saddle-bags, proceeded to array himself in + the clothes which had made so much havoc at St. Louis. I boded no good + from this proceeding, but I reflected, as I watched him dress, that I + might as well try to turn the Mississippi from its course as to attempt to + keep my cousin from the search for gallant adventure. And I reflected that + his indulgence in pleasure-seeking would serve the more to divert any + suspicions which might fall upon my own head. At last, when the setting + sun was flooding the court-yard, he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">371</a></span> + stood arrayed upon the gallery, ready to venture forth to conquest. + </p> + <p> + Madame Bouvet's tavern, or hotel, or whatever she was pleased to call it, + was not immaculately clean. Before passing into the street we stood for a + moment looking into the public room on the left of the hallway, a long + saloon, evidently used in the early afternoon for a dining room, and at + the back of it a wide, many-paned window, capped by a Spanish arch, looked + out on the gallery. Near this window was a gay party of young men engaged + at cards, waited on by the yellow-turbaned Zoey, and drinking what + evidently was claret punch. The sounds of their jests and laughter pursued + us out of the house. + </p> + <p> + The town was waking from its siesta, the streets filling, and people + stopped to stare at Nick as we passed. But Nick, who was plainly in search + of something he did not find, hurried on. We soon came to the quarter + which had suffered most from the fire, where new houses had gone up or + were in the building beside the blackened logs of many of Bienville's + time. Then we came to a high white wall that surrounded a large garden, + and within it was a long, massive building of some beauty and pretension, + with a high, latticed belfry and heavy walls and with arched dormers in + the sloping roof. As we stood staring at it through the iron grille set in + the archway of the lodge, Nick declared that it put him in mind of some of + the châteaux he had seen in France, and he crossed the street to get + a better view of the premises. An old man in coarse blue linen came out of + the lodge and spoke to me. + </p> + <p> + “It is the convent of the good nuns, the Ursulines, Monsieur,” he + said in French, “and it was built long ago in the Sieur de Bienville's + time, when the colony was young. For forty-five years, Monsieur, the + young ladies of the city have come here to be educated.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” demanded Nick, pricking up his ears as he + came across the street. + </p> + <p> + “That young men have been sent to the mines of Brazil for climbing the + walls,” I answered. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">372</a></span> + “Who wants to climb the walls?” said Nick, disgusted. + </p> + <p> + “The young ladies of the town go to school here,” I answered; + “it is a convent.” + </p> + <p> + “It might serve to pass the time,” said Nick, gazing with a new + interest at the latticed windows. “How much would you take, my friend, + to let us in at the back way this evening?” he demanded of the + porter in French. + </p> + <p> + The good man gasped, lifted his hands in horror, and straightway let loose + upon Nick a torrent of French invectives that had not the least effect + except to cause a blacksmith's apprentice and two negroes to stop and + stare at us. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” exclaimed Nick, when the man had paused for want of breath, + “it is no trick to get over that wall.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu</i>!” cried the porter, “you are Kentuckians, yes? + I might have known that you were Kentuckians, and I shall advise the good + sisters to put glass on the wall and keep a watch.” + </p> + <p> + “The young ladies are beautiful, you say?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + At this juncture, with the negroes grinning and the porter near bursting + with rage, there came out of the lodge the fattest woman I have ever seen + for her size. She seized her husband by the back of his loose frock and + pulled him away, crying out that he was losing time by talking to + vagabonds, besides disturbing the good sisters. Then we went away, Nick + following the convent wall down to the river. Turning southward under the + bank past the huddle of market-stalls, we came suddenly upon a sight that + made us pause and wonder. + </p> + <p> + New Orleans was awake. A gay and laughing throng paced the esplanade on + the levee under the willows, with here and there a cavalier on horseback + on the Royal Road below. Across the Place d'Armes the spire of the parish + church stood against the fading sky, and to the westward the mighty river + stretched away like a gilded floor. It was a strange throng. There were + grave Spaniards in long cloaks and feathered beavers; jolly merchants and + artisans in short linen jackets, each with his tabatière, the wives + with bits of finery, the children laughing and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">373</a></span> + shouting and dodging in and out + between fathers and mothers beaming with quiet pride and contentment; + swarthy boat-men with their worsted belts, gaudy negresses chanting in the + soft patois, and here and there a blanketed Indian. Nor was this all. Some + occasion (so Madame Bouvet had told us) had brought a sprinkling of + fashion to town that day, and it was a fashion to astonish me. There were + fine gentlemen with swords and silk waistcoats and silver shoe-buckles, + and ladies in filmy summer gowns. Greuze ruled the mode in France then, + but New Orleans had not got beyond Watteau. As for Nick and me, we knew + nothing of Greuze and Watteau then, and we could only stare in + astonishment. And for once we saw an officer of the Louisiana Regiment + resplendent in a uniform that might have served at court. + </p> + <p> + Ay, and there was yet another sort. Every flatboatman who returned to + Kentucky was full of tales of the marvellous beauty of the quadroons and + octoroons, stories which I had taken with a grain of salt; but they had + not indeed been greatly overdrawn. For here were these ladies in the + flesh, their great, opaque, almond eyes consuming us with a swift glance, + and each walking with a languid grace beside her duenna. Their faces were + like old ivory, their dress the stern Miro himself could scarce repress. + In former times they had been lavish in their finery, and even now + earrings still gleamed and color broke out irrepressibly. + </p> + <p> + Nick was delighted, but he had not dragged me twice the length of the + esplanade ere his eye was caught by a young lady in pink who sauntered + between an elderly gentleman in black silk and a young man more gayly + dressed. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said Nick, “there is my divinity, and I need not look a + step farther.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You have but to choose, I suppose, and all falls your way,” + I answered. + </p> + <p> + “But look!” he cried, halting me to stare after the girl, + “what a face, and what a form! And what a carriage, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">374</a></span> + by Jove! There is breeding for you! And Davy, did you mark the gentle, + rounded arm? Thank heaven these short sleeves are the fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mad, Nick,” I answered, pulling him on, “these people + are not to be stared at so. And once I present our letters to Monsieur de + Saint-Gré, it will not be difficult to know any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Look!” said he, “that young man, lover or husband, is a brute. + On my soul, they are quarrelling.” + </p> + <p> + The three had stopped by a bench under a tree. The young man, who wore + claret silk and a sword, had one of those thin faces of dirty complexion + which show the ravages of dissipation, and he was talking with a rapidity + and vehemence of which only a Latin tongue will admit. We could see, + likewise, that the girl was answering with spirit,—indeed, I should + write a stronger word than spirit,—while the elderly gentleman, who + had a good-humored, fleshy face and figure, was plainly doing his best to + calm them both. People who were passing stared curiously at the three. + </p> + <p> + “Your divinity evidently has a temper,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + “For that scoundel—certainly,” said Nick; “but come, + they are moving on.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to follow them?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said he. “We will find out where they live and + who they are, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have taken a fancy to this girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I have looked them all over, and she's by far the best I've seen. I can + say so much honestly.” + </p> + <p> + “But she may be married,” I said weakly. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, Davy,” he answered, “it's more than likely, from the + violence of their quarrel. But if so, we will try again.” + </p> + <p> + “We!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on!” he cried, dragging me by the sleeve, + “or we shall lose them.” + </p> + <p> + I resisted no longer, but followed him down the levee, in my heart + thanking heaven that he had not taken a fancy to an octoroon. Twilight had + set in strongly, the gay crowd was beginning to disperse, and in the + distance + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">375</a></span> + the three figures could be seen making their way across the Place + d'Armes, the girl hanging on the elderly gentleman's arm, and the young + man following with seeming sullenness behind. They turned into one of the + narrower streets, and we quickened our steps. Lights gleamed in the + houses; voices and laughter, and once the tinkle of a guitar + came to us from court-yard and gallery. But Nick, hurrying on, came near + to bowling more than one respectable citizen we met on the banquette, into + the ditch. We reached a corner, and the three were nowhere to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “Curse the luck!” cried Nick, “we have lost them. The next time + I'll stop for no explanations.” + </p> + <p> + There was no particular reason why I should have been penitent, but I + ventured to say that the house they had entered could not be far off. + </p> + <p> + “And how the devil are we to know it?” demanded Nick. + </p> + <p> + This puzzled me for a moment, but presently I began to think that the two + might begin quarrelling again, and said so. Nick laughed and put his arm + around my neck. + </p> + <p> + “You have no mean ability for intrigue when you put your mind to it, + Davy,” he said; “I vow I believe you are in love with the girl + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + I disclaimed this with some vehemence. Indeed, I had scarcely seen her. + </p> + <p> + “They can't be far off,” said Nick; “we'll pitch on a likely + house and camp in front of it until bedtime.” + </p> + <p> + “And be flung into a filthy calaboose by a constable,” said I. + “No, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + We walked on, and halfway down the block we came upon a new house with + more pretensions than its neighbors. It was set back a little from the + street, and there was a high adobe wall into which a pair of gates were + set, and a wicket opening in one of them. Over the wall hung a dark fringe + of magnolia and orange boughs. On each of the gate-posts a crouching lion + was outlined dimly against the fainting light, and, by crossing the + street, we could see the upper line of a latticed gallery under the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">376</a></span> + low roof. We took our stand within the empty doorway of a blackened house, + nearly opposite, and there we waited, Nick murmuring all sorts of + ridiculous things in my ear. But presently I began to reflect upon the + consequences of being taken in such a situation by a constable and dragged + into the light of a public examination. I put this to Nick as plainly as I + could, and was declaring my intention of going back to Madame Bouvet's, + when the sound of voices arrested me. The voices came from the latticed + gallery, and they were low at first, but soon rose to such an angry pitch + that I made no doubt we had hit on the right house after all. What they + said was lost to us, but I could distinguish the woman's voice, + low-pitched and vibrant as though insisting upon a refusal, and the man's + scarce adult tones, now high as though with balked passion, now shaken and + imploring. I was for leaving the place at once, but Nick clutched my arm + tightly; and suddenly, as I stood undecided, the voices ceased entirely, + there were the sounds of a scuffle, and the lattice of the gallery was + flung open. In the all but darkness we saw a figure climb over the + railing, hang suspended for an instant, and drop lightly to the ground. + Then came the light relief of a woman's gown in the opening of the + lattice, the cry "Auguste, Auguste!" the wicket in the gate opened and + slammed, and a man ran at top speed along the banquette towards the levee. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively I seized Nick by the arm as he started out of the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” he cried angrily, “let me go, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + But I held on. + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer, but twisted and struggled, and before I knew what he + was doing he had pushed me off the stone step into a tangle of blackened + beams behind. I dropped his arm to save myself, and it was mere good + fortune that I did not break an ankle in the fall. When I had gained the + step again he was gone after the man, and a portly citizen stood in front + of me, looking into the doorway. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">377</a></span> + “<i>Qu'est-ce-qu'il-y-a la dedans</i>?” he demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + It was a sufficiently embarrassing situation. I put on a bold front, + however, and not deigning to answer, pushed past him and walked with as + much leisure as possible along the banquette in the direction which Nick + had taken. As I turned the corner I glanced over my shoulder, and in the + darkness I could just make out the man standing where I had left him. In + great uneasiness I pursued my way, my imagination summing up for Nick all + kinds of adventures with disagreeable consequences. I walked for some + time—it may have been half an hour—aimlessly, and finally + decided it would be best to go back to Madame Bouvet's and await the + issue with as much calmness as possible. He might not, after all, have + caught the fellow. + </p> + <p> + There were few people in the dark streets, but at length I met a man who + gave me directions, and presently found my way back to my lodging place. + Talk and laughter floated through the latticed windows into the street, + and when I had pushed back the curtain and looked into the saloon I found + the same gaming party at the end of it, sitting in their shirt-sleeves + amidst the moths and insects that hovered around the candles. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Monsieur,” said Madame Bouvet's voice behind me, “you must + excuse them. They will come here and play, the young gentlemen, and I + cannot find it in my heart to drive them away, though sometimes I lose + a respectable lodger by their noise. But, after all, what would you?” + she added with a shrug; “I love them, the young men. But, Monsieur,” + she cried, “you have had no supper! And where is Monsieur your + companion? <i>Comme il est beau garçon</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “He will be in presently,” I answered with unwarranted assumption. + </p> + <p> + Madame shot at me the swiftest of glances and laughed, and I suspected + that she divined Nick's propensity for adventure. However, she said + nothing more than to bid me sit down at the table, and presently Zoey came + in with lights and strange, highly seasoned dishes, which I ate + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">378</a></span> + with + avidity, notwithstanding my uneasiness of mind, watching the while the + party at the far end of the room. There were five young gentlemen playing + a game I knew not, with intervals of intense silence, and boisterous + laughter and execrations while the cards were being shuffled and the money + rang on the board and glasses were being filled from a stand at one side. + Presently Madame Bouvet returned, and placing before me a cup of wondrous + coffee, advanced down the room towards them. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Messieurs,” she cried, “you will ruin my poor house.” + </p> + <p> + The five rose and bowed with marked profundity. One of them, with a puffy, + weak, good-natured face, answered her briskly, and after a little raillery + she came back to me. I had a question not over discreet on my tongue's + tip. + </p> + <p> + “There are some fine residences going up here, Madame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Since the fire, Monsieur, the dreadful fire of Good Friday a year ago. + You admire them?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw one,” I answered with indifference, “with a wall and + lions on the gate-posts—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>, that is a house,” exclaimed Madame; “it belongs + to Monsieur de Saint-Gré.” + </p> + <p> + “To Monsieur de Saint-Gré!” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + She shot a look at me. She had bright little eyes like a bird's, that + shone in the candlelight. + </p> + <p> + “You know him, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard of him in St. Louis,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You will meet him, no doubt,” she continued. “He is a very fine + gentleman. His grandfather was Commissary-general of the colony, and he + himself is a cousin of the Marquis de Saint-Gré, who has two + châteaux, a house in Paris, and is a favorite of the King.” She + paused, as if to let this impress itself upon me, and added archly, + “<i>Tenez</i>, Monsieur, there is a daughter—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + I followed her glance, and my first impression—of + claret-color—gave me a shock. My second confirmed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">379</a></span> + it, for in the semi-darkness beyond the + rays of the candle was a thin, eager face, prematurely lined, with + coal-black, lustrous eyes that spoke eloquently of indulgence. In an + instant I knew it to be that of the young man whom I had seen on the + levee. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Auguste?” stammered Madame. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon soir</i>, Madame,” he cried gayly, with a bow; + “<i>diable</i>, they are already at it, I see, and the punch in the + bowl. I will win back to-night what I have lost by a week of + accursed luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur your father has relented, perhaps,” + said Madame, deferentially. + </p> + <p> + “Relented!” cried the young man, “not a sou. <i>C'est + égal</i>! I have the means here,” and he tapped his pocket, + “I have the means here to set me on my feet again, Madame.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a note of triumph, and Madame took a curious step towards + him. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Qu'est-ce-que c'est</i>, Monsieur Auguste?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + He drew something that glittered from his pocket and beckoned to her to + follow him down the room, which she did with alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, Adolphe,” he cried to the young man of the puffy face, + “I will have my revenge to-night. <i>Voilà</i>!” and he + held up the shining thing, “this goes to the highest bidder, and + you will agree that it is worth a pretty sum.” + </p> + <p> + They rose from their chairs and clustered around him at the table, Madame + in their midst, staring with bent heads at the trinket which he held to + the light. It was Madame's voice I heard first, in a kind of frightened + cry. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>, Monsieur Auguste, you will not part with that!” she + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” demanded the young man, indifferently. “It was painted + by Boze, the back is solid gold, and the Jew in the Rue Toulouse will + give me four hundred livres for it to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + There followed immediately such a chorus of questions, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">380</a></span> + exclamations, and + shrill protests from Madame Bouvet, that I (being such a laborious French + scholar) could distinguish but little of what they said. I looked in + wonderment at the gesticulating figures grouped against the light, Madame + imploring, the youthful profile of the newcomer marked with a cynical and + scornful refusal. More than once I was for rising out of my chair to go + over and see for myself what the object was, and then, suddenly, I + perceived Madame Bouvet coming towards me in evident agitation. She sank + into the chair beside me. + </p> + <p> + “If I had four hundred livres,” she said, “if I had four hundred + livres!” + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “a terrible thing has happened. Auguste de + Saint-Gré—” + </p> + <p> + “Auguste de Saint-Gré!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “He is the son of that Monsieur de Saint-Gré of whom we + spoke,” she answered, “a wild lad, a spendthrift, a gambler, if you + like. And yet he is a Saint-Gré, Monsieur, and I cannot refuse him. + It is the miniature of Mademoiselle Hélène de + Saint-Gré, the daughter of the Marquis, sent to Mamselle 'Toinette, + his sister, from France. How he has obtained it I know not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” I exclaimed sharply, the explanation of the scene of which I + had been a witness coming to me swiftly. The rascal had wrenched it from + her in the gallery and fled. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” continued Madame, too excited to notice my interruption, + “if I had four hundred livres I would buy it of him, and Monsieur de + Saint-Gré <i>père</i> would willingly pay it back in the + morning.” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. I had a letter in my pocket to Monsieur de Saint-Gré, + the sum was not large, and the act of Monsieur Auguste de Saint-Gré + in every light was detestable. A rising anger decided me, and I took a + wallet from my pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I will buy the miniature, Madame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Monsieur,” she cried; “if you could see + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">381</a></span> + Mamselle 'Toinette + you would pay twice the sum. The whole town loves her. Monsieur Auguste, + Monsieur Auguste!” she shouted, “here is a gentleman who will buy + your miniature.” + </p> + <p> + The six young men stopped talking and stared at me with one accord. Madame + arose, and I followed her down the room towards them, and, had it not been + for my indignation, I should have felt sufficiently ridiculous. Young + Monsieur de Saint-Gré came forward with the good-natured, easy + insolence to which he had been born, and looked me over. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is an American,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I understand that you have offered this miniature for four hundred + livres,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Jew's price,” he answered; “<i>mais pardieu</i>, + what will you?” he added with a shrug, “I must have the money. + <i>Regardez</i>, Monsieur, you have a bargain. Here is Mademoiselle + Hélène de Saint-Gré, daughter of my lord the + Marquis of whom I have the honor to be a cousin,” and he made a bow. + “It is by the famous court painter, Joseph Boze, and Mademoiselle de + Saint-Gré herself is a favorite of her Majesty.” He held the + portrait close to the candle and regarded it critically. + “Mademoiselle Hélène Victoire Marie de Saint-Gré, + painted in a costume of Henry the Second's time, with a ruff, you + notice, which she wore at a ball given by his Highness the Prince of + Condé at Chantilly. A trifle haughty, if you like, Monsieur, + but I venture to say you will be hopelessly in love with her within + the hour.” + </p> + <p> + At this there was a general titter from the young gentlemen at the table. + </p> + <p> + “All of which is neither here nor there, Monsieur,” I answered + sharply. “The question is purely a commercial one, and has nothing to + do with the lady's character or position.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well said, Monsieur,” Madame Bouvet put in. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Auguste de Saint-Gré shrugged his slim shoulders and + laid down the portrait on the walnut table. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">382</a></span> + “Four hundred livres, Monsieur,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I counted out the money, scrutinized by the curious eyes of his + companions, and pushed it over to him. He bowed carelessly, sat him down, + and began to shuffle the cards, while I picked up the miniature and walked + out of the room. Before I had gone twenty paces I heard them laughing at + their game and shouting out the stakes. Suddenly I bethought myself of + Nick. What if he should come in and discover the party at the table? I + stopped short in the hallway, and there Madame Bouvet overtook me. + </p> + <p> + “How can I thank you, Monsieur?” she said. And then, “You will + return the portrait to Monsieur de Saint-Gré?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a letter from Monsieur Gratiot to that gentleman, which I shall + deliver in the morning,” I answered. “And now, Madame, I have a + favor to ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am at Monsieur's service,” she answered simply. + </p> + <p> + “When Mr. Temple comes in, he is not to go into that room,” I said, + pointing to the door of the saloon; “I have my reasons for requesting + it.” + </p> + <p> + For answer Madame went to the door, closed it, and turned the key. Then + she sat down beside a little table with a candlestick and took up her + knitting. + </p> + <p> + “It will be as Monsieur says,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + I smiled. + </p> + <p> + “And when Mr. Temple comes in will you kindly say that I am waiting for + him in his room?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “As Monsieur says,” she answered. “I wish Monsieur a good-night and + pleasant dreams.” + </p> + <p> + She took a candlestick from the table, lighted the candle, and handed it + me with a courtesy. I bowed, and made my way along the gallery above the + deserted court-yard. Entering my room and closing the door after me, I + drew the miniature from my pocket and stood gazing at it for I know not + how long. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">383</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER XII</a> + </h2> + <h3>Les Îles</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I stood</span> staring at the portrait, I say, with + a kind of fascination that astonished me, seeing that it had come to me + in such a way. It was no French face of my imagination, and as I looked + it seemed to me that I knew Mademoiselle Hélène de + Saint-Gré. And yet I smile as I write this, realizing full well + that my strange and foreign surroundings and my unforeseen adventure + had much to do with my state of mind. The lady in the miniature might + have been eighteen, or thirty-five. Her features were of + the clearest cut, the nose the least trifle aquiline, and by a blurred + outline the painter had given to the black hair piled high upon the head a + suggestion of waviness. The eyebrows were straight, the brown eyes looked + at the world with an almost scornful sense of humor, and I marked that + there was determination in the chin. Here was a face that could be + infinitely haughty or infinitely tender, a mouth of witty—nay, + perhaps cutting—repartee of brevity and force. A lady who spoke + quickly, moved quickly, or reposed absolutely. A person who commanded by + nature and yet (dare I venture the thought?) was capable of a supreme + surrender. I was aroused from this odd revery by footsteps on the gallery, + and Nick burst into the room. Without pausing to look about him, he flung + himself lengthwise on the bed on top of the mosquito bar. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand curses on such a place,” he cried; “it is full of rat + holes and rabbit warrens.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you catch your man?” I asked innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Catch him!” said Nick, with a little excusable profanity; “he went + in at one end of such a warren and came out at another. I waited for him + in two streets until an + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">384</a></span> + officious person chanced along and threatened to take me before the + Alcalde. What the devil is that you have got in your hand, Davy?” he + demanded, raising his head. + </p> + <p> + “A miniature that took my fancy, and which I bought.” + </p> + <p> + He rose from the bed, yawned, and taking it in his hand, held it to the + light. I watched him curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Lord,” he said, “it is such a passion as I might have suspected + of you, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “There was nothing said about passion,” I answered hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Then why the deuce did you buy it?” he said with some pertinence. + </p> + <p> + This staggered me. + </p> + <p> + “A man may fancy a thing, without indulging in a passion, I suppose,” + I replied. + </p> + <p> + Nick held the picture at arm's length in the palm of his hand and regarded + it critically. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” said he, “you may thank heaven it is only a picture. If + such a one ever got hold of you, Davy, she would general you even as you + general me. Egad,” he added with a laugh, “there would be no more + walking the streets at night in search of adventure for you. Consider + carefully the masterful features of that lady and thank God you haven't + got her.” + </p> + <p> + I was inclined to be angry, but ended by laughing. + </p> + <p> + “There will be no rivalry between us, at least,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Rivalry!” exclaimed Nick. “Heaven forbid that I should aspire to + such abject slavery. When I marry, it will be to command.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more honor in such a conquest,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “I have long been looking for some such flaw in + your insuperable wisdom. But I vow I can keep my eyes open no longer. + Benjy!” + </p> + <p> + A smothered response came from the other side of the wall, and Benjy duly + appeared in the doorway, blinking at the candlelight, to put his master to + bed. + </p> + <p> + We slept that night with no bed covering save the mosquito bar, as was the + custom in New Orleans. Indeed, the heat was most oppressive, but we had + become to some + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">385</a></span> + extent inured to it on the boat, and we were both in such + sound health that our slumbers were not disturbed. Early in the morning, + however, I was awakened by a negro song from the court-yard, and I lay + pleasantly for some minutes listening to the early sounds, breathing in + the aroma of coffee which mingled with the odor of the flowers of the + court, until Zoey herself appeared in the doorway, holding a cup in her + hand. I arose, and taking the miniature from the table, gazed at it in the + yellow morning light; and then, having dressed myself, I put it carefully + in my pocket and sat down at my portfolio to compose a letter to Polly + Ann, knowing that a description of what I had seen in New Orleans would + amuse her. This done, I went out into the gallery, where Madame was + already seated at her knitting, in the shade of the great tree that stood + in the corner of the court and spread its branches over the eaves. She + arose and courtesied, with a questioning smile. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” I asked, “is it too early to present myself to Monsieur + de Saint-Gré?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pardieu</i>, no, Monsieur, we are early risers in the South for we + have our siesta. You are going to return the portrait, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you for the deed,” said she. “<i>Tenez</i>, + Monsieur,” she added, stepping closer to me, “you will tell his + father that you bought it from Monsieur Auguste?” + </p> + <p> + I saw that she had a soft spot in her heart for the rogue. + </p> + <p> + “I will make no promises, Madame,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She looked at me timidly, appealingly, but I bowed and departed. The sun + was riding up into the sky, the walls already glowing with his heat, and a + midsummer languor seemed to pervade the streets as I walked along. The + shadows now were sharply defined, the checkered foliage of the trees was + flung in black against the yellow-white wall of the house with the lions, + and the green-latticed gallery which we had watched the night before + seemed silent and deserted. I knocked at the gate, and presently a + bright-turbaned <i>gardienne</i> opened it. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_385-T1" id="Page_385-T1"></a> + Was Monsieur de Saint-Gré at home. + The <i>gardienne</i> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">386</a></span> + looked me over, and evidently finding me respectable, replied with many + protestations of sorrow that he was not, that he had gone with Mamselle + very early that morning to his country place at Les Îles. This + information I extracted with difficulty, for I was not by any means versed + in the negro patois. + </p> + <p> + As I walked back to Madame Bouvet's I made up my mind that there was but + the one thing to do, to go at once to Monsieur de Saint-Gré's + plantation. Finding Madame still waiting in the gallery, I asked her to + direct me thither. + </p> + <p> + “You have but to follow the road that runs southward along the levee, + and some three leagues will bring you to it, Monsieur. You will inquire + for Monsieur de Saint-Gré.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you direct me to Mr. Daniel Clark's?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The American merchant and banker, the friend and associate of the great + General Wilkinson whom you sent down to us last year? Certainly, Monsieur. + He will no doubt give you better advice than I on this matter.” + </p> + <p> + I found Mr. Clark in his counting-room, and I had not talked with him five + minutes before I began to suspect that, if a treasonable understanding + existed between Wilkinson and the Spanish government, Mr. Clark was + innocent of it. He being the only prominent American in the place, it was + natural that Wilkinson should have formed with him a business arrangement + to care for the cargoes he sent down. Indeed, after we had sat for some + time chatting together, Mr. Clark began himself to make guarded inquiries + on this very subject. Did I know Wilkinson? How was his enterprise of + selling Kentucky products regarded at home? But I do not intend to burden + this story with accounts of a matter which, though it has never been + wholly clear, has been long since fairly settled in the public mind. Mr. + Clark was most amiable, accepted my statement that I was travelling for + pleasure, and honored Monsieur Chouteau's <i>bon</i> (for my purchase + of the miniature had deprived me of nearly all my ready money), and said + that Mr. Temple and I would need horses to get to Les Îles. + </p> + <p> + “And unless you purpose going back to Kentucky by + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">387</a></span> + keel boat, or round by sea to Philadelphia or New York, and cross the + mountains,” he said, “you will need good horses for your journey + through Natchez and the Cumberland country. There is a consignment of + Spanish horses from the westward just arrived in town,” he added, + “and I shall be pleased to go with you to the place where they are + sold. I shall not presume to advise a Kentuckian on such a purchase.” + </p> + <p> + The horses were crowded together under a dirty shed near the levee, and + the vessel from which they had been landed rode at anchor in the river. + They were the scrawny, tough ponies of the plains, reasonably cheap, and + it took no great discernment on my part to choose three of the strongest + and most intelligent looking. We went next to a saddler's, where I + selected three saddles and bridles of Spanish workmanship, and Mr. Clark + agreed to have two of his servants meet us with the horses before Madame + Bouvet's within the hour. He begged that we would dine with him when we + returned from Les Îles. + </p> + <p> + “You will not find an island, Mr. Ritchie,” he said; + “Saint-Gré's plantation is a huge block of land between the + river and a cypress swamp behind. Saint-Gré is a man with a + wonderful quality of mind, who might, like his ancestors, have made + his mark if necessity had probed him or opportunity offered. He never + forgave the Spanish government for the murder of his father, nor do I + blame him. He has his troubles. His son is an incurable rake and + degenerate, as you may have heard.” + </p> + <p> + I went back to Madame Bouvet's, to find Nick emerging from his toilet. + </p> + <p> + “What deviltry have you been up to, Davy?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I have been to the House of the Lions to see your divinity,” I + answered, “and in a very little while horses will be here to carry us + to her.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he asked, grasping me by both shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that we are going to her father's plantation, some way down the + river.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">388</a></span> + “On my honor, Davy, I did not suspect you of so much enterprise,” he + cried. “And her husband—?” + </p> + <p> + “Does not exist,” I replied. “Perhaps, after all, I might be able + to give you instruction in the conduct of an adventure. The man you + chased with such futility was her brother, and he stole from her the + miniature of which I am now the fortunate possessor.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me for a moment in rueful amazement. + </p> + <p> + “And her name?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Antoinette de Saint-Gré,” I answered; “our letter is to + her father.” + </p> + <p> + He made me a rueful bow. + </p> + <p> + “I fear that I have undervalued you, Mr. Ritchie,” he said. + “You have no peer. I am unworthy to accompany you, and furthermore, + it would be useless.” + </p> + <p> + “And why useless!” I inquired, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “You have doubtless seen the lady, and she is yours,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You forget that I am in love with a miniature,” I said. + </p> + <p> + In half an hour we were packed and ready, the horses had arrived, we bade + good-by to Madame Bouvet and rode down the miry street until we reached + the road behind the levee. Turning southward, we soon left behind the + shaded esplanade and the city's roofs below us, and came to the first of + the plantation houses set back amidst the dark foliage. No tremor shook + the fringe of moss that hung from the heavy boughs, so still was the day, + and an indefinable, milky haze stretched between us and the cloudless sky + above. The sun's rays pierced it and gathered fire; the mighty river + beside us rolled listless and sullen, flinging back the heat defiantly. + And on our left was a tropical forest in all its bewildering luxuriance, + the live-oak, the hackberry, the myrtle, the Spanish bayonet in bristling + groups, and the shaded places gave out a scented moisture like an + orangery; anon we passed fields of corn and cotton, swamps of rice, + stretches of poverty-stricken indigo plants, gnawed to the stem by the + pest. Our ponies ambled on, unmindful; but Nick + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">389</a></span> + vowed that no woman under heaven would induce him to undertake such a + journey again. + </p> + <p> + Some three miles out of the city we descried two figures on horseback + coming towards us, and quickly perceived that one was a gentleman, the + other his black servant. They were riding at a more rapid pace than the + day warranted, but the gentleman reined in his sweating horse as he drew + near to us, eyed us with a curiosity tempered by courtesy, bowed gravely, + and put his horse to a canter again. + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” said Nick, twisting in his saddle, “I thought that all + Creoles were lazy.” + </p> + <p> + “We have met the exception, perhaps,” I answered. “Did you take in + that man?” + </p> + <p> + “His looks were a little remarkable, come to think of it,” answered + Nick, settling down into his saddle again. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the man's face had struck me so forcibly that I was surprised out + of an inquiry which I had meant to make of him, namely, how far we were + from the Saint-Gré plantation. We pursued our way slowly, from time + to time catching a glimpse of a dwelling almost hid in the distant + foliage, until at length we came to a place a little more pretentious + than those which we had seen. From the road a graceful flight of wooden + steps climbed the levee and descended on the far side to a boat landing, + and a straight vista cut through the grove, lined by wild orange trees, + disclosed the white pillars and galleries of a far-away plantation house. + The grassy path leading through the vista was trimly kept, and on either + side of it in the moist, green shade of the great trees flowers bloomed in + a profusion of startling colors,—in splotches of scarlet and white + and royal purple. + </p> + <p> + Nick slipped from his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Behold the mansion of Mademoiselle de Saint-Gré,” said he, + waving his hand up the vista. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am told by a part of me that never lies, Davy,” he answered, + laying his hand upon his heart; “and besides,” + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">390</a></span> + he added, “I should dislike devilishly + to go too far on such a day and have to come back again.” + </p> + <p> + “We will rest here,” I said, laughing, “and send in Benjy to + find out.” + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he answered, with withering contempt, “you have no more + romance in you than a turnip. We will go ourselves and see what + befalls.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” I answered, falling in with his humor, “we will + go ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + He brushed his face with his handkerchief, gave himself a pull here and a + pat there, and led the way down the alley. But we had not gone far before + he turned into a path that entered the grove on the right, and to this + likewise I made no protest. We soon found ourselves in a heavenly spot,—sheltered + from the sun's rays by a dense verdure,—and no one who has not + visited these Southern country places can know the teeming fragrance + there. One shrub (how well I recall it!) was like unto the perfume of all + the flowers and all the fruits, the very essence of the delicious languor + of the place that made our steps to falter. A bird shot a bright flame of + color through the checkered light ahead of us. Suddenly a sound brought us + to a halt, and we stood in a tense and wondering silence. The words of a + song, sung carelessly in a clear, girlish voice, came to us from beyond. + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"Je voudrais bien me marier,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Je voudrais bien me marier,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Mais j'ai qrand' peur de me tromper:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Mais j'ai grand' peur de me tromper:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ils sont si malhonnêtes!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma lurette,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ils sont si malhonnêtes!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma luré."</span> + </p> + <p> + “We have come at the very zenith of opportunity,” I whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” he said. + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"Je ne veux pas d'un avocat,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Je ne veux pas d'un avocat,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Car ils aiment trop les ducats,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Car ils aiment trop les ducats,</span><br /> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">391</a></span> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ils trompent les fillettes,</span> <br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma lurette,</span> <br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ils trompent les fillettes,</span> <br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma luré."</span> + </p> + <p> + “Eliminating Mr. Ritchie, I believe,” said Nick, turning on me with a + grimace. “But hark again!” + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-3.5em">"Je voudrais bien d'un officier:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Je voudrais bien d'un officier:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Je marcherais a pas cárres,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-3em">Je marcherais a pas cárres,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Dans ma joli' chambrette,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma lurette</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Dans ma joli' chambrette,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Ma luron, ma luré."</span> + </p> + <p> + The song ceased with a sound that was half laughter, half sigh. Before I + realized what he was doing, Nick, instead of retracing his steps towards + the house, started forward. The path led through a dense thicket which + became a casino hedge, and suddenly I found myself peering over his + shoulder into a little garden bewildering in color. In the centre of the + garden a great live-oak spread its sheltering branches. Around the gnarled + trunk was a seat. And on the seat,—her sewing fallen into her lap, + her lips parted, her eyes staring wide, sat the young lady whom we had + seen on the levee the evening before. And Nick was making a bow in his + grandest manner. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hélas, Mademoiselle</i>,” he said, “<i>je ne suis pas + officier, mais on peut arranger tout cela, sans doute</i>.” + </p> + <p> + My breath was taken away by this unheard-of audacity, and I braced myself + against screams, flight, and other feminine demonstrations of terror. The + young lady did nothing of the kind. She turned her back to us, leaned + against the tree, and to my astonishment I saw her slim shoulders shaken + with laughter. At length, very slowly, she looked around, and in her face + struggled curiosity and fear and merriment. Nick made another bow, worthy + of Versailles, and she gave a frightened little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You are English, Messieurs—yes?” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + “We were once!” cried Nick, “but we have changed, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">392</a></span> + “<i>Et quoi donc</i>?” relapsing into her own language. + </p> + <p> + “Americans,” said he. “Allow me to introduce to you the Honorable + David Ritchie, whom you rejected a few moments ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom I rejected?” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Alas,” said Nick, with a commiserating glance at me, “he has the + misfortune to be a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle shot at me the swiftest and shyest of glances, and turned to + us once more her quivering shoulders. There was a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle?” said Nick, taking a step on the garden path. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur?” she answered, without so much as looking around. + </p> + <p> + “What, now, would you take this gentleman to be?” he asked with an + insistence not to be denied. + </p> + <p> + Again she was shaken with laughter, and suddenly to my surprise she turned + and looked full at me. + </p> + <p> + “In English, Monsieur, you call it—a gallant?” + </p> + <p> + My face fairly tingled, and I heard Nick laughing with unseemly merriment. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle,” he cried, “you are a judge of character, + and you have read him perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must leave you, Messieurs,” she answered, with her eyes in + her lap. But she made no move to go. + </p> + <p> + “You need have no fear of Mr. Ritchie, Mademoiselle,” answered Nick, + instantly. “I am here to protect you against his gallantry.” + </p> + <p> + This time Nick received the glance, and quailed before it. + </p> + <p> + “And who—<i>par exemple</i>—is to protect me + against—you, Monsieur?” she asked in the lowest of voices. + </p> + <p> + “You forget that I, too, am unprotected—and vulnerable, + Mademoiselle,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Her face was hidden again, but not for long. + </p> + <p> + “How did you come?” she demanded presently. + </p> + <p> + “On air,” he answered, “for we saw you in New Orleans + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “And—why?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">393</a></span> + “Need you ask, Mademoiselle?” said the rogue, and then, with more + effrontery than ever, he began to sing:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-1.5em">"'Je voudrais bien me marier,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Je voudrais bien me marier,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left:-1em">Mais j'ai grand' peur de me tromper.'"</span> + </p> + <p> + She rose, her sewing falling to the ground, and took a few startled steps + towards us. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur! you will be heard,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “And put out of the Garden of Eden,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “I must leave you,” she said, with the quaintest of English + pronunciation. + </p> + <p> + Yet she stood irresolute in the garden path, a picture against the dark + green leaves and the flowers. Her age might have been seventeen. Her gown + was of some soft and light material printed in buds of delicate color, her + slim arms bare above the elbow. She had the ivory complexion of the + province, more delicate than I had yet seen, and beyond that I shall not + attempt to describe her, save to add that she was such a strange mixture + of innocence and ingenuousness and coquetry as I had not imagined. + Presently her gaze was fixed seriously on me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it very wrong, Monsieur?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I was more than taken aback by this tribute. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Nick, “the arbiter of etiquette!” + </p> + <p> + “Since I am here, Mademoiselle,” I answered, with anything but + readiness, “I am not a proper judge.” + </p> + <p> + Her next question staggered me. + </p> + <p> + “You are well-born?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie's grandfather was a Scottish earl,” said Nick, + immediately, a piece of news that startled me into protest. “It is + true, Davy, though you may not know it,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Monsieur?” she said to Nick. + </p> + <p> + “I am his cousin,—is it not honor enough?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Yet you do not resemble one another.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie has all the good looks in the family,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried the young lady, and this time she gave us her profile. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">394</a></span> + “Come, Mademoiselle,” said Nick, “since the fates have cast the + die, let us all sit down in the shade. The place was made for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” she cried, giving back, “I have never in my life been + alone with gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Ritchie is a duenna to satisfy the most exacting,” said + Nick; “when you know him better you will believe me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed softly and glanced at me. By this time we were all three under + the branches. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you do not understand the French customs. <i>Mon Dieu</i>, + if the good Sister Lorette could see me now—” + </p> + <p> + “But she is safe in the convent,” said Nick. “Are they going to + put glass on the walls?” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” asked Mademoiselle, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” said Nick, “because a very bad man has come to + New Orleans,—one who is given to climbing walls.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But when I found that a certain demoiselle had left the convent, I + was no longer anxious to climb them.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you know that I had left it?” + </p> + <p> + I was at a loss to know whether this were coquetry or innocence. + </p> + <p> + “Because I saw you on the levee,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “You saw me on the levee?” she repeated, giving back. + </p> + <p> + “And I had a great fear,” the rogue persisted. + </p> + <p> + “A fear of what?” + </p> + <p> + “A fear that you were married,” he said, with a boldness that made me + blush. As for Mademoiselle, a color that vied with the June roses charged + through her cheeks. She stooped to pick up her sewing, but Nick was before + her. + </p> + <p> + “And why did you think me married?” she asked in a voice so low that + we scarcely heard. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” said Nick, “because you seemed to be quarrelling with a + man.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to him with an irresistible seriousness. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">395</a></span> + “And is that your idea of marriage, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + This time it was I who laughed, for he had been hit very fairly. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said he, “I did not for a moment think it could + have been a love match.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle turned away and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You are the very strangest man I have ever seen,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I give you my notion of a love match, Mademoiselle?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you might be well versed in the subject, Monsieur,” + she answered, speaking to the tree, “but here is scarcely the time and + place.” She wound up her sewing, and faced him. “I must really + leave you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He took a step towards her and stood looking down into her face. Her eyes + dropped. + </p> + <p> + “And am I never to see you again?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” she cried softly, “I do not know who you are.” She + made him a courtesy, took a few steps in the opposite path, and turned. + “That depends upon your ingenuity,” she added; “you seem to have + no lack of it, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Nick was transported. + </p> + <p> + “You must not go,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Must not? How dare you speak to me thus, Monsieur?” Then she + tempered it. “There is a lady here whom I love, and who is ill. I must + not be long from her bedside.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very ill?” said Nick, probably for want of something better. + </p> + <p> + “She is not really ill, Monsieur, but depressed—is not that the + word? She is a very dear friend, and she has had trouble—so much, + Monsieur,—and my mother brought her here. We love her as one of the + family.” + </p> + <p> + This was certainly ingenuous, and it was plain that the girl gave us this + story through a certain nervousness, for she twisted her sewing in her + fingers as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Nick, “I would not keep you from such an + errand of mercy.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">396</a></span> + She gave him a grateful look, more dangerous than any which had gone + before. + </p> + <p> + “And besides,” he went on, “we have come to stay awhile with you, + Mr. Ritchie and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You have come to stay awhile?” she said. + </p> + <p> + I thought it time that the farce were ended. + </p> + <p> + “We have come with letters to your father, Monsieur de Saint-Gré, + Mademoiselle,” I said, “and I should like very much to see him, if + he is at leisure.” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle stared at me in unfeigned astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “But did you not meet him, Monsieur?” she demanded. “He left an + hour ago for New Orleans. You must have met a gentleman riding very + fast.” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn to be astonished. + </p> + <p> + “But that was not your father!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Et pourquoi non</i>?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Is not your father the stout gentleman whom I saw with you on the levee + last evening?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You have been observing, Monsieur,” she said. “That was my uncle, + Monsieur de Beauséjour. You saw me quarrelling with my brother, + Auguste,” she went on a little excitedly. “Oh, I am very much ashamed + of it. I was so angry. My cousin, Mademoiselle Hélène de + Saint-Gré, has just sent me from France such a beautiful miniature, + and Auguste fell in love with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Fell in love with it!” I exclaimed involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “You should see it, Monsieur, and I think you also would fall in love + with it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not a doubt of it,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle made the faintest of <i>moues</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Auguste is very wild, as you say,” she continued, addressing me, + “he is a great care to my father. He intrigues, you know, he wishes + <i>Louisiane</i> to become French once more,—as we all do. But I + should not say this, Monsieur,” she added in a startled tone. + “You will not tell? No, I know you will not. We do not like the + Spaniards. They killed my grandfather when they came to take the + province. And once, the Governor-general + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">397</a></span> + Miro + sent for my father and declared he would put Auguste in prison if he did + not behave himself. But I have forgotten the miniature. When Auguste saw + that he fell in love with it, and now he wishes to go to France and obtain + a commission through our cousin, the Marquis of Saint-Gré, and + marry Mademoiselle Hélène.” + </p> + <p> + “A comprehensive programme, indeed,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “My father has gone back to New Orleans,” she said, “to get the + miniature from Auguste. He took it from me, Monsieur.” She raised + her head a little proudly. “If my brother had asked it, I might have + given it to him, though I treasured it. But Auguste is so—impulsive. + My uncle told my father, who is very angry. He will punish Auguste + severely, and—I do not like to have him punished. Oh, I wish I + had the miniature.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wish is granted, Mademoiselle,” I answered, drawing the case + from my pocket and handing it to her. + </p> + <p> + She took it, staring at me with eyes wide with wonder, and then she opened + it mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said with great dignity, “do you mind telling me + where you obtained this?” + </p> + <p> + “I found it, Mademoiselle,” I answered; and as I spoke I felt Nick's + fingers on my arm. + </p> + <p> + “You found it? Where? How, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “At Madame Bouvet's, the house where we stayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said with a sigh of relief, “he must have dropped it. + It is there where he meets his associates, where they talk of the French + <i>Louisiane</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Again I felt Nick pinching me, and I gave a sigh of relief. Mademoiselle + was about to continue, but I interrupted her. + </p> + <p> + “How long will your father be in New Orleans, Mademoiselle?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Until he finds Auguste,” she answered. “It may be days, but he + will stay, for he is very angry. But will you not come into the house, + Messieurs, and be presented to my mother?” she asked. “I have been + very—inhospitable,” she added with a glance at Nick. + </p> + <p> + We followed her through winding paths bordered by + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">398</a></span> + shrubs and flowers, and presently came to a low house surrounded by a + wide, cool gallery, and shaded by spreading trees. Behind it were + clustered the kitchens and quarters of the house servants. Mademoiselle, + picking up her dress, ran up the steps ahead of us and turned to the + left in the hall into a darkened parlor. The floor was bare, save for + a few mats, and in the corner was a massive escritoire of mahogany + with carved feet, and there were tables and chairs of a like pattern. + It was a room of more distinction than I had seen since I had been in + Charlestown, and reflected the solidity of its owners. + </p> + <p> + “If you will be so kind as to wait here, Messieurs,” said + Mademoiselle, “I will call my mother.” + </p> + <p> + And she left us. + </p> + <p> + I sat down, rather uncomfortably, but Nick took a stand and stood staring + down at me with folded arms. + </p> + <p> + “How I have undervalued you, Davy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am not proud of it,” I answered shortly. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce is to do now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot linger here,” I answered; “I have business with + Monsieur de Saint-Gré, and I must go back to New Orleans at + once.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will wait for you,” said Nick. “Davy, I have met my + fate.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that I have heard that remark before,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + He had not time to protest, for we heard footsteps in the hall, and + Mademoiselle entered, leading an older lady by the hand. In the light of + the doorway I saw that she was thin and small and yellow, but her features + had a regularity and her mien a dignity which made her impressing, which + would have convinced a stranger that she was a person of birth and + breeding. Her hair, tinged with gray, was crowned by a lace cap. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” I said, bowing and coming forward, “I am David Ritchie, + from Kentucky, and this is my cousin, Mr. Temple, of Charlestown. Monsieur + Gratiot and Colonel Chouteau, of St. Louis, have been kind enough to give + us + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">399</a></span> + letters to Monsieur de Saint-Gré.” And I handed her one of the + letters which I had ready. + </p> + <p> + “You are very welcome, Messieurs,” she answered, with the same delightful + accent which her daughter had used, “and you are especially welcome from + such a source. The friends of Colonel Chouteau and of Monsieur Gratiot are + our friends. You will remain with us, I hope, Messieurs,” she continued. + “Monsieur de Saint-Gré will return in a few days at best.” + </p> + <p> + “By your leave, Madame, I will go to New Orleans at once and try to find + Monsieur,” I said, “for I have business with him.” + </p> + <p> + “You will return with him, I hope,” said Madame. + </p> + <p> + I bowed. + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Temple will remain?” she asked, with a questioning look at + Nick. + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure in the world, Madame,” he answered, and + there was no mistaking his sincerity. As he spoke, Mademoiselle turned + her back on him. + </p> + <p> + I would not wait for dinner, but pausing only for a sip of cool Madeira + and some other refreshment, I made my farewells to the ladies. As I + started out of the door to find Benjy, who had been waiting for more than + an hour, Mademoiselle gave me a neatly folded note. + </p> + <p> + “You will be so kind as to present that to my father, Monsieur,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">400</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER XIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>Monsieur Auguste entrapped</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">It</span> may be well to declare here and now that I + do not intend to burden this + story with the business which had brought me to New Orleans. While in the + city during the next few days I met a young gentleman named Daniel Clark, + a nephew of that Mr. Clark of whom I have spoken. Many years after the + time of which I write this Mr. Daniel Clark the younger, who became a rich + merchant and an able man of affairs, published a book which sets forth + with great clearness proofs of General Wilkinson's duplicity and treason, + and these may be read by any who would satisfy himself further on the + subject. Mr. Wharton had not believed, nor had I flattered myself that I + should be able to bring such a fox as General Wilkinson to earth. Abundant + circumstantial evidence I obtained: Wilkinson's intimacy with Miro was + well known, and I likewise learned that a cipher existed between them. The + permit to trade given by Miro to Wilkinson was made no secret of. In + brief, I may say that I discovered as much as could be discovered by any + one without arousing suspicion, and that the information with which I + returned to Kentucky was of some material value to my employers. + </p> + <p> + I have to thank Monsieur Philippe de St. Gré for a great deal. + And I take this opportunity to set down the fact that I have rarely + met a more remarkable man. + </p> + <p> + As I rode back to town alone a whitish film was spread before the sun, and + ere I had come in sight of the fortifications the low forest on the + western bank was a dark green blur against the sky. The esplanade on the + levee was deserted, the willow trees had a mournful look, while + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">401</a></span> + the bright + tiles of yesterday seemed to have faded to a sombre tone. I spied Xavier + on a bench smoking with some friends of his. + </p> + <p> + “He make much rain soon, Michié,” he cried. “You hev good + time, I hope, Michié.” + </p> + <p> + I waved my hand and rode on, past the Place d'Armes with its white + diagonal bands strapping its green like a soldier's front, and as I drew + up before the gate of the House of the Lions the warning taps of the storm + were drumming on the magnolia leaves. The same <i>gardienne</i> came to + my knock, and in answer to her shrill cry a negro lad appeared to hold + my horse. I was ushered into a brick-paved archway that ran under the + latticed gallery toward a flower-filled court-yard, but ere we reached + this the <i>gardienne</i> turned to the left up a flight of steps with a + delicate balustrade which led to an open gallery above. And there stood + the gentleman whom we had met hurrying to town in the morning. A + gentleman he was, every inch of him. He was dressed in black silk, + his hair in a cue, and drawn away from a face of remarkable features. + He had a high-bridged nose, a black eye that held an inquiring sternness, + a chin indented, and a receding forehead. His stature was indeterminable. + In brief, he might have stood for one of those persons of birth and + ability who become prime ministers of France. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de St. Gré?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He bowed gracefully, but with a tinge of condescension. I was awed, and + considering the relations which I had already had with his family, I must + admit that I was somewhat frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” I said, “I bring letters to you from Monsieur Gratiot + and Colonel Chouteau of St. Louis. One of these I had the honor to deliver + to Madame de St. Gré, and here is the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, with another keen glance, “I met you this morning, + did I not?” + </p> + <p> + “You did, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + He broke the seal, and, going to the edge of the gallery, held the letter + to the light. As he read a peal of thunder + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">402</a></span> + broke distantly, the rain came + down in a flood. Then he folded the paper carefully and turned to me + again. + </p> + <p> + “You will make my house your home, Mr. Ritchie,” he said; + “recommended from such a source, I will do all I can to serve you. + But where is this Mr. Temple of whom the letter speaks? His family + in Charlestown is known to me by repute.” + </p> + <p> + “By Madame de St. Gré's invitation he remained at + Les Îles,” I answered, speaking above the roar of the rain. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to the table,” said Monsieur de St. Gré; + “we will talk as we eat.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way into the dining room, and as I stood on the threshold a + bolt of great brilliancy lighted its yellow-washed floor and walnut + furniture of a staid pattern. A deafening crash followed as we took our + seats, while Monsieur de St. Gré's man lighted four candles of green + myrtle-berry wax. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Gratiot's letter speaks vaguely of politics, Mr. Ritchie,” began + Monsieur de St. Gré. He spoke English perfectly, save for an occasional + harsh aspiration which I cannot imitate. + </p> + <p> + Directing his man to fetch a certain kind of Madeira, he turned to me with + a look of polite inquiry which was scarcely reassuring. And I reflected, + the caution with which I had been endowed coming uppermost, that the man + might have changed since Monsieur Gratiot had seen him. He had, moreover, + the air of a man who gives a forced attention, which seemed to me the + natural consequences of the recent actions of his son. + </p> + <p> + “I fear that I am intruding upon your affairs, Monsieur,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, sir,” he said politely. “I have met that charming gentleman, + Mr. Wilkinson, who came here to brush away the causes of dissension, and + cement a friendship between Kentucky and Louisiana.” + </p> + <p> + It was most fortunate that the note of irony did not escape me. + </p> + <p> + “Where governments failed, General Wilkinson succeeded,” I answered dryly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">403</a></span> + Monsieur de St. Gré glanced at me, and an enigmatical smile spread over + his face. I knew then that the ice was cracked between us. Yet he was too + much a man of the world not to make one more tentative remark. + </p> + <p> + “A union between Kentucky and Louisiana would be a resistless force in the + world, Mr. Ritchie,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It was Nebuchadnezzar who dreamed of a composite image, Monsieur,” I + answered; “and Mr. Wilkinson forgets one thing,—that Kentucky is a + part of the United States.” + </p> + <p> + At that Monsieur St. Gré laughed outright. He became a different man, + though he lost none of his dignity. + </p> + <p> + “I should have had more faith in my old friend Gratiot,” he said; + “but you will pardon me if I did not recognize at once the statesman + he had sent me, Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he went on, returning to that dignity of mien which marked + him, “my political opinions are too well known that I should make a + mystery of them to you. I was born a Frenchman, I shall die a Frenchman, + and I shall never be happy until Louisiana is French once more. My + great-grandfather, a brother of the Marquis de St. Gré of that time, and a + wild blade enough, came out with D'Iberville. His son, my grandfather, was + the Commissary-general of the colony under the Marquis de Vaudreuil. He + sent me to France for my education, where I was introduced at court by my + kinsman, the old Marquis, who took a fancy to me and begged me to remain. + It was my father's wish that I should return, and I did not disobey him. I + had scarcely come back, Monsieur, when that abominable secret bargain of + Louis the Fifteenth became known, ceding Louisiana to Spain. You may have + heard of the revolution which followed here. It was a mild affair, and the + remembrance of it makes me smile to this day, though with bitterness. I + was five and twenty, hot-headed, and French. <i>Que voulez-vous</i>?” and + Monsieur de St. Gré shrugged his shoulders. “O'Reilly, the famous Spanish + general, came with his men-of-war. Well I remember the days we waited with + leaden hearts for the men-of-war to come up from the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">404</a></span> + English turn; and I + can see now the cannon frowning from the ports, the grim spars, the high + poops crowded with officers, the great anchors splashing the yellow water. + I can hear the chains running. The ships were in line of battle before the + town, their flying bridges swung to the levee, and they loomed above us + like towering fortresses. It was dark, Monsieur, such as this afternoon, + and we poor French colonists stood huddled in the open space below, + waiting for we knew not what.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and I started, for the picture he drew had carried me out of + myself. + </p> + <p> + “On the 18th of August, 1769,—well I remember the day,” Monsieur de + St. Gré continued, “the Spanish troops landed late in the afternoon, + twenty-six hundred strong, the artillery rumbling over the bridges, the + horses wheeling and rearing. And they drew up as in line of battle in the + Place d'Armes,—dragoons, <i>fusileros de montañas</i>, light + and heavy infantry. Where were our white cockades then? Fifty guns shook + the town, the great O'Reilly limped ashore through the smoke, and + Louisiana was lost to France. We had a cowardly governor, Monsieur, + whose name is written in the annals of the province in letters of shame. + He betrayed Monsieur de St. Gré and others into O'Reilly's hands, + and when my father was cast into prison he was seized with such a fit of + anger that he died.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de St. Gré was silent. Without, under the eaves of the + gallery, a white rain fell, and a steaming moisture arose from the + court-yard. + </p> + <p> + “What I have told you, Monsieur, is common knowledge. Louisiana has been + Spanish for twenty years. I no longer wear the white cockade, for I am + older now.” He smiled. “Strange things are happening in France, and the + old order to which I belong” (he straightened perceptibly) “seems to be + tottering. I have ceased to intrigue, but thank God I have not ceased to + pray. Perhaps—who knows?—perhaps I may live to see again the + lily of France stirred by the river breeze.” + </p> + <p> + He fell into a revery, his fine head bent a little, but + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">405</a></span> + presently aroused + himself and eyed me curiously. I need not say that I felt a strange liking + for Monsieur de St. Gré. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Mr. Ritchie,” he said, “will you tell me who you are, + and how I can serve you?” + </p> + <p> + The servant had put the coffee on the table and left the room. Monsieur de + St. Gré himself poured me a cup from the dainty, quaintly wrought <i>Louis + Quinze</i> coffeepot, graven with the coat of arms of his family. As we sat + talking, my admiration for my host increased, for I found that he was + familiar not only with the situation in Kentucky, but that he also knew + far more than I of the principles and personnel of the new government of + which General Washington was President. That he had little sympathy with + government by the people was natural, for he was a Creole, and behind that + a member of an order which detested republics. When we were got beyond + these topics the rain had ceased, the night had fallen, the green candles + had burned low. And suddenly, as he spoke of Les Îsles, I remembered the + note Mademoiselle had given me for him, and I apologized for my + forgetfulness. He read it, and dropped it with an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter tells me that you have returned to her a miniature which + she lost, Monsieur,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I had that pleasure,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And that—you found this miniature at Madame Bouvet's. Was this + the case?” And he stared hard at me. + </p> + <p> + I nodded, but for the life of me I could not speak. It seemed an outrage + to lie to such a man. He did not answer, but sat lost in thought, drumming + with his fingers on the tables until the noise of the slamming of a door + aroused him to a listening posture. The sound of subdued voices came from + the archway below us, and one of these, from an occasional excited and + feminine note, I thought to be the <i>gardienne's</i>. Monsieur de St. + Gré thrust back his chair, and in three strides was at the edge + of the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Auguste!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “Auguste, come up to me at once,” he said in French. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">406</a></span> + Another silence, then something that sounded like “<i>Sapristi</i>!” + a groan from the <i>gardienne</i>, and a step was heard on the stairway. + My own discomfort increased, and I would have given much to be in any + other place in the world. Auguste had arrived at the head of the steps + but was apparently unable to get any farther. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon soir, mon père</i>,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Like a dutiful son,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, “you heard + I was in town, and called to pay your respects, I am sure. I am delighted + to find you. In fact, I came to town for that purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Lisette—” began Auguste. + </p> + <p> + “Thought that I did not wish to be disturbed, no doubt,” said his + father. “Walk in, Auguste.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Auguste's slim figure appeared in the doorway. He caught sight of + me, halted, backed, and stood staring with widened eyes. The candles threw + their light across his shoulder on the face of the elder Monsieur de St. + Gré. Auguste was a replica of his father, with the features + minimized to regularity and the brow narrowed. The complexion of the one + was a clear saffron, while the boy's skin was mottled, and he was not + twenty. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” said Monsieur de St. Gré. + </p> + <p> + “You—you have a visitor!” stammered Auguste, with a tact that + savored of practice. Yet there was a sorry difference between this and the + haughty young patrician who had sold me the miniature. + </p> + <p> + “Who brings me good news,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, in + English. “Mr. Ritchie, allow me to introduce my son, Auguste.” + </p> + <p> + I felt Monsieur de St. Gré's eyes on me as I bowed, and I began to + think I was in near as great a predicament as Auguste. Monsieur de St. + Gré was managing the matter with infinite wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my son,” he said; “you have no doubt been staying with + your uncle.” Auguste sat down, still staring. “Does your aunt's + health mend?” + </p> + <p> + “She is better to-night, father,” said the son, in English which + might have been improved. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">407</a></span> + “I am glad of it,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, taking a chair. + “André, fill the glasses.” + </p> + <p> + The silent, linen-clad mulatto poured out the Madeira, shot a look at + Auguste, and retired softly. + </p> + <p> + “There has been a heavy rain, Monsieur,” said Monsieur de St. Gré + to me, “but I think the air is not yet cleared. I was about to say, + Mr. Ritchie, when my son called to pay his respects, that the miniature + of which we were speaking is one of the most remarkable paintings I have + ever seen.” Auguste's thin fingers were clutching the chair. “I have never + beheld Mademoiselle Hélène de St. Gré, for my cousin, + the Marquis, was not married when I left France. He was a captain in a + regiment of his Majesty's Mousquetaires, since abolished. But I am sure + that the likeness of Mademoiselle must be a true one, for it has the + stamp of a remarkable personality, though Hélène can be + only eighteen. Women, with us, mature quickly, Monsieur. And this portrait + tallies with what I have heard of her character. You no doubt observed + the face, Monsieur,—that of a true aristocrat. But I was speaking of her + character. When she was twelve, she said something to a cardinal for which + her mother made her keep her room a whole day. For Mademoiselle would not + retract, and, <i>pardieu</i>, I believe his Eminence was wrong. The + Marquise is afraid of her. And when first Hélène + was presented formally she made such a witty retort to the Queen's sally + that her Majesty insisted upon her coming to court. On every New Year's + day I have always sent a present of coffee and périque to my cousin + the Marquis, and it is Mademoiselle who writes to thank us. <i>Parole + d'honneur</i>, her letters make me see again the people amongst whom she + moves,—the dukes and duchesses, the cardinals, bishops, and generals. + She draws them to the life, Monsieur, with a touch that makes them all + ridiculous. His Majesty does not escape. God forgive him, he is indeed an + amiable, weak person for calling a States General. And the Queen, a + frivolous lady, but true to those whom she loves, and beginning now to + realize the perils of the situation.” He paused. “Is + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">408</a></span> + it any wonder that Auguste has fallen in + love with his cousin, Monsieur? That he loses his head, forgets that he is + a gentleman, and steals her portrait from his sister!” + </p> + <p> + Had I not been so occupied with my own fate in the outcome of this + inquisition, I should have been sorry for Auguste. And yet this feeling + could not have lasted, for the young gentleman sprang to his feet, cast a + glance at me which was not without malignance, and faced his father, his + lips twitching with anger and fear. Monsieur de St. Gré sat + undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + “He is so much in love with the portrait, Monsieur, that he loses + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Loses it!” cried Auguste. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said his father, dryly, “for Mr. Ritchie tells me he + found it—at Madame Bouvet's, was it not, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + Auguste looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mille diables</i>!” he said, and sat down again heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie has returned it to your sister, a service which puts him + heavily in our debt,” said Monsieur de St. Gré. “Now, sir,” + he added to me, rising, “you have had a tiresome day. I will show you + to your room, and in the morning we will begin + our—investigations.” + </p> + <p> + He clapped his hands, the silent mulatto appeared with a new candle, and I + followed my host down the gallery to a room which he flung open at the far + end. A great four-poster bedstead was in one corner, and a polished + mahogany dresser in the other. + </p> + <p> + “We have saved some of our family furniture from the fire, Mr. + Ritchie,” said Monsieur de St. Gré; “that bed was brought from + Paris by my father forty years ago. I hope you will rest well.” + </p> + <p> + He set the candle on the table, and as he bowed there was a trace of an + enigmatical smile about his mouth. How much he knew of Auguste's + transaction I could not fathom, but the matter and the scarcely creditable + part I had played in it kept me awake far into the night. I was just + falling into a troubled sleep when a footstep on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">409</a></span> + the gallery startled me + back to consciousness. It was followed by a light tap on the door. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Reetchie,” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + It was Monsieur Auguste. He was not an imposing figure in his nightrail, + and by the light of the carefully shaded candle he held in his hand I saw + that he had hitherto deceived me in the matter of his calves. He stood + peering at me as I lay under the mosquito bar. + </p> + <p> + “How is it I can thank you, Monsieur!” he exclaimed in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “By saying nothing, Monsieur,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You are noble, you are generous, and—and one day I will give you + the money back,” he added with a burst of magniloquence. “You have + behave very well, Monsieur, and I mek you my friend. Behol' Auguste de St. + Gré, entirely at your service, Monsieur.” He made a sweeping bow + that might have been impressive save for the nightrail, and sought my + hand, which he grasped in a fold of the mosquito bar. + </p> + <p> + “I am overcome, Monsieur,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Reetchie, you are my friend, my intimate” (he put an + aspirate on the word). “I go to tell you one leetle secret. I find + that I can repose confidence in you. My father does not understan' me, + you saw, Monsieur, he does not appreciate—that is the Engleesh. + <i>Mon Dieu</i>, you saw it this night. I, who spik to you, am made + for a courtier, a noble. I have the gift. La Louisiane—she is + not so big enough for me.” He lowered his voice still further, and + bent nearer to me. “Monsieur, I run away to France. My cousin the + Marquis will help me. You will hear of Auguste de St. Gré at + Versailles, at Trianon, at Chantilly, and + <i>peut-être</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “It is a worthy campaign, Monsieur,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + A distant sound broke the stillness, and Auguste was near to dropping the + candle on me. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Adieu</i>, Monsieur,” he whispered; “<i>milles tonneres</i>, + I have done one extraordinaire foolish thing when I am come to this + house to-night.” + </p> + <p> + And he disappeared, shading his candle, as he had come. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">410</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_002">CHAPTER XIV</a> + </h2> + <h3>Retribution</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">During</span> the next two days I had more evidence + of Monsieur de St. Gré's + ability, and, thanks to his conduct of my campaign, not the least + suspicion of my mission to New Orleans got abroad. Certain gentlemen were + asked to dine, we called on others, and met still others casually in their + haunts of business or pleasure. I was troubled because of the + inconvenience and discomfort to which my host put himself, for New Orleans + in the dog-days may be likened in climate to the under side of the lid of + a steam kettle. But at length, on the second evening, after we had supped + on jambalaya and rice cakes and other dainties, and the last guest had + gone, my host turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “The rest of the burrow is the same, Mr. Ritchie, until it comes to the + light again.” + </p> + <p> + “And the fox has crawled out of the other end,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” he answered, laughing; “in short, if you were to + remain in New Orleans until New Year's, you would not learn a whit more. + To-morrow morning I have a little business of my own to transact, and we + shall get to Les Îles in time for dinner. No, don't thank me,” he + protested; “there's a certain rough honesty and earnestness ingrained in + you which I like. And besides,” he added, smiling, “you are poor + indeed at thanking, Mr. Ritchie. You could never do it gracefully. But if + ever I were in trouble, I believe that I might safely call on you.” + </p> + <p> + The next day was a rare one, for a wind from somewhere had blown the + moisture away a little, the shadows + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">411</a></span> + were clearer cut, and by noon Monsieur de St. Gré and I were + walking our horses in the shady road behind the levee. We were followed at + a respectful distance by André, Monsieur's mulatto body-servant, + and as we rode my companion gave me stories of the owners of the different + plantations we passed, and spoke of many events of interest in the history + of the colony. Presently he ceased to talk, and rode in silence for many + minutes. And then he turned upon me suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie,” he said, “you have seen my son. It may be that in + him I am paying the price of my sins. I have done everything to set + him straight, but in vain. Monsieur, every son of the St. Grés + has awakened sooner or later to a sense of what becomes him. But Auguste + is a fool,” he cried bitterly,—a statement which I could not + deny; “were it not for my daughter, Antoinette, I should be a + miserable man indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Inasmuch as he was not a person of confidences, I felt the more flattered + that he should speak so plainly to me, and I had a great sympathy for this + strong man who could not help himself. + </p> + <p> + “You have observed Antoinette, Mr. Ritchie,” he continued; “she is + a strange mixture of wilfulness and caprice and self-sacrifice, and she + has at times a bit of that wit which has made our house for generations + the intimates—I may say—of sovereigns.” + </p> + <p> + This peculiar pride of race would have amused me in another man. I found + myself listening to Monsieur de St. Gré with gravity, and I did not + dare to reply that I had had evidence of Mademoiselle's aptness of retort. + </p> + <p> + “She has been my companion since she was a child, Monsieur. She has + disobeyed me, flaunted me, nursed me in illness, championed me behind my + back. I have a little book which I have kept of her sayings and doings, + which may interest you, Monsieur. I will show it you.” + </p> + <p> + This indeed was a new side of Monsieur de St. Gré, and I + reflected rather ruefully upon the unvarnished truth of what Mr. + Wharton had told me,—ay, and what Colonel + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">412</a></span> + Clark had emphasized long before. It was my fate never to + be treated as a young man. It struck me that Monsieur de St. Gré + had never even considered me in the light of a possible suitor for + his daughter's hand. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to see them, Monsieur,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Would you?” he exclaimed, his face lighting up as he glanced at me. + “Alas, Madame de St. Gré and I have promised to go to our + neighbors', Monsieur and Madame Bertrand's, for to-night. But, to-morrow, + if you have leisure, we shall look at it together. And not a word of this + to my daughter, Monsieur,” he added apprehensively; “she would never + forgive me. She dislikes my talking of her, but at times I cannot help it. + It was only last year that she was very angry with me, and would not speak + to me for days, because I boasted of her having watched at the bedside of + a poor gentleman who came here and got the fever. You will not tell + her?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I shall not, Monsieur,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “It is strange,” he said abruptly, “it is strange that this + gentleman and his wife should likewise have had letters to us from + Monsieur Gratiot. They came from St. Louis, and they were on their + way to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris?” I cried; “what was their name?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Clive,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Clive!” I cried, leaning towards him in my saddle. + “Clive! And what became of them?” + </p> + <p> + This time he gave me one of his searching looks, and it was not unmixed + with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask, Monsieur?” he demanded. “Did you know them?” + </p> + <p> + I must have shown that I was strangely agitated. For the moment I could + not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Gratiot himself spoke of them to me,” I said, after a + little; “he said they were an interesting couple.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pardieu</i>!” exclaimed Monsieur de St. Gré, “he put it + mildly.” He gave me another look. “There was something about them, + Monsieur, which I could not fathom. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">413</a></span> + Why were they drifting? They were people of quality who had seen + the world, who were by no means paupers, who had no cause to travel save a + certain restlessness. And while they were awaiting the sailing of the + packet for France they came to our house—the old one in the Rue + Bourbon that was burned. I would not speak ill of the dead, but Mr. Clive + I did not like. He fell sick of the fever in my house, and it was there + that Antoinette and Madame de St. Gré took turns with his wife in + watching at his bedside. I could do nothing with Antoinette, Monsieur, + and she would not listen to my entreaties, my prayers, my commands. + We buried the poor fellow in the alien ground, for he did not die in + the Church, and after that my daughter clung to Mrs. Clive. She would + not let her go, and the packet sailed without her. I have never seen + such affection. I may say,” he added quickly, “that Madame de St. + Gré and I share in it, for Mrs. Clive is a lovable woman and a + strong character. And into the great sorrow that lies behind her life, + we have never probed.” + </p> + <p> + “And she is with you now, Monsieur?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She lives with us, Monsieur,” he answered simply, “and I hope + for always. No,” he said quickly, “it is not charity,—she + has something of her own. We love her, and she is the best of companions + for my daughter. For the rest, Monsieur, she seems benumbed, with no + desire to go back or to go farther.” + </p> + <p> + An entrance drive to the plantation of Les Îles, unknown to Nick and + me, led off from the main road like a green tunnel arched out of the + forest. My feelings as we entered this may be imagined, for I was suddenly + confronted with the situation which I had dreaded since my meeting with + Nick at Jonesboro. I could scarcely allow myself even the faint hope that + Mrs. Clive might not prove to be Mrs. Temple after all. Whilst I was in + this agony of doubt and indecision, the drive suddenly came out on a + shaded lawn dotted with flowering bushes. There was the house with its + gallery, its curved dormer roof and its belvedere; and a white, girlish + figure flitted down the steps. It was Mademoiselle Antoinette, and no + sooner + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">414</a></span> + had her father dismounted than she threw herself into his arms. + Forgetful of my presence, he stood murmuring in her ear like a lover; and + as I watched them my trouble slipped from my mind, and gave place to a + vaguer regret that I had been a wanderer throughout my life. Presently she + turned up to him a face on which was written something which he could not + understand. His own stronger features reflected a vague disquiet. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, <i>ma chérie</i>?” + </p> + <p> + What was it indeed? Something was in her eyes which bore a message and + presentiment to me. She dropped them, fastening in the lapel of his coat a + flaunting red flower set against a shining leaf, and there was a gentle, + joyous subterfuge in her answer. + </p> + <p> + “Thou pardoned Auguste, as I commanded?” she said. They were speaking + in the familiar French. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ha, diable</i>! is it that which disquiets thee?” said her + father. “We will not speak of Auguste. Dost thou know Monsieur Ritchie, + 'Toinette?” + </p> + <p> + She disengaged herself and dropped me a courtesy, her eyes seeking the + ground. But she said not a word. At that instant Madame de St. Gré + herself appeared on the gallery, followed by Nick, who came down the steps + with a careless self-confidence to greet the master. Indeed, a stranger + might have thought that Mr. Temple was the host, and I saw Antoinette + watching him furtively with a gleam of amusement in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to see you at last, Monsieur,” said my cousin. + “I am Nicholas Temple, and I have been your guest for three days.” + </p> + <p> + Had Monsieur de St. Gré been other than the soul of hospitality, + it would have been impossible not to welcome such a guest. Our host had, + in common with his daughter, a sense of humor. There was a quizzical + expression on his fine face as he replied, with the barest glance at + Mademoiselle Antoinette:— + </p> + <p> + “I trust you have been—well entertained, Mr. Temple. My daughter + has been accustomed only to the society of her brother and cousins.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">415</a></span> + “Faith, I should not have supposed it,” said Nick, instantly, a + remark which caused the color to flush deeply into Mademoiselle's face. I + looked to see Monsieur de St. Gré angry. He tried, indeed, to be + grave, but smiled irresistibly as he mounted the steps to greet his wife, + who stood demurely awaiting his caress. And in this interval Mademoiselle + shot at Nick a swift and withering look as she passed him. He returned a + grimace. + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, turning to us, + “dinner will soon be ready—if you will be so good as to pardon + me until then.” + </p> + <p> + Nick followed Mademoiselle with his eyes until she had disappeared beyond + the hall. She did not so much as turn. Then he took me by the arm and led + me to a bench under a magnolia a little distance away, where he seated + himself, and looked up at me despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Behold,” said he, “what was once your friend and cousin, your + counsellor, sage, and guardian. Behold the clay which conducted you + hither, with the heart neatly but painfully extracted. Look upon a + woman's work, Davy, and shun the sex. I tell you it is better to go + blindfold through life, to have—pardon me—your own blunt + features, than to be reduced to such a pitiable state. Was ever such + a refinement of cruelty practised before? Never! Was there ever such + beauty, such archness, such coquetry,—such damned elusiveness? + Never! If there is a cargo going up the river, let me be salted and + lie at the bottom of it. I'll warrant you I'll not come to life.” + </p> + <p> + “You appear to have suffered somewhat,” I said, forgetting for the + moment in my laughter the thing that weighed upon my mind. + </p> + <p> + “Suffered!” he cried; “I have been tossed high in the azure that I + might sink the farther into the depths. I have been put in a grave, the + earth stamped down, resurrected, and flung into the dust-heap. I have been + taken up to the gate of heaven and dropped a hundred and fifty years + through darkness. Since I have seen you I have been the round of all the + bright places and all the bottomless pits in the firmament.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">416</a></span> + “It seems to have made you literary,” I remarked judicially. + </p> + <p> + “I burn up twenty times a day,” he continued, with a wave of the + hand to express the completeness of the process; “there is nothing + left. I see her, I speak to her, and I burn up.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you had many <i>tête-à-têtes</i>?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not one,” he retorted fiercely; “do you think there is any sense + in the damnable French custom? I am an honorable man, and, besides, I am + not equipped for an elopement. No priest in Louisiana would marry us. I + see her at dinner, at supper. Sometimes we sew on the gallery,” he went + on, “but I give you my oath that I have not had one word with her + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “An oath is not necessary,” I said. “But you seem to have made some + progress nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call that progress?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “It is surely not retrogression.” + </p> + <p> + “God knows what it is,” said Nick, helplessly, “but it's got to + stop. I have sent her an ultimatum.” + </p> + <p> + “A what?” + </p> + <p> + “A summons. Her father and mother are going to the Bertrands' to-night, + and I have written her a note to meet me in the garden. And you,” he + cried, rising and slapping me between the shoulders, “you are to keep + watch, like the dear, careful, canny, sly rascal you are.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and has she accepted?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “That's the deuce of it,” said he; “she has not. But I think + she'll come.” + </p> + <p> + I stood for a moment regarding him. + </p> + <p> + “And you really love Mademoiselle Antoinette?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not exhausted the language?” he answered. “If what I have + been through is not love, then may the Lord shield me from the real + disease.” + </p> + <p> + “It may have been merely a light case of—tropical enthusiasm, let + us say. I have seen others, a little milder because the air was more + temperate.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">417</a></span> + “Tropical—balderdash,” he exploded. “If you are not the most + exasperating, unfeeling man alive—” + </p> + <p> + “I merely wanted to know if you wished to marry Mademoiselle de St. + Gré,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + He gave me a look of infinite tolerance. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not made it plain that I cannot live without her?” he said; + “if not, I will go over it all again.” + </p> + <p> + “That will not be necessary,” I said hastily. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble may be,” he continued, “that they have already made + one of their matrimonial contracts with a Granpré, a + Beauséjour, a Bernard.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de St. Gré is a very sensible man,” I answered. + “He loves his daughter, and I doubt if he would force her to marry + against her will. Tell me, Nick,” I asked, laying my hand upon his + shoulder, “do you love this girl so much that you would let nothing + come between you and her?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, I do; and again I tell you, I do,” he replied. He + paused suddenly glancing at my face, and added, “Why do you ask, + Davy?” + </p> + <p> + I stood irresolute, now that the time had come not daring to give voice to + my suspicions. He had not spoken to me of his mother save that once, and I + had no means of knowing whether his feeling for the girl might not soften + his anger against her. I have never lacked the courage to come to the + point, but there was still the chance that I might be mistaken in this + after all. Would it not be best to wait until I had ascertained in some + way the identity of Mrs. Clive? And while I stood debating, Nick regarding + me with a puzzled expression, Monsieur de St. Gré appeared on the + gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Come, gentlemen,” he cried; “dinner awaits us.” + </p> + <p> + The dining room at Les Îles was at the corner of the house, and its + windows looked out on the gallery, which was shaded at that place by dense + foliage. The room, like others in the house, seemed to reflect the + decorous character of its owner. Two St. Grés, indifferently + painted, but rigorous and respectable, relieved the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">418</a></span> + whiteness of the wall. They were + the Commissary-general and his wife. The lattices were closed on one side, + and in the deep amber light the family silver shone but dimly. The dignity + of our host, the evident ceremony of the meal,—which was attended by + three servants,—would have awed into a modified silence at least a + less irrepressible person than Nicholas Temple. But Nick was one to carry + by storm a position which another might wait to reconnoitre. The first + sensation of our host was no doubt astonishment, but he was soon laughing + over a vivid account of our adventures on the keel boat. Nick's imitation + of Xavier, and his description of Benjy's terrors after the storm, were so + perfect that I laughed quite as heartily; and Madame de St. Gré + wiped her eyes and repeated continually, “<i>Quel drôle + monsieur</i>! it is thus he has entertained us since thou departed, + Philippe.” + </p> + <p> + As for Mademoiselle, I began to think that Nick was not far wrong in his + diagnosis. Training may have had something to do with it. She would not + laugh, not she, but once or twice she raised her napkin to her face and + coughed slightly. For the rest, she sat demurely, with her eyes on her + plate, a model of propriety. Nick's sufferings became more comprehensible. + </p> + <p> + To give the devil his due, Nick had an innate tact which told him when to + stop, and perhaps at this time Mademoiselle's superciliousness made him + subside the more quickly. After Monsieur de St. Gré had explained + to me the horrors of the indigo pest and the futility of sugar raising, he + turned to his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “'Toinette, where is Madame Clive?” he asked. + </p> + <p>The girl looked up, startled into life and interest at once. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, papa,” she cried in French, “we are so worried about her, + mamma and I. It was the day you went away, the day these gentlemen + came, that we thought she would take an airing. And suddenly she + became worse.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de St. Gré turned with concern to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what it is, Philippe,” said that lady; “it seems to be + mental. The loss of her husband weighs upon her, poor lady. But this is + worse than ever, and she + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">419</a></span> + will lie for hours with her face turned to the + wall, and not even Antoinette can arouse her.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always been able to comfort her before,” said Antoinette, + with a catch in her voice. + </p> + <p> + I took little account of what was said after that, my only notion being to + think the problem out for myself, and alone. As I was going to my room + Nick stopped me. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the garden, Davy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “When I have had my siesta,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “When you have had your siesta!” he cried; “since when did you + begin to indulge in siestas?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day,” I replied, and left him staring after me. + </p> + <p> + I reached my room, bolted the door, and lay down on my back to think. + Little was needed to convince me now that Mrs. Clive was Mrs. Temple, and + thus the lady's relapse when she heard that her son was in the house was + accounted for. Instead of forming a plan, my thoughts drifted from that + into pity for her, and my memory ran back many years to the text of good + Mr. Mason's sermon, “I have refined thee, but not with silver, I have + chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.” What must Sarah Temple have + suffered since those days! I remembered her in her prime, in her beauty, + in her selfishness, in her cruelty to those whom she might have helped, + and I wondered the more at the change which must have come over the woman + that she had won the affections of this family, that she had gained the + untiring devotion of Mademoiselle Antoinette. Her wit might not account + for it, for that had been cruel. And something of the agony of the woman's + soul as she lay in torment, facing the wall, thinking of her son under the + same roof, of a life misspent and irrevocable, I pictured. + </p> + <p> + A stillness crept into the afternoon like the stillness of night. The wide + house was darkened and silent, and without a sunlight washed with gold + filtered through the leaves. There was a drowsy hum of bees, and in the + distance the occasional languishing note of a bird singing what must have + been a cradle-song. My mind wandered, and shirked the task that was set to + it. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">420</a></span> + Could anything be gained by meddling? I had begun to convince myself that + nothing could, when suddenly I came face to face with the consequences of + a possible marriage between Nick and Mademoiselle Antoinette. In that + event the disclosure of his mother's identity would be inevitable. Not + only his happiness was involved, but Mademoiselle's, her father's and her + mother's, and lastly that of this poor hunted woman herself, who thought + at last to have found a refuge. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and it became more and more evident to me that I must see + and talk with Mrs. Temple. But how was I to communicate with her? At last + I took out my portfolio and wrote these words on a sheet:— + </p> + <p> + “<i>If Mrs. Clive will consent to a meeting with Mr. David Ritchie, he + will deem it a favor. Mr. Ritchie assures Mrs. Clive that he makes this + request in all friendliness</i>.” + </p> + <p> + I lighted a candle, folded the note and sealed it, addressed it to Mrs. + Clive, and opening the latticed door I stepped out. Walking along the + gallery until I came to the rear part of the house which faced towards the + out-buildings, I spied three figures prone on the grass under a pecan tree + that shaded the kitchen roof. One of these figures was Benjy, and he was + taking his siesta. I descended quietly from the gallery, and making my way + to him, touched him on the shoulder. He awoke and stared at me with white + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” I answered, “and follow me.” + </p> + <p> + He came after me, wondering, a little way into the grove, where I stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Benjy,” I said, “do you know any of the servants here?” + </p> + <p> + “Lawsy, Marse Dave, I reckon I knows 'em,—some of 'em,” he + answered with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “You talk to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Shucks, no, Marse Dave,” he replied with a fine scorn, “I ain't no + hand at dat ar nigger French. But I knows some on 'em, and right well + too.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” I demanded curiously. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">421</a></span> + Benjy looked down sheepishly at his feet. He was standing pigeon-toed. + </p> + <p> + “I done c'ressed some on 'em, Marse Dave,” he said at length, and + there was a note of triumph in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You did what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I done kissed one of dem yaller gals, Marse Dave. Yass'r, I done kissed + M'lisse.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Mélisse would do something for you if you asked + her?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + Benjy seemed hurt. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave—” he began reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” I interrupted, taking the letter from my pocket, + “there is a lady who is ill here, Mrs. Clive—” + </p> + <p> + I paused, for a new look had come into Benjy's eyes. He began that + peculiar, sympathetic laugh of the negro, which catches and doubles on + itself, and I imagined that a new admiration for me dawned on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Yass'r, yass, Marse Dave, I reckon M'lisse 'll git it to her 'thout any + one tekin' notice.” + </p> + <p> + I bit my lips. + </p> + <p> + “If Mrs. Clive receives this within an hour, Mélisse shall have + one piastre, and you another. There is an answer.” + </p> + <p> + Benjy took the note, and departed nimbly to find Mélisse, while I + paced up and down in my uneasiness as to the outcome of the experiment. + A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, and then I saw Benjy coming + through the trees. He stood before me, chuckling, and drew from his pocket + a folded piece of paper. I gave him the two piastres, warned him if his + master or any one inquired for me that I was taking a walk, and bade him + begone. Then I opened the note. + </p> + <p class="communique" style="padding-top:0; padding-bottom:0;"> + “I will meet you at the bayou at seven this evening. Take the path that + leads through the garden.” + </p> + <p> + I read it with a catch of the breath, with a certainty that the happiness + of many people depended upon what I should say at that meeting. And to + think of this and to compose myself a little, I made my way to the garden + in search of the path, that I might know it when the time + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">422</a></span> + came. Entering a + gap in the hedge, I caught sight of the shaded seat under the tree which + had been the scene of our first meeting with Antoinette, and I hurried + past it as I crossed the garden. There were two openings in the opposite + hedge, the one through which Nick and I had come, and another. I took the + second, and with little difficulty found the path of which the note had + spoken. It led through a dense, semi-tropical forest in the direction of + the swamp beyond, the way being well beaten, but here and there jealously + crowded by an undergrowth of brambles and the prickly Spanish bayonet. I + know not how far I had walked, my head bent in thought, before I felt the + ground teetering under my feet, and there was the bayou. It was a narrow + lane of murky, impenetrable water, shaded now by the forest wall. Imaged + on its amber surface were the twisted boughs of the cypresses of the swamp + beyond,—boughs funereally draped, as though to proclaim a warning of + unknown perils in the dark places. On that side where I stood ancient oaks + thrust their gnarled roots into the water, and these knees were bridged by + treacherous platforms of moss. As I sought for a safe resting-place a dull + splash startled me, the pink-and-white water lilies danced on the ripples, + and a long, black snout pushed its way to the centre of the bayou and + floated there motionless. + </p> + <p> + I sat down on a wide knee that seemed to be fashioned for the purpose, and + reflected. It may have been about half-past five, and I made up my mind + that, rather than return and risk explanations, I would wait where I was + until Mrs. Temple appeared. I had much to think of, and for the rest the + weird beauty of the place, with its changing colors as the sun fell, held + me in fascination. When the blue vapor stole through the cypress swamp, my + trained ear caught the faintest of warning sounds. Mrs. Temple was coming. + </p> + <p> + I could not repress the exclamation that rose to my lips when she stood + before me. + </p> + <p> + “I have changed somewhat,” she began quite calmly; “I have changed + since you were at Temple Bow.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">423</a></span> + I stood staring at her, at a loss to know whether by these words she + sought to gain an advantage. I knew not whether to pity or to be angry, + such a strange blending she seemed of former pride and arrogance and later + suffering. There were the features of the beauty still, the eyes defiant, + the lips scornful. Sorrow had set its brand upon this protesting face in + deep, violet marks under the eyes, in lines which no human power could + erase: sorrow had flecked with white the gold of the hair, had proclaimed + her a woman with a history. For she had a new and remarkable beauty which + puzzled and astonished me,—a beauty in which maternity had no place. + The figure, gowned with an innate taste in black, still kept the rounded + lines of the young woman, while about the shoulders and across the open + throat a lace mantilla was thrown. She stood facing me, undaunted, and I + knew that she had come to fight for what was left her. I knew further that + she was no mean antagonist. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly tell me to what circumstance I owe the honor of + this—summons, Mr. Ritchie?” she asked. “You are a travelled + person for one so young. I might almost say,” she added with an + indifferent laugh, “that there is some method and purpose in your + travels.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you do me wrong, Madame,” I replied; “I am here by the + merest chance.” + </p> + <p> + Again she laughed lightly, and stepping past me took her seat on the oak + from which I had risen. I marvelled that this woman, with all her + self-possession, could be the same as she who had held her room, cowering, + these four days past. Admiration for her courage mingled with my other + feelings, and for the life of me I knew not where to begin. My experience + with women of the world was, after all, distinctly limited. Mrs. Temple + knew, apparently by intuition, the advantage she had gained, and she + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “The Ritchies were always skilled in dealing with sinners,” + she began; “the first earl had the habit of hunting them like foxes, + so it is said. I take it for granted that, before my sentence is + pronounced, I shall have the pleasure + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">424</a></span> + of hearing my wrong-doings in detail. I could not ask you to + forego that satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know the characteristics of my family, Mrs. Temple,” I + answered. “There is one trait of the Ritchies concerning which I + ask your honest opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is that?” she said carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “I have always understood that they have spoken the truth. Is it not + so?” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at me curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I never knew your father to lie,” she answered; “but after all + he had few chances. He so seldom spoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Your intercourse with me at Temple Bow was quite as limited,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she interrupted quickly, “you bear me that grudge. It is + another trait of the Ritchies.” + </p> + <p> + “I bear you no grudge, Madame,” I replied. “I asked you a question + concerning the veracity of my family, and I beg that you will believe what + I say.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is this momentous statement?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I had hard work to keep my temper, but I knew that I must not lose it. + </p> + <p> + “I declare to you on my honor that my business in New Orleans in no way + concerns you, and that I had not the slightest notion of finding you here. + Will you believe that?” + </p> + <p> + “And what then?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I also declare to you that, since meeting your son, my chief anxiety + has been lest he should run across you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very considerate of others,” she said. “Let us admit for + the sake of argument that you come here by accident.” + </p> + <p> + It was the opening I had sought for, but despaired of getting. + </p> + <p> + “Then put yourself for a moment in my place, Madame, and give me credit + for a little kindliness of feeling, and a sincere affection for your + son.” + </p> + <p> + There was a new expression on her face, and the light of a supreme effort + in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I give you credit at least for a logical mind,” she + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">425</a></span> + answered. “In spite of myself you have put me at the bar and seem to be + conducting my trial.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not see why there should be any rancor between us,” I answered. + “It is true that I hated you at Temple Bow. When my father was killed + and I was left a homeless orphan you had no pity for me, though your + husband was my mother's brother. But you did me a good turn after all, for + you drove me out into a world where I learned to rely upon myself. + Furthermore, it was not in your nature to treat me well.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in my nature?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “You were seeking happiness, as every one must in their own way. That + happiness lay, apparently, with Mr. Riddle.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she cried, with a catch of her breath, “I thought you would + be judging me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am stating facts. Your son was a sufficient embarrassment in this + matter, and I should have been an additional one. I blame you not, Mrs. + Temple, for anything you have done to me, but I blame you for embittering + Nick's life.” + </p> + <p> + “And he?” she said. It seemed to me that I detected a faltering in + her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I will hide nothing from you. He blames you, with what justice I leave + you to decide.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer this, but turned her head away towards the bayou. Nor + could I determine what was in her mind. + </p> + <p> + “And now I ask you whether I have acted as your friend in begging you to + meet me.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me swiftly at that. + </p> + <p> + “I am at a loss to see how there can be friendship between us, Mr. + Ritchie,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Very good then, Madame; I am sorry,” I answered. “I have done all + that is in my power, and now events will have to take their course.” + </p> + <p> + I had not gone two steps into the wood before I heard her voice calling my + name. She had risen, and leaned with her hand against the oak. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">426</a></span> + “Does Nick—know that you are here?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered shortly. Then I realized suddenly what I had failed + to grasp before,—she feared that I would pity her. + </p> + <p> + “David!” + </p> + <p> + I started violently at the sound of my name, at the new note in her voice, + at the change in the woman as I turned. And then before I realized what + she had done she had come to me swiftly and laid her hand upon my arm. + </p> + <p> + “David, does he hate me?” + </p> + <p> + All the hope remaining in her life was in that question, was in her face + as she searched mine with a terrible scrutiny. And never had I known such + an ordeal. It seemed as if I could not answer, and as I stood staring back + at her a smile was forced to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “I will pay you one tribute, my friend,” she said; + “you are honest.” + </p> + <p> + But even as she spoke I saw her sway, and though I could not be sure it + were not a dizziness in me, I caught her. I shall always marvel at the + courage there was in her, for she straightened and drew away from me a + little proudly, albeit gently, and sat down on the knee of the oak, + looking across the bayou towards the mist of the swamp. There was the + infinite calmness of resignation in her next speech. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about him,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She was changed indeed. Were it not so I should have heard of her own + sufferings, of her poor, hunted life from place to place, of countless + nights made sleepless by the past. Pride indeed was left, but the fire had + burned away the last vestige of selfishness. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_426-T1" id="Page_426-T1"></a> + I sat down beside her, knowing full well that I should be judged by what I + said. She listened, motionless, though something of what that narrative + cost her I knew by the current of sympathy that ran now between us. + Unmarked, the day faded, a new light was spread over the waters, the mist + was spangled with silver points, the Spanish moss took on the whiteness of + lace against the black forest swamp, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">427</a></span> + and on the yellow face of the moon the star-shaped leaves of a gum were + printed. + </p> + <p> + At length I paused. She neither spoke, nor moved—save for the rising + and falling of her shoulders. The hardest thing I had to say I saved for + the last, and I was near lacking the courage to continue. + </p> + <p> + “There is Mademoiselle Antoinette—” I began, and + stopped,—she turned on me so quickly and laid a hand on mine. + </p> + <p> + “Nick loves her!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “You know it!” I exclaimed, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, David,” she answered brokenly, “I foresaw it from the first. + I, too, love the girl. No human being has ever given me such care and such + affection. She—she is all that I have left. Must I give her up? Have + I not paid the price of my sins?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer, knowing that she saw the full cruelty of the + predicament. What happiness remained to her now of a battered life stood + squarely in the way of her son's happiness. That was the issue, and no + advice or aid of mine could change it. There was another silence that + seemed to me an eternity as I watched, a helpless witness, the struggle + going on within her. At last she got to her feet, her face turned to the + shadow. + </p> + <p> + “I will go, David,” she said. Her voice was low and she spoke with a + steadiness that alarmed me. “I will go.” + </p> + <p> + Torn with pity, I thought again, but I could see no alternative. And then, + suddenly, she was clinging to me, her courage gone, her breast shaken with + sobs. “Where shall I go?” she cried. “God help me! Are there no + remote places where He will not seek me out? I have tried them all, + David.” And quite as suddenly she disengaged herself, and looked at + me strangely. “You are well revenged for Temple Bow,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” I answered, and held her, fearing I knew not what, + “you have not lacked courage. It is not so bad as you believe. + I will devise a plan and help you. Have you money?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">428</a></span> + “Yes,” she answered, with a remnant of her former pride; “and I + have an annuity paid now to Mr. Clark.” + </p> + <p> + “Then listen to what I say,” I answered. “To-night I will take + you to New Orleans and hide you safely. And I swear to you, whether it + be right or wrong, that I will use every endeavor to change Nick's + feelings towards you. Come,” I continued, leading her gently into + the path, “let us go while there is yet time.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” she said, and I halted fearfully. “David Ritchie, you are + a good man. I can make no amends to you,”—she did not finish. + </p> + <p> + Feeling for the path in the blackness of the wood, I led her by the hand, + and she followed me as trustfully as a child. At last, after an age of + groping, the heavy scents of shrubs and flowers stole to us on the night + air, and we came out at the hedge into what seemed a blaze of light that + flooded the rows of color. Here we paused, breathless, and looked. The + bench under the great tree was vacant, and the garden was empty. + </p> + <p> + It was she who led the way through the hedge, who halted in the garden + path at the sound of voices. She turned, but there was no time to flee, + for the tall figure of a man came through the opposite hedge, followed by + a lady. One was Nicholas Temple, the other, Mademoiselle de St. + Gré. Mrs. Temple's face alone was in the shadow, and as I felt her + hand trembling on my arm I summoned all my resources. It was Nick who + spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “It is Davy!” he cried. “Oh, the sly rascal! And this is the + promenade of which he left us word, the solitary meditation! Speak up, + man; you are forgiven for deserting us.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, laughing, to Mademoiselle. But she stood with her lips parted + and her hands dropped, staring at my companion. Then she took two steps + forward and stopped with a cry. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Clive!” + </p> + <p> + The woman beside me turned, and with a supreme courage raised her head and + faced the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Antoinette, it is I,” she answered. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">429</a></span> + And then my eyes sought Nick, for Mrs. Temple had faced her son with a + movement that was a challenge, yet with a look that questioned, yearned, + appealed. He, too, stared, the laughter fading from his eyes, first + astonishment, and then anger, growing in them, slowly, surely. I shall + never forget him as he stood there (for what seemed an age) recalling one + by one the wrongs this woman had done him. She herself had taught him to + brook no restraint, to follow impetuously his loves and hates, and + endurance in these things was moulded in every line of his finely cut + features. And when he spoke it was not to her, but to the girl at his + side. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who this is?” he said. “Tell me, do you know this + woman?” + </p> + <p> + Mademoiselle de St. Gré did not answer him. She drew near, gently, + to Mrs. Temple, whose head was bowed, whose agony I could only guess. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Clive,” she said softly, though her voice was shaken by a + prescience, “won't you tell me what has happened? Won't you speak to + me—Antoinette?” + </p> + <p> + The poor lady lifted up her arms, as though to embrace the girl, dropped + them despairingly, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Antoinette,” she murmured, “Antoinette!” + </p> + <p> + For Nick had seized Antoinette by the hand, restraining her. + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what you are doing?” he cried angrily. + “Listen!” + </p> + <p> + I had stood bereft of speech, watching the scene breathlessly. And now I + would have spoken had not Mademoiselle astonished me by taking the lead. I + have thought since that I might have pieced together this much of her + character. Her glance at Nick surprised him momentarily into silence. + </p> + <p> + “I know that she is my dearest friend,” she said, “that she came + to us in misfortune, and that we love her and trust her. I do not know + why she is here with Mr. Ritchie, but I am sure it is for some good + reason.” She laid a hand on Mrs. Temple's shoulder. “Mrs. Clive, + won't you speak to me?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">430</a></span> + “My God, Antoinette, listen!” cried Nick; “Mrs. Clive is not her + name. I know her, David knows her. She is an—adventuress!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple gave a cry, and the girl shot at him a frightened, bewildered + glance, in which a new-born love struggled with an older affection. + </p> + <p> + “An adventuress!” she repeated, her hand dropping, “oh, I do not + believe it. I cannot believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall believe it,” said Nick, fiercely. “Her name is not + Clive. Ask David what her name is.” + </p> + <p> + Antoinette's lips moved, but she shirked the question. And Nick seized me + roughly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her,” he said, “tell her! My God, how can I do it? Tell her, + David.” + </p> + <p> + For the life of me I could not frame the speech at once, my pity and a + new-found and surprising respect for her making it doubly hard to + pronounce her sentence. Suddenly she raised her head, not proudly, but + with a dignity seemingly conferred by years of sorrow and of suffering. + Her tones were even, bereft of every vestige of hope. + </p> + <p> + “Antoinette, I have deceived you, though as God is my witness, I thought + no harm could come of it. I deluded myself into believing that I had found + friends and a refuge at last. I am Mrs. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Temple!” The girl repeated the name sorrowfully, but + perplexedly, not grasping its full significance. + </p> + <p> + “She is my mother,” said Nick, with a bitterness I had not thought + in him, “she is my mother, or I would curse her. For she has ruined + my life and brought shame on a good name.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, his breath catching for very anger. Mrs. Temple hid her face in + her hands, while the girl shrank back in terror. I grasped him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Have you no compassion?” I cried. But Mrs. Temple interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “He has the right,” she faltered; “it is my just punishment.” + </p> + <p> + He tore himself away, and took a step to her. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">431</a></span> + “Where is Riddle?” he cried. “As God lives, I will kill him without + mercy!” + </p> + <p> + His mother lifted her head again. + </p> + <p> + “God has judged him,” she said quietly; “he is beyond your + vengeance—he is dead.” A sob shook her, but she conquered it + with a marvellous courage. “Harry Riddle loved me, he was kind to me, + and he was a better man than John Temple.” + </p> + <p> + Nick recoiled. The fierceness of his anger seemed to go, leaving a more + dangerous humor. + </p> + <p> + “Then I have been blessed with parents,” he said. + </p> + <p> + At that she swayed, but when I would have caught her she motioned me away + and turned to Antoinette. Twice Mrs. Temple tried to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was going away to-night,” she said at length, “and you + would never have seen or heard of me more. My nephew David—Mr. + Ritchie—whom I treated cruelly as a boy, had pity on me. He is a + good man, and he was to have taken me away—I do not attempt to + defend myself, my dear, but I pray that you, who have so much charity, + will some day think a little kindly of one who has sinned deeply, of + one who will love and bless you and yours to her dying day.” + </p> + <p> + She faltered, and Nick would have spoken had not Antoinette herself stayed + him with a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “I wish—my son to know the little there is on my side. It is not + much. Yet God may not spare him the sorrow that brings pity. I—I + loved Harry Riddle as a girl. My father was ruined, and I was forced into + marriage with John Temple for his possessions. He was selfish, + overbearing, cruel—unfaithful. During the years I lived with him he + never once spoke kindly to me. I, too, grew wicked and selfish and + heedless. My head was turned by admiration. Mr. Temple escaped to England + in a man-of-war; he left me without a line of warning, of farewell. + I—I have wandered over the earth, haunted by remorse, and I knew no + moment of peace, of happiness, until you brought me here and sheltered and + loved me. And even here I have had many sleepless hours. A hundred times + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">432</a></span> + I have + summoned my courage to tell you,—I could not. I am justly punished, + Antoinette.” She moved a little, timidly, towards the girl, who stood + motionless, dazed by what she heard. She held out a hand, appealingly, and + dropped it. “Good-by, my dear; God will bless you for your kindness to + an unfortunate outcast.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced with a kind of terror in her eyes from the girl to Nick, and + what she meant to say concerning their love I know not, for the flood, + held back so long, burst upon her. She wept as I have never seen a woman + weep. And then, before Nick or I knew what had happened, Antoinette had + taken her swiftly in her arms and was murmuring in her ear:— + </p> + <p> + “You shall not go. You shall not. You will live with me always.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the sobs ceased, and Mrs. Temple raised her face, slowly, + wonderingly, as if she had not heard aright. And she tried gently to push + the girl away. + </p> + <p> + “No, Antoinette,” she said, “I have done you harm enough.” + </p> + <p> + But the girl clung to her strongly, passionately. “I do not care what + you have done,” she cried, “you are good now. I know that you are + good now. I will not cast you out. I will not.” + </p> + <p> + I stood looking at them, bewildered and astonished by Mademoiselle's + loyalty. She seemed to have forgotten Nick, as had I, and then as I turned + to him he came towards them. Almost roughly he took Antoinette by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “You do not know what you are saying,” he cried. “Come away, + Antoinette, you do not know what she has done—you cannot realize + what she is.” + </p> + <p> + Antoinette shrank away from him, still clinging to Mrs. Temple. There was + a fearless directness in her look which might have warned him. + </p> + <p> + “She is your mother,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “My mother!” he repeated; “yes, I will tell you what a mother + she has been to me—” + </p> + <p> + “Nick!” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">433</a></span> + It passes my power to write down the pity of that appeal, the hopelessness + of it, the yearning in it. Freeing herself from the girl, Mrs. Temple took + one step towards him, her arms held up. I had not thought that his hatred + of her was deep enough to resist it. It was Antoinette whose intuition + divined this ere he had turned away. + </p> + <p> + “You have chosen between me and her,” he said; and before we could + get the poor lady to the seat under the oak, he had left the garden. In my + perturbation I glanced at Antoinette, but there was no other sign in her + face save of tenderness for Mrs. Temple. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple had mercifully fainted. As I crossed the lawn I saw two + figures in the deep shadow beside the gallery, and I heard Nick's voice + giving orders to Benjy to pack and saddle. When I reached the garden again + the girl had loosed Mrs. Temple's gown, and was bending over her, + murmuring in her ear. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + Many hours later, when the moon was waning towards the horizon, fearful of + surprise by the coming day, I was riding slowly under the trees on the + road to New Orleans. Beside me, veiled in black, her head bowed, was Mrs. + Temple, and no word had escaped her since she had withdrawn herself gently + from the arms of Antoinette on the gallery at Les Îles. Nick had + gone long before. The hardest task had been to convince the girl that Mrs. + Temple might not stay. After that Antoinette had busied herself, with a + silent fortitude I had not thought was in her, making ready for the lady's + departure. I shall never forget her as she stood, a slender figure of + sorrow, looking down at us, the tears glistening on her cheeks. And I + could not resist the impulse to mount the steps once more. + </p> + <p> + “You were right, Antoinette,” I whispered; “whatever happens, you + will remember that I am your friend. And I will bring him back to you if I + can.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand, and turned and went slowly into the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">434</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">BOOK III. LOUISIANA</a> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER I</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Rights of Man</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Were</span> these things which follow to my thinking + not extraordinary, I should + not write them down here, nor should I have presumed to skip nearly five + years of time. For indeed almost five years had gone by since the warm + summer night when I rode into New Orleans with Mrs. Temple. And in all + that time I had not so much as laid eyes on my cousin and dearest friend, + her son. I searched New Orleans for him in vain, and learned too late that + he had taken passage on a packet which had dropped down the river the next + morning, bound for Charleston and New York. + </p> + <p> + I have an instinct that this is not the place to relate in detail what + occurred to me before leaving New Orleans. Suffice it to say that I made + my way back through the swamps, the forests, the cane-brakes of the Indian + country, along the Natchez trail to Nashville, across the barrens to + Harrodstown in Kentucky, where I spent a week in that cabin which had so + long been for me a haven of refuge. Dear Polly Ann! She hugged me as + though I were still the waif whom she had mothered, and wept over the + little presents which I had brought the children. Harrodstown was changed, + new cabins and new faces met me at every turn, and Tom, more disgruntled + than ever, had gone a-hunting with Mr. Boone far into the wilderness. + </p> + <p> + I went back to Louisville to take up once more the struggle for practice, + and I do not intend to charge so + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">435</a></span> + much as a page with what may be called + the even tenor of my life. I was not a man to get into trouble on my own + account. Louisville grew amazingly; white frame houses were built, and + even brick ones. And ere Kentucky became a State, in 1792, I had gone as + delegate to more than one of the Danville Conventions. + </p> + <p> + Among the nations, as you know, a storm raged, and the great swells from + that conflict threatened to set adrift and wreck the little republic but + newly launched. The noise of the tramping of great armies across the Old + World shook the New, and men in whom the love of fierce fighting was born + were stirred to quarrel among themselves. The Rights of Man! How many + wrongs have been done under that clause! The Bastille stormed; the Swiss + Guard slaughtered; the Reign of Terror, with its daily procession of + tumbrels through the streets of Paris; the murder of that amiable and + well-meaning gentleman who did his best to atone for the sins of his + ancestors; the fearful months of waiting suffered by his Queen before she, + too, went to her death. Often as I lighted my candle of an evening in my + little room to read of these things so far away, I would drop my + <i>Kentucky Gazette</i> to think of a woman whose face I remembered, to + wonder sadly whether Hélène de St. Gré were among + the lists. In her, I was sure, was personified that courage for which + her order will go down eternally through the pages of history, and in my + darker moments I pictured her standing beside the guillotine with a + smile that haunted me. + </p> + <p> + The hideous image of that strife was reflected amongst our own people. + Budget after budget was hurried by the winds across the sea. And swift + couriers carried the news over the Blue Wall by the Wilderness Trail + (widened now), and thundered through the little villages of the Blue Grass + country to the Falls. What interest, you will say, could the pioneer + lawyers and storekeepers and planters have in the French Revolution? The + Rights of Man! Down with kings! General Washington and Mr. Adams and Mr. + Hamilton might sigh for them, but they were not for the free-born pioneers + of the West. <i>Citizen</i> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">436</a></span> + was the proper term now,—Citizen General + Wilkinson when that magnate came to town, resplendent in his brigadier's + uniform. It was thought that Mr. Wilkinson would plot less were he in the + army under the watchful eye of his superiors. Little they knew him! Thus + the Republic had a reward for adroitness, for treachery, and treason. But + what reward had it for the lonely, embittered, stricken man whose genius + and courage had gained for it the great Northwest territory? What reward + had the Republic for him who sat brooding in his house above the + Falls—for Citizen General Clark? + </p> + <p> + In those days you were not a Federalist or a Democrat, you were an + Aristocrat or a Jacobin. The French parties were our parties; the French + issue, our issue. Under the patronage of that saint of American + Jacobinism, Thomas Jefferson, a Jacobin society was organized in + Philadelphia,—special guardians of Liberty. And flying on the March + winds over the mountains the seed fell on the black soil of Kentucky: + Lexington had its Jacobin society, Danville and Louisville likewise their + patrons and protectors of the Rights of Mankind. Federalists were not + guillotined in Kentucky in the summer of 1793, but I might mention more + than one who was shot. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the Federalists, Louisville prospered, and incidentally I + prospered in a mild way. Mr. Crede, behind whose store I still lived, was + getting rich, and happened to have an affair of some importance in + Philadelphia. Mr. Wharton was kind enough to recommend a young lawyer who + had the following virtues: he was neither handsome nor brilliant, and he + wore snuff-colored clothes. Mr. Wharton also did me the honor to say that + I was cautious and painstaking, and had a habit of tiring out my + adversary. Therefore, in the early summer of 1793, I went to Philadelphia. + At that time, travellers embarking on such a journey were prayed over as + though they were going to Tartary. I was absent from Louisville near a + year, and there is a diary of what I saw and felt and heard on this trip + for the omission of which I will be thanked. The great news of that day + which concerns the world—and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">437</a></span> + incidentally this story—was that + Citizen Genêt had landed at Charleston. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Genêt, Ambassador of the great Republic of France to the + litle Republic of America, landed at Charleston, acclaimed by thousands, + and lost no time. Scarcely had he left that city ere American privateers + had slipped out of Charleston harbor to prey upon the commerce of the + hated Mistress of the Sea. Was there ever such a march of triumph as that + of the Citizen Ambassador northward to the capital? Everywhere toasted and + feasted, Monsieur Genêt did not neglect the Rights of Man, for + without doubt the United States was to declare war on Britain within a + fortnight. Nay, the Citizen Ambassador would go into the halls of Congress + and declare war himself if that faltering Mr. Washington refused his duty. + Citizen Genêt organized his legions as he went along, and threw + tricolored cockades from the windows of his carriage. And at his glorious + entry into Philadelphia (where I afterwards saw the great man with my own + eyes), Mr. Washington and his Federal-Aristocrats trembled in their boots. + </p> + <p> + It was late in April, 1794, when I reached Pittsburg on my homeward + journey and took passage down the Ohio with a certain Captain Wendell of + the army, in a Kentucky boat. I had known the Captain in Louisville, for + he had been stationed at Fort Finney, the army post across the Ohio from + that town, and he had come to Pittsburg with a sergeant to fetch down the + river some dozen recruits. This was a most fortunate circumstance for me, + and in more ways than one. Although the Captain was a gruff and blunt man, + grizzled and weather-beaten, a woman-hater, he could be a delightful + companion when once his confidence was gained; and as we drifted in the + mild spring weather through the long reaches between the passes he talked + of Trenton and Brandywine and Yorktown. There was more than one bond of + sympathy between us, for he worshipped Washington, detested the French + party, and had a hatred for “filthy Democrats” second to none I have + ever encountered. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">438</a></span> + We stopped for a few days at Fort Harmar, where the Muskingum pays its + tribute to the Ohio, built by the Federal government to hold the territory + which Clark had won. And leaving that hospitable place we took up our + journey once more in the very miracle-time of the spring. The sunlight was + like amber-crystal, the tall cottonwoods growing by the water-side + flaunted a proud glory of green, the hills behind them that formed the + first great swells of the sea of the wilderness were clothed in a thousand + sheens and shaded by the purple budding of the oaks and walnuts on the + northern slopes. On the yellow sandbars flocks of geese sat pluming in the + sun, or rose at our approach to cast fleeting shadows on the water, their + <em>honk-honks</em> echoing from the hills. Here and there a hawk swooped + down from the azure to break the surface and bear off a wriggling fish + that gleamed like silver, and at eventide we would see at the brink an elk + or doe, with head poised, watching us as we drifted. We passed here and + there a lonely cabin, to set my thoughts wandering backwards to my youth, + and here and there in the dimples of the hills little clusters of white + and brown houses, one day to become marts of the Republic. + </p> + <p> + My joy at coming back at this golden season to a country I loved was + tempered by news I had heard from Captain Wendell, and which I had + discussed with the officers at Fort Harmar. The Captain himself had + broached the subject one cool evening, early in the journey, as we sat + over the fire in our little cabin. He had been telling me about + Brandywine, but suddenly he turned to me with a kind of fierce gesture + that was natural to the man. + </p> + <p> + “Ritchie,” he said, “you were in the Revolution yourself. You + helped Clark to capture that country,” and he waved his hand towards + the northern shore; “why the devil don't you tell me about it?” + </p> + <p> + “You never asked me,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I ask you now.” + </p> + <p> + I began lamely enough, but presently my remembrance of the young man who + conquered all obstacles, who + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">439</a></span> + compelled all men he met to follow and obey + him, carried me strongly into the narrative. I remembered him, quiet, + self-contained, resourceful, a natural leader, at twenty-five a bulwark + for the sorely harried settlers of Kentucky; the man whose clear vision + alone had perceived the value of the country north of the Ohio to the + Republic, who had compelled the governor and council of Virginia to see it + likewise. Who had guarded his secret from all men, who in the face of + fierce opposition and intrigue had raised a little army to follow + him—they knew not where. Who had surprised Kaskaskia, cowed the + tribes of the North in his own person, and by sheer force of will drew + after him and kept alive a motley crowd of men across the floods and + through the ice to Vincennes. + </p> + <p> + We sat far into the night, the Captain listening as I had never seen a man + listen. And when at length I had finished he was for a long time silent, + and then he sprang to his feet with an oath that woke the sleeping + soldiers forward and glared at me. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he cried, “it is enough to make a man curse his uniform + to think that such a man as Wilkinson wears it, while Clark is left to + rot, to drink himself under the table from disappointment, to plot with + the damned Jacobins—” + </p> + <p> + “To plot!” I cried, starting violently in my turn. + </p> + <p> + The Captain looked at me in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been away from Louisville?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It will be a year,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Captain, “I will tell you. It is more than a year + since Clark wrote Genêt, since the Ambassador bestowed on him a + general's commission in the army of the French Republic.” + </p> + <p> + “A general's commission!” I exclaimed. “And he is going to + France?” The nation which had driven John Paul Jones from its service + was now to lose George Rogers Clark! + </p> + <p> + “To France!” laughed the Captain. “No, this is become France + enough. He is raising in Kentucky + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">440</a></span> + and in the Cumberland country an army with a cursed, + high-sounding name. Some of his old Illinois scouts—McChesney, whom + you mentioned, for one—have been collecting bear's meat and venison + hams all winter. They are going to march on Louisiana and conquer it for + the French Republic, for Liberty, Equality—the Rights of Man, + anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “On Louisiana!” I repeated; “what has the Federal government + been doing?” + </p> + <p> + The Captain winked at me and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “The Federal government is supine, a laughing-stock—so our friends + the Jacobins say, who have been shouting at Mr. Easton's tavern all + winter. Nay, they declare that all this country west of the mountains, + too, will be broken off and set up into a republic, and allied with that + most glorious of all republics, France. Believe me, the Jacobins have not + been idle, and there have been strange-looking birds of French plumage + dodging between the General's house at Clarksville and the Bear Grass.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent, the tears almost forcing themselves to my eyes at the + pathetic sordidness of what I had heard. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_440-T1" id="Page_440-T1"></a> + “It can come to nothing,” continued the Captain, in a changed voice. + “General Clark's mind is unhinged by—disappointment. Mad Anthony + <a href="#footer_3-1-1">¹</a> is not a man + to be caught sleeping, and he has already attended to a little + expedition from the Cumberland. Mad Anthony loves the General, as we all + do, and the Federal government is wiser than the Jacobins think. It may + not be necessary to do anything.” Captain Wendell paused, and looked + at me fixedly. “Ritchie, General Clark likes you, and you have never + offended him. Why not go to his little house in Clarksville when you get + to Louisville and talk to him plainly, as I know you can? Perhaps you + might have some influence.” + </p> + <div class="footer"><a id="footer_3-1-1" name="footer_3-1-1"></a> + <a href="#Page_440-T1">¹</a> General Wayne of + Revolutionary fame was then in command of that district. + </div> + <p> + I shook my head sadly. + </p> + <p> + “I intend to go,” I answered, “but I will have no influence.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">441</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER II</a> + </h2> + <h3>The House above the Falls</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">It</span> was May-day, and shortly after dawn we slipped into the quiet water + which is banked up for many miles above the Falls. The Captain and I sat + forward on the deck, breathing deeply the sharp odor which comes from the + wet forest in the early morning, listening to the soft splash of the oars, + and watching the green form of Eighteen Mile Island as it gently drew + nearer and nearer. And ere the sun had risen greatly we had passed Twelve + Mile Island, and emerging from the narrow channel which divides Six Mile + Island from the northern shore, we beheld, on its terrace above the Bear + Grass, Louisville shining white in the morning sun. Majestic in its mile + of width, calm, as though gathering courage, the river seemed to + straighten for the ordeal to come, and the sound of its waters crying over + the rocks far below came faintly to my ear and awoke memories of a day + gone by. Fearful of the suck, we crept along the Indian shore until we + counted the boats moored in the Bear Grass, and presently above the trees + on our right we saw the Stars and Stripes floating from the log bastion of + Fort Finney. And below the fort, on the gentle sunny slope to the river's + brink, was spread the green garden of the garrison, with its sprouting + vegetables and fruit trees blooming pink and white. + </p> + <p> + We were greeted by a company of buff and blue officers at the landing, and + I was bidden to breakfast at their mess, Captain Wendell promising to take + me over to Louisville afterwards. He had business in the town, and about + eight of the clock we crossed the wide river in one of the barges of the + fort and made fast at the landing in the Bear Grass. But no sooner had we + entered the town + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">442</a></span> + than we met a number of country people on horseback, with + their wives and daughters—ay, and sweethearts—perched up + behind them: the men mostly in butternut linsey hunting shirts and + trousers, slouch hats, and red handkerchiefs stuck into their bosoms; the + women marvellously pretty and fresh in stiff cotton gowns and Quaker hats, + and some in crimped caps with ribbons neatly tied under the chin. Before + Mr. Easton's tavern Joe Handy, the fiddler, was reeling off a few bars of + “Hey, Betty Martin” to the familiar crowd of loungers under the big + poplar. + </p> + <p> + “It's Davy Ritchie!” shouted Joe, breaking off in the middle of the + tune; “welcome home, Davy. Ye're jest in time for the barbecue on the + island.” + </p> + <p> + “And Cap Wendell! Howdy, Cap!” drawled another, a huge, long-haired, + sallow, dirty fellow. But the Captain only glared. + </p> + <p> + “Damn him!” he said, after I had spoken to Joe and we had passed on, + “<i>he</i> ought to be barbecued; he nearly bit off Ensign Barry's nose + a couple of months ago. Barry tried to stop the beast in a gouging fight.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">443</a></span></p> + <p class="center" style="padding-top:2em;"> + <span style="font-size:large;">"GEORGE R. CLARK, ESQUIRE, </span><br /><br /> + "<span style="font-size:small;">MAJOR-GENERAL IN THE ARMIES OF FRANCE AND COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE + FRENCH REVOLUTIONARY LEGION ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.</span><br /><br /> + "<span class="smcap">Proposals</span> + </p> + <p> + “For raising volunteers for the reduction of the Spanish posts on the + Mississippi, for opening the trade of the said river and giving freedom to + all its inhabitants—” + </p> + <p> + I had got so far when I heard a noise of footsteps within, and Mr. Easton + himself came out, in his shirt-sleeves. + </p> + <p> + “By cricky, Davy,” said he, “I'm right glad ter see ye ag'in. Readin' the + General's bill, are ye? Tarnation, I reckon Washington and all his + European fellers east of the mountains won't be able ter hold us back this + time. I reckon we'll gallop over Louisiany in the face of all the + Spaniards ever created. I've got some new whiskey I 'low will sink tallow. + Come in, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + As he took me by the arm, a laughter and shouting came from the back room. + </p> + <p> + “It's some of them Frenchy fellers come over from Knob Licks. They're in + it,” and he pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the proclamation, “and + thar's one young American among 'em who's a t'arer. Come in.” + </p> + <p> + I drank a glass of Mr. Easton's whiskey, and asked about the General. + </p> + <p> + “He stays over thar to Clarksville pretty much,” said Mr. Easton. “Thar + ain't quite so much walkin' araound ter do,” he added significantly. + </p> + <p> + I made my way down to the water-side, where Jake Landrasse sat alone on + the gunwale of a Kentucky boat, smoking a clay pipe as he fished. I had to + exercise persuasion to induce Jake to paddle me across, which he finally + agreed to do on the score of old friendship, and he declared that the only + reason he was not at the barbecue was because he was waiting to take a few + gentlemen to see General Clark. I agreed to pay the damages if he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">444</a></span> + were + late in returning for these gentlemen, and soon he was shooting me with + pulsing strokes across the lake-like expanse towards the landing at Fort + Finney. Louisville and the fort were just above the head of the Falls, and + the little town of Clarksville, which Clark had founded, at the foot of + them. I landed, took the road that led parallel with the river through the + tender green of the woods, and as I walked the mighty song which the Falls + had sung for ages to the Wilderness rose higher and higher, and the faint + spray seemed to be wafted through the forest and to hang in the air like + the odor of a summer rain. + </p> + <p> + It was May-day. The sweet, caressing note of the thrush mingled with the + music of the water, the dogwood and the wild plum were in festal array; + but my heart was heavy with thinking of a great man who had cheapened + himself. At length I came out upon a clearing where fifteen log houses + marked the grant of the Federal government to Clark's regiment. Perched on + a tree-dotted knoll above the last spasm of the waters in their two-mile + race for peace, was a two-storied log house with a little, square porch in + front of the door. As I rounded the corner of the house and came in sight + of the porch I halted—by no will of my own—at the sight of a + figure sunken in a wooden chair. It was that of my old Colonel. His hands + were folded in front of him, his eyes were fixed but dimly on the forests + of the Kentucky shore across the water; his hair, uncared for, fell on the + shoulders of his faded blue coat, and the stained buff waistcoat was + unbuttoned. For he still wore unconsciously the colors of the army of the + American Republic. + </p> + <p> + “General!” I said. + </p> + <p> + He started, got to his feet, and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's—it's Davy,” he said. “I—I was expecting—some + friends—Davy. What—what's the matter, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been away. I am glad to see you again, General.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen General, sir, Major-general in the army of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">445</a></span> + French Republic + and Commander-in-chief of the French Revolutionary Legion on the + Mississippi.” + </p> + <p> + “You will always be Colonel Clark to me, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You—you were the drummer boy, I remember, and strutted in front of + the regiment as if you were the colonel. Egad, I remember how you fooled + the Kaskaskians when you told them we were going away.” He looked at me, + but his eyes were still fixed on the point beyond. “You were always older + than I, Davy. Are you married?” + </p> + <p> + In spite of myself, I laughed as I answered this question. + </p> + <p> + “You are as canny as ever,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. + “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,—they are only possible for the + bachelor.” Hearing a noise, he glanced nervously in the direction of the + woods, only to perceive his negro carrying a pail of water. “I—I was + expecting some friends,” he said. “Sit down, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am not intruding, General,” I said, not daring to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my son,” he answered, “you are always welcome. Did we not + campaign together? Did we not—shoot these very falls together on our + way to Kaskaskia?” He had to raise his voice above the roar of the water. + “Faith, well I remember the day. And you saved it, Davy,—you, a + little gamecock, a little worldly-wise hop-o'-my-thumb, eh? Hamilton's + scalp hanging by a lock, egad—and they frightened out of their five + wits because it was growing dark.” He laughed, and suddenly became solemn + again. “There comes a time in every man's life when it grows dark, Davy, + and then the cowards are afraid. They have no friends whose hands they can + reach out and feel. But you are my friend. You remember that you said you + would always be my friend? It—it was in the fort at Vincennes.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember, General.” + </p> + <p> + He rose from the steps, buttoned his waistcoat, and straightened himself + with an effort. He looked at me impressively. + </p> + <p> + “You have been a good friend indeed, Davy, a faithful + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">446</a></span> + friend,” he said. + “You came to me when I was sick, you lent me money,”—he waved aside + my protest. “I am happy to say that I shall soon be in a position to repay + you, to reward you. My evil days are over, and I spurn that government + which spurned me, for the honor and glory of which I founded that city,”—he + pointed in the direction of Louisville,—“for the power and wealth of + which I conquered this Northwest territory. Listen! I am now in the + service of a republic where the people have rights, I am + Commander-in-chief of the French Revolutionary Legion on the Mississippi. + Despite the supineness of Washington, the American nation will soon be at + war with Spain. But my friends—and thank God they are many—will + follow me—they will follow me to Natchez and New Orleans,—ay, + even to Santa Fé and Mexico if I give the word. The West is with + me, and for the West I shall win the freedom of the Mississippi. For + France and Liberty I shall win back again Louisiana, and then I shall be a + <i>Maréchal de Camp</i>.” + </p> + <p> + I could not help thinking of a man who had not been wont to speak of his + intentions, who had kept his counsel for a year before Kaskaskia. + </p> + <p> + “I need my drummer boy, Davy,” he said, his face lighting up, + “but he will not be a drummer boy now. He will be a trusted officer + of high rank, mind you. Come,” he cried, seizing me by the arm, + “I will write the commission this instant. But hold! you read + French,—I remember the day Father Gibault gave you your first + lesson.” He fumbled in his pocket, drew out a + letter, and handed it to me. “This is from Citizen Michaux, the famous + naturalist, the political agent of the French Republic. Read what he has + written me.” + </p> + <p> + I read, I fear in a faltering voice:— + </p> + <p style="font-style:italic;"> + "Citoyen Général: + </p> + <p class="communique" style="padding-top:0;"> + “Un homme qui a donné des preuves de son amour pour la + Liberté et de sa haine pour le despotisme ne devait pas s'adresser + en vain au ministre de la République française. + Général, il est temps que les Américains libres + de l'Ouest soient débarassés d'un ennemie aussi injuste + que méprisable.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">447</a></span> + When I had finished I glanced at the General, but he seemed not to be + heeding me. The sun was setting above the ragged line of forest, and a + blue veil was spreading over the tumbling waters. He took me by the arm + and led me into the house, into a bare room that was all awry. Maps hung + on the wall, beside them the General's new commission, rudely framed. + Among the littered papers on the table were two whiskey bottles and + several glasses, and strewn about were a number of chairs, the arms of + which had been whittled by the General's guests. Across the rough + mantel-shelf was draped the French tricolor, and before the fireplace on + the puncheons lay a huge bearskin which undoubtedly had not been shaken + for a year. Picking up a bottle, the General poured out generous helpings + in two of the glasses, and handed one to me. + </p> + <p> + “The mists are bad, Davy,” said he; “I—I cannot afford to get the + fever now. Let us drink success to the army of the glorious Republic, + France.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us drink first, General,” I said, “to the old friendship + between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he cried. Tossing off his liquor, he set down the glass and began + what seemed a fruitless search among the thousand papers on the table. But + at length, with a grunt of satisfaction, he produced a form and held it + under my eyes. At the top of the sheet was that much-abused and + calumniated lady, the Goddess of Liberty. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, drawing up a chair and dipping his quill into an almost + depleted ink-pot, “I have decided to make you, David Ritchie, with full + confidence in your ability and loyalty to the rights of liberty and + mankind, a captain in the Legion on the Mississippi.” + </p> + <p> + I crossed the room swiftly, and as he put his pen to paper I laid my hand + on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “General, I cannot,” I said. I had seen from the first the futility of + trying to dissuade him from the expedition, and I knew now that it would + never come off. I was willing to make almost any sacrifice rather than + offend him, but this I could not allow. The General drew himself up in his + chair and stared at me with a flash of his old look. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">448</a></span> + “You cannot?” he repeated; “you have affairs to attend to, + I take it.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to speak, but he rode me down. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_448-T1" id="Page_448-T1"></a> + “There is money to be made in that prosperous town of Louisville.” He did + not understand the pain which his words caused me. He rose and laid his + hands affectionately on my shoulders. “Ah, Davy, commerce makes a man + timid. Do you forget the old days when I was the father and you the son? + Come! I will make you a fortune undreamed of, and you shall be my + fianancier once more.” + </p> + <p> + “I had not thought of the money, General,” I answered, “and I have always + been ready to leave my business to serve a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” said the General, soothingly, “I know it. I would not + offend you. You shall have the commission, and you may come when it + pleases you.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again to write, but I restrained him. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot go, General,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder and fury,” cried the General, “a man might think you were + a weak-kneed Federalist.” He stared at me, and stared again, and rose + and recoiled a step. “My God,” he said, “you cannot be a + Federalist, you can't have marched to Kaskaskia and Vincennes, you can't + have been a friend of mine and have seen how the government of the + United States has treated me, and be a Federalist!” + </p> + <p> + It was an argument and an appeal which I had foreseen, yet which I knew + not how to answer. Suddenly there came, unbidden, his own counsel which he + had given me long ago, “Serve the people, as all true men should in a + Republic, but do not rely upon their gratitude.” This man had bidden me + remember that. + </p> + <p> + “General,” I said, trying to speak steadily, “it was you who gave me my + first love for the Republic. I remember you as you stood on the heights + above Kaskaskia waiting for the sun to go down, and you reminded me that + it was the nation's birthday. And you said that our nation was to be a + refuge of the oppressed of this earth, a nation made of all peoples, out + of all time. And you said that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">449</a></span> + the lands beyond,” and I pointed to the + West as he had done, “should belong to it until the sun sets on the sea + again.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at him, for he was silent, and in my life I can recall no sadder + moment than this. The General heard, but the man who had spoken these + words was gone forever. The eyes of this man before me were fixed, as it + were, upon space. He heard, but he did not respond; for the spirit was + gone. What I looked upon was the tortured body from which the genius—the + spirit I had worshipped—had fled. I turned away, only to turn back + in anger. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know of this France for which you are to fight?” I cried. + “Have you heard of the thousands of innocents who are slaughtered, of the + women and children who are butchered in the streets in the name of + Liberty? What have those blood-stained adventurers to do with Liberty, + what have the fish-wives who love the sight of blood to do with you that + would fight for them? You warned me that this people and this government + to which you have given so much would be ungrateful,—will the + butchers and fish-wives be more grateful?” + </p> + <p> + He caught only the word <em>grateful</em>, and he rose to his feet with something + of the old straightness and of the old power. And by evil chance his eye, + and mine, fell upon a sword hanging on the farther wall. Well I remembered + when he had received it, well I knew the inscription on its blade, + “<i>Presented by the State of Virginia to her beloved son, George Rogers + Clark, who by the conquest of Illinois and St. Vincennes extended her + empire and aided in the defence of her liberties.</i>” By evil chance, I say, + his eye lighted on that sword. In three steps he crossed the room to where + it hung, snatched it from its scabbard, and ere I could prevent him he had + snapped it across his knee and flung the pieces in a corner. + </p> + <p> + “So much for the gratitude of my country,” he said. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + I had gone out on the little porch and stood gazing over the expanse of + forest and waters lighted by the afterglow. Then I felt a hand upon my + shoulder, I heard a familiar voice calling me by an old name. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">450</a></span> + “Yes, General!” I turned wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good lad, Davy. I trust you,” he said. “I—I was expecting + some friends.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted a hand that was not too steady to his brow and scanned the road + leading to the fort. Even as he spoke four figures emerged from the + woods,—undoubtedly the gentlemen who had held the council at the + inn that afternoon. We watched them in silence as they drew nearer, and + then something in the walk and appearance of the foremost began to bother + me. He wore a long, double-breasted, claret-colored redingote that + fitted his slim figure to perfection, and his gait was the easy gait of + a man who goes through the world careless of its pitfalls. So intently + did I stare that I gave no thought to those who followed him. Suddenly, + when he was within fifty paces, a cry escaped me,—I should have + known that smiling, sallow, weakly handsome face anywhere in the world. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman was none other than Monsieur Auguste de St. Gré. At the foot + of the steps he halted and swept his hand to his hat with a military + salute. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen General,” he said gracefully, “we come and pay our respec's to + you and mek our report, and ver' happy to see you look well. <i>Citoyens, + Vive la République!</i>—Hail to the Citizen General!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vive la République! Vive le Général</i>!” + cried the three citizens behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Citizens, you are very welcome,” answered the General, gravely, as he + descended the steps and took each of them by the hand. “Citizens, allow me + to introduce to you my old friend, Citizen David Ritchie—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Milles diables</i>!” cried the Citizen St. Gré, seizing me by + the hand, “<i>c'est mon cher ami</i>, Monsieur Reetchie. Ver' happy you + have this honor, Monsieur;” and snatching his wide-brimmed military + cocked hat from his head he made me a smiling, sweeping bow. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the General to me, “you know the Sieur de St. + Gré, Davy?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my guest once in Louisiane, <i>mon général</i>,” + Monsieur Auguste explained; “my family knows him.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">451</a></span> + “You know the Sieur de St. Gré, Davy?” said the General again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know him,” I answered, I fear with some brevity. + </p> + <p> + “Podden me,” said Auguste, “I am now Citizen Captain de St. + Gré. And you are also embark in the glorious cause—Ah, I + am happy,” he added, embracing me with a winning glance. + </p> + <p> + I was relieved from the embarrassment of denying the impeachment by reason + of being introduced to the other notables, to Citizen Captain Sullivan, + who wore an undress uniform consisting of a cotton butternut hunting + shirt. He had charge on the Bear Grass of building the boats for the + expedition, and was likewise a prominent member of that august body, the + Jacobin Society of Lexington. Next came Citizen Quartermaster Depeau, now + of Knob Licks, Kentucky, sometime of New Orleans. The Citizen + Quartermaster wore his hair long in the backwoods fashion; he had a keen, + pale face and sunken eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Ver' glad mek you known to me, Citizen Reetchie.” + </p> + <p> + The fourth gentleman was likewise French, and called Gignoux. The Citizen + Gignoux made some sort of an impression on me which I did not stop to + analyze. He was a small man, with a little round hand that wriggled out of + my grasp; he had a big French nose, bright eyes that popped a little and + gave him the habit of looking sidewise, and grizzled, chestnut eyebrows + over them. He had a thin-lipped mouth and a round chin. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Reetchie, is it? I laik to know citizen's name glorified by gran' + cause. Reetchie?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you enter, citizens?” said the General. + </p> + <p> + I do not know why I followed them unless it were to satisfy a + devil-prompted curiosity as to how Auguste de St. Gré had got there. We + went into the room, where the General's slovenly negro was already + lighting the candles and the General proceeded to collect and fill six of + the glasses on the table. It was Citizen Captain Sullivan who gave the + toast. + </p> + <p> + “Citizens,” he cried, “I give you the health of the foremost apostle of + Liberty in the Western world, the General + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">452</a></span> + who tamed the savage tribes, who + braved the elements, who brought to their knees the minions of a despot + king.” A slight suspicion of a hiccough filled this gap. “Cast aside by an + ungrateful government, he is still unfaltering in his allegiance to the + people. May he lead our Legion victorious through the Spanish dominions.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vive la République</i>!” they shouted, draining their glasses. + “<i>Vive le citoyen général Clark!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Louisiana!” shouted Citizen Sullivan, warming, “Louisiana, groaning under + oppression and tyranny, is imploring us with uplifted hands. To those + remaining veteran patriots whose footsteps we followed to this distant + desert, and who by their blood and toil have converted it into a smiling + country, we now look. Under your guidance, Citizen General, we fought, we + bled—” + </p> + <p> + How far the Citizen Captain would have gone is problematical. I had + noticed a look of disgust slowly creeping into the Citizen Quartermaster's + eyes, and at this juncture he seized the Citizen Captain and thrust him + into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sacré vent!</i>” he exclaimed, “it is the + proclamation—he recites the proclamation! I see he have + participate in those handbill. Poof, the world + is to conquer,—let us not spik so much.” + </p> + <p> + “I give you one toast,” said the little Citizen Gignoux, slyly, “we all + bring back one wife from <i>Nouvelle Orléans</i>!” + </p> + <p><a name="Page_452-T1" id="Page_452-T1"></a> + “Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gré, laughing, “the Citizen Captain + Depeau—he has already one wife in <i>Nouvelle Orléans.</i>” + <a href="#footer_3-2-1">¹</a> + </p> + <div class="footer"><a id="footer_3-2-1" name="footer_3-2-1"></a> + <a href="#Page_452-T1">¹</a> It is unnecessary for + the editor to remind the reader that these are not Mr. Ritchie's words, + but those of an adventurer. Mr. Depeau was an honest and worthy gentleman, + earnest enough in a cause which was more to his credit than to an + American's. According to contemporary evidence, Madame Depeau was in New + Orleans. + </div> + <p> + The Citizen Quartermaster was angry at this, and it did not require any + great perspicacity on my part to discover that he did not love the Citizen + de St. Gré. + </p> + <p> + “He is call in his country, Gumbo de St. Gré,” said Citizen Depeau. + “It is a deesh in that country. But to beesness, citizens,—we + embark on glorious enterprise. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">453</a></span> + The King and Queen of France, she pay for her treason + with their haids, and we must be prepare' for do the sem.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gré, “the Citizen Quartermaster will lose + his provision before his haid.” + </p> + <p> + The inference was plain, and the Citizen Quartermaster was quick to take + it up. + </p> + <p> + “We are all among frien's,” said he. “Why I call you Gumbo de St. + Gré? When I come first settle in Louisiane you was wild + man—yes. Drink tafia, fight duel, spend family money. Aristocrat + then. No, I not hold my tongue. You go France and Monsieur le Marquis de + St. Gré he get you in <i>gardes du corps</i> of the King. Yes, I + tell him. You tell the Citizen General how come you Jacobin now, and we + see if he mek you Captain.” + </p> + <p> + A murmur of surprise escaped from several of the company, and they all + stared at the Sieur de St. Gré. But General Clark brought down his fist on + the table with something of his old-time vigor, and the glasses rattled. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, I will have no quarrelling in my presence,” he cried; + “and I beg to inform Citizen Depeau that I bestow my commissions where + it pleases me.” + </p> + <p> + Auguste de St. Gré rose, flushing, to his feet. “Citizens,” he + said, with a fluency that was easy for him, “I never mek secret of my + history—no. It is true my relation, Monsieur le Marquis de St. Gré, + bought me a pair of colors in the King's <i>gardes du corps</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it not truth you tremple the coackade, what I hear from + Philadelphe?” cried Depeau. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Auguste smiled with a patient tolerance. + </p> + <p> + “If you hev pains to mek inquiry,” said he, “you must learn that I + join le Marquis de La Fayette and the National Guard. That I have since + fight for the Revolution. That I am come now home to fight for Louisiane, + as Monsieur Genêt will tell you whom I saw in Philadelphe.” + </p> + <p> + “The Citizen <i>Capitaine</i>—he spiks true.” + </p> + <p> + All eyes were turned towards Gignoux, who had been sitting back in his + chair, very quiet. + </p> + <p> + “It is true what he say,” he repeated, “I have it by Monsieur + Genêt himself.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">454</a></span> + “Gentlemen,” said General Clark, “this is beside the + question, and I will not have these petty quarrels. I may as well say + to you now that I have chosen the Citizen Captain to go at once to New + Orleans and organize a regiment among the citizens there faithful to + France. On account of his family and supposed Royalist tendencies he + will not be suspected. I fear that a month at least has yet to elapse + before our expedition can move.” + </p> + <p> + “It is one wise choice,” put in Monsieur Gignoux. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Monsieur le général</i> and gentlemen,” + said the Sieur de St. Gré, gracefully, “I thank you ver' + much for the confidence. I leave by first flatboat and will have all + things stir up when you come. The citizens of Louisiane await you. If + necessair, we have hole in levee ready to cut.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizens,” interrupted General Clark, sitting down before the ink-pot, + “let us hear the Quartermaster's report of the supplies at Knob Licks, and + Citizen Sullivan's account of the boats. But hold,” he cried, glancing + around him, “where is Captain Temple? I heard that he had come to + Louisville from the Cumberland to-day. Is he not going with you to New + Orleans, St. Gré?” + </p> + <p> + I took up the name involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Temple,” I repeated, while they stared at me. + “Nicholas Temple?” + </p> + <p> + It was Auguste de St. Gré who replied. + </p> + <p> + “The sem,” he said. “I recall he was along with you in <i>Nouvelle + Orléans.</i> He is at ze tavern, and he has had one gran' fight, + and he is ver'—I am sorry—intoxicate—”<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + I know not how I made my way through the black woods to Fort Finney, where + I discovered Jake Landrasse and his canoe. The road was long, and yet + short, for my brain whirled with the expectation of seeing Nick again, and + the thought of this poor, pathetic, ludicrous expedition compared to the + sublime one I had known. + </p> + <p> + George Rogers Clark had come to this! + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">455</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER III</a> + </h2> + <h3>Louisville celebrates</h3> + <p> + “<span class="smcap">They</span> have gran' time in Louisville to-night, + Davy,” said Jake Landrasse, as he paddled me towards the Kentucky + shore; “you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be stone deaf if I didn't,” I answered, for the shouting which + came from the town filled me with forebodings. + </p> + <p> + “They come back from the barbecue full of whiskey,” said Jake, “and a + young man at the tavern come out on the porch and he say, 'Get ready you + all to go to Louisiana! You been hole back long enough by tyranny.' Sam + Barker come along and say he a Federalist. They done have a gran' fight, + he and the young feller, and Sam got licked. He went at Sam just like a + harricane.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Them four wanted to leave,” said Jake, taking no trouble to disguise + his disgust, “and I had to fetch 'em over. I've got to go back and wait + for 'em now,” and he swore with sincere disappointment. “I reckon + there ain't been such a jamboree in town for years.” + </p> + <p> + Jake had not exaggerated. Gentlemen from Moore's Settlement, from + Sullivan's Station on the Bear Grass,—to be brief, the entire male + population of the county seemed to have moved upon Louisville after the + barbecue, and I paused involuntarily at the sight which met my eyes as I + came into the street. A score of sputtering, smoking pine-knots threw a + lurid light on as many hilarious groups, and revealed, fantastically + enough, the boles and lower branches of the big shade trees above them. + Navigation for the individual, difficult enough lower down, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">456</a></span> + in front of + the tavern became positively dangerous. There was a human eddy,—nay, + a maelstrom would better describe it. Fights began, but ended abortively + by reason of the inability of the combatants to keep their feet; one man + whose face I knew passed me with his hat afire, followed by several + companions in gusts of laughter, for the torch-bearers were careless and + burned the ears of their friends in their enthusiasm. Another person whom + I recognized lacked a large portion of the front of his attire, and seemed + sublimely unconscious of the fact. His face was badly scratched. Several + other friends of mine were indulging in brief intervals of rest on the + ground, and I barely avoided stepping on them. Still other gentlemen were + delivering themselves of the first impressive periods of orations, only to + be drowned by the cheers of their auditors. These were the snatches which + I heard as I picked my way onward with exaggerated fear:— + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, the Mississippi is ours, let the tyrants who forbid its use + beware!” “To hell with the Federal government!” “I tell you, + sirs, this land is ours. We have conquered it with our blood, and I reckon no + Spaniard is goin' to stop us. We ain't come this far to stand still. We + settled Kaintuck, fit off the redskins, and we'll march across the + Mississippi and on and on—” “To Louisiany!” they shouted, + and the whole crowd would take it up, “To Louisiany! Open the river!” + </p> + <p> + So absorbed was I in my own safety and progress that I did not pause to + think (as I have often thought since) of the full meaning of this, though + I had marked it for many years. The support given to Wilkinson's plots, to + Clark's expedition, was merely the outward and visible sign of the onward + sweep of a resistless race. In spite of untold privations and hardships, + of cruel warfare and massacre, these people had toiled over the mountains + into this land, and impatient of check or hindrance would, even as Clark + had predicted, when their numbers were sufficient leap the Mississippi. + Night or day, drunk or sober, they spoke of this thing with an ever + increasing vehemence, and no man of reflection who had read their history + could + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">457</a></span> + say that they would be thwarted. One day Louisiana would be theirs + and their children's for the generations to come. One day Louisiana would + be American. + </p> + <p> + That I was alive and unscratched when I got as far as the tavern is a + marvel. Amongst all the passion-lit faces which surrounded me I could get + no sight of Nick's, and I managed to make my way to a momentarily quiet + corner of the porch. As I leaned against the wall there, trying to think + what I should do, there came a great cheering from a little way up the + street, and then I straightened in astonishment. Above the cheering came + the sound of a drum beaten in marching time, and above that there burst + upon the night what purported to be the “Marseillaise,” taken up and + bawled by a hundred drunken throats and without words. Those around me who + were sufficiently nimble began to run towards the noise, and I ran after + them. And there, marching down the middle of the street at the head of a + ragged and most indecorous column of twos, in the centre of a circle of + light cast by a pine-knot which Joe Handy held, was Mr. Nicholas Temple. + His bearing, if a trifle unsteady, was proud, and—if I could believe + my eyes—around his neck was slung the thing which I prized above all + my possessions,—the drum which I had carried to Kaskaskia and + Vincennes! He had taken it from the peg in my room. + </p> + <p> + I shrink from putting on paper the sentimental side of my nature, and + indeed I could give no adequate idea of my affection for that drum. And + then there was Nick, who had been lost to me for five years! My impulse + was to charge the procession, seize Nick and the drum together, and drag + them back to my room; but the futility and danger of such a course were + apparent, and the caution for which I am noted prevented my undertaking + it. The procession, augmented by all those to whom sufficient power of + motion remained, cheered by the helpless but willing ones on the ground, + swept on down the street and through the town. Even at this late day I + shame to write it! Behold me, David Ritchie, Federalist, execrably sober, + at the head of the column behind the leader. Was it + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">458</a></span> + twenty minutes, or an + hour, that we paraded? This I know, that we slighted no street in the + little town of Louisville. What was my bearing,—whether proud or + angry or carelessly indifferent,—I know not. The glare of Joe + Handy's torch fell on my face, Joe Handy's arm and that of another + gentleman, the worse for liquor, were linked in mine, and they saw fit to + applaud at every step my conversion to the cause of Liberty. We passed + time and time again the respectable door-yards of my Federalist friends, + and I felt their eyes upon me with that look which the angels have for the + fallen. Once, in front of Mr. Wharton's house, Mr. Handy burned my hair, + apologized, staggered, and I took the torch! And I used it to good + advantage in saving the drum from capture. For Mr. Temple, with all the + will in the world, had begun to stagger. At length, after marching + seemingly half the night, they halted by common consent before the house + of a prominent Democrat who shall be nameless, and, after some minutes of + vain importuning, Nick, with a tattoo on the drum, marched boldly up to + the gate and into the yard. A desperate cunning came to my aid. I flung + away the torch, leaving the head of the column in darkness, broke from Mr. + Handy's embrace, and, seizing Nick by the arm, led him onward through the + premises, he drumming with great docility. Followed by a few stragglers + only (some of whom went down in contact with the trees of the orchard), we + came to a gate at the back which I knew well, which led directly into the + little yard that fronted my own rooms behind Mr. Crede's store. Pulling + Nick through the gate, I slammed it, and he was only beginning to protest + when I had him safe within my door, and the bolt slipped behind him. As I + struck a light something fell to the floor with a crash, an odor of + alcohol filled the air, and as the candle caught the flame I saw a + shattered whiskey bottle at my feet and a room which had been given over + to carousing. In spite of my feelings I could not but laugh at the + perfectly irresistible figure my cousin made, as he stood before me with + the drum slung in front of him. His hat was gone, his dust-covered clothes + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">459</a></span> + awry, but he smiled at me benignly and without a trace of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Sho you've come back at lasht, Davy,” he said. + “You're—you're very—irregular. + You'll lose—law bishness. Y-you're worse'n Andy Jackson—he's + always fightin'.” + </p> + <p> + I relieved him, unprotesting, of the drum, thanking my stars there was so + much as a stick left of it. He watched me with a silent and exaggerated + interest as I laid it on the table. From a distance without came the + shouts of the survivors making for the tavern. + </p> + <p> + “'Sfortunate you had the drum, Davy,” he said gravely, “'rwe'd had + no procession.” + </p> + <p> + “It is fortunate I have it now,” I answered, looking ruefully at the + battered rim where Nick had missed the skin in his ardor. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “funny thing—I didn't know you wash a Jacobite. + Sh'ou hear,” he added relevantly, “th' Andy Jackson was married?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, having no great interest in Mr. Jackson. “Where + have you been seeing him again?” + </p> + <p> + “Nashville on Cumberland. Jackson'sh county sholicitor,—devil of a + man. I'll tell you, Davy,” he continued, laying an uncertain hand on my + shoulder and speaking with great earnestness, “I had Chicashaw + horse—Jackson'd Virginia thoroughbred—had a race—'n'Jackson + wanted to shoot me 'n'I wanted to shoot Jackson. 'N'then we + all went to the Red Heifer—” + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce is the Red Heifer?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “'N'dishtillery over a shpring, 'n'they blow a horn when the liquor + runsh. 'N'then we had supper in Major Lewish's tavern. Major Lewis came + in with roast pig on platter. You know roast pig, Davy?… 'N'Jackson + pulls out's hunting knife n'waves it very mashestic.… You know how + mashestic Jackson is when he—wantshtobe?” He let go my shoulder, + brushed back his hair in a fiery manner, and, seizing a knife which + unhappily lay on the table, gave me a graphic illustration of Mr. Jackson + about to carve the pig, I retreating, and he coming on. “N'when he stuck + the pig, Davy,—” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">460</a></span> + He poised the knife for an instant in the air, and then, before I could + interpose, he brought it down deftly through the head of my precious drum, + and such a frightful, agonized squeal filled the room that even I shivered + involuntarily, and for an instant I had a vivid vision of a pig struggling + in the hands of a butcher. I laughed in spite of myself. But Nick regarded + me soberly. + </p> + <p> + “Funny thing, Davy,” he said, “they all left the room.” For a + moment he appeared to be ruminating on this singular phenomenon. Then + he continued: “'N'Jackson was back firsht, 'n'he was damned + impolite… 'n'he shook his fist in my face” (here Nick + illustrated Mr. Jackson's gesture), “'n'he said, 'Great God, sir, y'have + a fine talent, but if y'ever do that + again, I'll—I'll kill you.'… That'sh what he said, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been in Nashville, Nick?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “A year,” he said, “lookin' after property I won + rattle-an'-shnap—you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “And why didn't you let me know you were in Nashville?” I asked, though I + realized the futility of the question. + </p> + <p> + “Thought you was—mad at me,” he answered, “but you ain't, Davy. + You've been very good-natured t' let me have your drum.” He straightened. + “I am ver' much obliged.” + </p> + <p> + “And where were you before you went to Nashville?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Charleston, 'Napolis… Philadelphia… everywhere,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “'mgoin' t' bed.” + </p> + <p> + I applauded this determination, but doubted whether he meant to carry it + out. However, I conducted him to the back room, where he sat himself down + on the edge of my four-poster, and after conversing a little longer on the + subject of Mr. Jackson (who seemed to have gotten upon his brain), he + toppled over and instantly fell asleep with his clothes on. For a while I + stood over him, the old affection welling up so strongly within me + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">461</a></span> + that my + eyes were dimmed as I looked upon his face. Spare and handsome it was, and + boyish still, the weaker lines emphasized in its relaxation. Would that + relentless spirit with which he had been born make him, too, a wanderer + forever? And was it not the strangest of fates which had impelled him to + join this madcap expedition of this other man I loved, George Rogers + Clark? + </p> + <p> + I went out, closed the door, and lighting another candle took from my + portfolio a packet of letters. Two of them I had not read, having found + them only on my return from Philadelphia that morning. They were all + signed simply “Sarah Temple,” they were dated at a certain number in the + Rue Bourbon, New Orleans, and each was a tragedy in that which it had left + unsaid. There was no suspicion of heroics, there was no railing at fate; + the letters breathed but the one hope,—that her son might come again + to that happiness of which she had robbed him. There were in all but + twelve, and they were brief, for some affliction had nearly deprived the + lady of the use of her right hand. I read them twice over, and then, + despite the lateness of the hour, I sat staring at the candles, reflecting + upon my own helplessness. I was startled from this revery by a knock. + Rising hastily, I closed the door of my bedroom, thinking I had to do with + some drunken reveller who might be noisy. The knock was repeated. I + slipped back the bolt and peered out into the night. + </p> + <p> + “I saw dat light,” said a voice which I recognized; “I think I + come in to say good night.” + </p> + <p> + I opened the door, and he walked in. + </p> + <p> + “You are one night owl, Monsieur Reetchie,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And you seem to prefer the small hours for your visits, Monsieur de St. + Gré,” I could not refrain from replying. + </p> + <p> + He swept the room with a glance, and I thought a shade of disappointment + passed over his face. I wondered whether he were looking for Nick. He sat + himself down in my chair, stretched out his legs, and regarded me with + something less than his usual complacency. + </p> + <p> + “I have much laik for you, Monsieur Reetchie,” he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">462</a></span> + began, and waved aside + my bow of acknowledgment “Before I go away from Louisville I want to spik + with you,—this is a risson why I am here. You listen to what dat + Depeau he say,—dat is not truth. My family knows you, I laik to have + you hear de truth.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and while I wondered what revelations he was about to make, I + could not repress my impatience at the preamble. + </p> + <p> + “You are my frien', you have prove it,” he continued. “You remember + las' time we meet?” (I smiled involuntarily.) “You was in bed, but + you not need be ashame' for me. Two days after I went to France, and I + not in New Orleans since.” + </p> + <p> + “Two days after you saw me?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yaas, I run away. That was the mont' of August, 1789, and we have not + then heard in New Orleans that the Bastille is attack. I lan' at La + Havre,—it is the en' of Septembre. I go to the Château de St. + Gré—great iron gates, long avenue of poplar,—big house + all 'round a court, and Monsieur le Marquis is at Versailles. I borrow + three louis from the <i>concierge</i>, and I go to Versailles to the hotel + of Monsieur le Marquis. There is all dat trouble what you read about + going on, and Monsieur le Marquis he not so glad to see me for dat risson. + '<i>Mon cher Auguste,</i>' he cry, 'you want to be <i>officier</i> in + <i>gardes du corps</i>? You are not afred?'” (Auguste stiffened.) + “'I am a St. Gré, Monsieur le Marquis. I am afred of nothings,' + I answered. He tek me to the King, I am made <i>lieutenant</i>, the mob + come and the King and Queen are carry off to Paris. The King is prisoner, + Monsieur le Marquis goes back to the Château de St. Gré. + France is a republic. Monsieur—<i>que voulez-vous?</i>” + (The Sieur de St. Gré shrugged his shoulders.) “I, too, become + Republican. I become <i>officier</i> in the National Guard,—one + must move with the time. Is it not so, Monsieur? I deman' of you if you + ever expec' to see a St. Gré a Republican.” + </p> + <p> + I expressed my astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I give up my right, my principle, my family. I come + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">463</a></span> + to America—I go to New Orleans where I have influence and I stir up + revolution for France, for Liberty. Is it not noble cause?” + </p> + <p> + I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask Monsieur Auguste why he left + France, but the uselessness of it was apparent. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Monsieur, I am justify before you, before my frien's,—that + is all I care,” and he gave another shrug in defiance of the world at + large. “What I have done, I have done for principle. If I remain Royalist, + I might have marry my cousin, Mademoiselle de St. Gré. Ha, Monsieur, you + remember—the miniature you were so kin' as to borrow me four hundred + livres?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It is because I have much confidence in you, Monsieur,” he said, + “it is because I go—<i>peut-être</i>—to dangere, + to death, that I come here and ask you to do me a favor.” + </p> + <p> + “You honor me too much, Monsieur,” I answered, though I could scarce + refrain from smiling. + </p> + <p> + "It is because of your charactair," Monsieur Auguste was good enough to + say. "You are to be repose' in, you are to be rely on. Sometime I think + you ver' ole man. And this is why, and sence you laik objects of art, that + I bring this and ask you keep it while I am in dangere." + </p> + <p> + I was mystified. He thrust his hand into his coat and drew forth an oval + object wrapped in dirty paper, and then disclosed to my astonished eyes + the miniature of Mademoiselle de St. Gré,—the miniature, I say, for + the gold back and setting were lacking. Auguste had retained only the + ivory,—whether from sentiment or necessity I will not venture. The + sight of it gave me a strange sensation, and I can scarcely write of the + anger and disgust which surged over me, of the longing to snatch it from + his trembling fingers. Suddenly I forgot Auguste in the lady herself. + There was something emblematical in the misfortune which had bereft the + picture of its setting. Even so the Revolution had taken from her a + brilliant life, a king and queen, home and friends. Yet the spirit + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">464</a></span> + remained unquenchable, set above its mean surroundings,—ay, and + untouched by them. I was filled with a painful curiosity to know what had + become of her, which I repressed. Auguste's voice aroused me. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Monsieur, is it not a face to love, to adore?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a face to obey,” I answered, with some heat, and with more truth + than I knew. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>, Monsieur, it is so. It is that mek me love—you + know not how. You know not what love is, Monsieur Reetchie, you never love + laik me. You have not sem risson. Monsieur,” he continued, leaning + forward and putting his hand on my knee, “I think she love me—I + am not sure. I should not be surprise'. But Monsieur le Marquis, her + father, he trit me ver' bad. Monsieur le Marquis is guillotine' now, I + mus' not spik evil of him, but he marry her to one ol' + <i>garçon</i>, Le Vicomte d'Ivry-le-Tour.” + </p> + <p> + “So Mademoiselle is married,” I said after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui</i>, she is Madame la Vicomtesse now; I fall at her feet jus' + the sem. I hear of her once at Bel Oeil, the château of Monsieur le + Prince de Ligne in Flander'. After that they go I know not where. They are + exile',—los' to me.” He sighed, and held out the miniature to me. + “Monsieur, I esk you favor. Will you be as kin' and keep it for me + again?” + </p> + <p> + I have wondered many times since why I did not refuse. Suffice it to say + that I took it. And Auguste's face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “I am a thousan' times gret'ful,” he cried; and added, as though with an + afterthought, “Monsieur, would you be so kin' as to borrow me fif' + dollars?” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">465</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER IV</a> + </h2> + <h3>Of a Sudden Resolution</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">It</span> was nearly morning when I fell asleep in my + chair, from sheer + exhaustion, for the day before had been a hard one, even for me. I awoke + with a start, and sat for some minutes trying to collect my scattered + senses. The sun streamed in at my open door, the birds hopped on the lawn, + and the various sounds of the bustling life of the little town came to me + from beyond. Suddenly, with a glimmering of the mad events of the night, I + stood up, walked uncertainly into the back room, and stared at the bed. + </p> + <p> + It was empty. I went back into the outer room; my eye wandered from the + shattered whiskey bottle, which was still on the floor, to the table + littered with Mrs. Temple's letters. And there, in the midst of them, lay + a note addressed with my name in a big, unformed hand. I opened it + mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Davy,”—so it ran,—"I have gone away, I cannot + tell you where. Some day I will come back and you will forgive me. + God bless you! + <span class="movetoright">NICK."</span> + </p> + <p> + He had gone away! To New Orleans? I had long ceased trying to account for + Nick's actions, but the more I reflected, the more incredible it seemed to + me that he should have gone there, of all places. And yet I had had it + from Clark's own lips (indiscreet enough now!) that Nick and St. + Gré were to prepare the way for an insurrection there. My thoughts + ran on to other possibilities; would he see his mother? But he had no + reason to know that Mrs. Temple was still in New Orleans. Then my glance + fell on her letters, lying open on the table. Had he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">466</a></span> + read them? I put this down as improbable, for he was a man who held + strictly to a point of honor. + </p> + <p> + And then there was Antoinette de St. Gré! I ceased to conjecture + here, dashed some water in my eyes, pulled myself together, and, seizing + my hat, hurried out into the street. I made a sufficiently indecorous + figure as I ran towards the water-side, barely nodding to my acquaintances + on the way. It was a fresh morning, a river breeze stirred the waters of + the Bear Grass, and as I stood, scanning the line of boats there, I heard + footsteps behind me. I turned to confront a little man with grizzled, + chestnut eyebrows. He was none other than the Citizen Gignoux. + </p> + <p> + “You tek ze air, Monsieur Reetchie?” said he. “You look for some + one, yes? You git up too late see him off.” + </p> + <p> + I made a swift resolve never to quibble with this man. + </p> + <p> + “So Mr. Temple has gone to New Orleans with the Sieur de St. + Gré,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Citizen Gignoux laid a fat finger on one side of his great nose. The nose + was red and shiny, I remember, and glistened in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said he, “'tis no use tryin' hide from you. However, Monsieur + Reetchie, you are the ver' soul of honor. And then your frien'! I know you + not betray the Sieur de St. Gré. He is ver' fon' of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Betray!” I exclaimed; “there is no question of betrayal. As far + as I can see, your plans are carried on openly, with a fine contempt for + the Federal government.” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis not my doin',” he said, “but I am—what you call + it?—a cipher. Sicrecy is what I believe. But drink too much, talk + too much—is it not so, Monsieur? And if Monsieur le Baron de + Carondelet, ze governor, hear they are in New Orleans, I think they go to + Havana or Brazil.” He smiled, but perhaps the expression of my face + caused him to sober abruptly. “It is necessair for the cause. We must + have good Revolution in Louisiane.” + </p> + <p> + A suspicion of this man came over me, for a childlike simplicity + characterized the other ringleaders in this expedition. Clark had had + acumen once, and lost it; St. Gré + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">467</a></span> + was a fool; Nick Temple was leading + purposely a reckless life; the Citizens Sullivan and Depeau had, to say + the least, a limited knowledge of affairs. All of these were responding + more or less sincerely to the cry of the people of Kentucky (every day + more passionate) that something be done about Louisiana. But Gignoux + seemed of a different feather. Moreover, he had been too shrewd to deny + what Colonel Clark would have denied in a soberer moment,—that St. + Gré and Nick had gone to New Orleans. + </p> + <p> + “You not spik, Monsieur. You not think they have success. You are not + Federalist, no, for I hear you march las' night with your frien',—I + hear you wave torch.” + </p> + <p> + “You make it your business to hear a great deal, Monsieur Gignoux,” I + retorted, my temper slipping a little. + </p> + <p> + He hastened to apologize. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mille pardons</i>, Monsieur,” he said; “I see you are + Federalist—but drunk. Is it not so? Monsieur, you tink this ver' + silly thing—this expedition.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever I think, Monsieur,” I answered, “I am a friend of General + Clark's.” + </p> + <p> + “An enemy of ze cause?” he put in. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” I said, “if President Washington and General Wayne do + not think it worth while to interfere with your plans, neither do I.” + </p> + <p> + I left him abruptly, and went back to my long-delayed affairs with a heavy + heart. The more I thought, the more criminally foolish Nick's journey + seemed to me. However puerile the undertaking, De Lemos at Natchez and + Carondelet at New Orleans had not the reputation of sleeping at their + posts, and their hatred for Americans was well known. I sought General + Clark, but he had gone to Knob Licks, and in my anxiety I lay awake at + night, tossing in my bed. + </p> + <p> + One evening, perhaps four days after Nick's departure, I went into the + common room of the tavern, and there I was surprised to see an old friend. + His square, saffron face was just the same, his little jet eyes snapped as + brightly as ever, his hair—which was swept high above his forehead + and tied in an eelskin behind—was as black as when I had seen it at + Kaskaskia. I had met Monsieur + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">468</a></span> + Vigo many times since, for he was a familiar + figure amongst the towns of the Ohio and the Mississippi, and from + Vincennes to Anse à la Graisse, and even to New Orleans. His + reputation as a financier was greater than ever. He was talking to my + friend, Mr. Marshall, but he rose when he saw me, with a beaming smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, it is Davy,” he cried, “but not the sem lil drummer boy who + would not come into my store. Reech lawyer now,—I hear you make much + money now, Davy.” + </p> + <p> + “Congress money?” I said. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Vigo threw out his hands, and laughed exactly as he had done in + his log store at Kaskaskia. + </p> + <p> + “Congress have never repay me one sou,” said Monsieur Vigo, making a + face. “I have try—I have talk—I have represent—it is + no good. Davy, it is your fault. You tell me tek dat money. You call dat + finance?” + </p> + <p> + “David,” said Mr. Marshall, sharply, “what the devil is this I hear + of your carrying a torch in a Jacobin procession?” + </p> + <p> + “You may put it down to liquor, Mr. Marshall,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must have had a cask, egad,” said Mr. Marshall, “for I + never saw you drunk.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not attempt to explain it, sir,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You must not allow your drum to drag you into bad company again,” + said he, and resumed his conversation. As I suspected, it was a vigorous + condemnation of General Clark and his new expedition. I expressed my + belief that the government did not regard it seriously, and would forbid + the enterprise at the proper time. + </p> + <p> + “You are right, sir,” said Mr. Marshall, bringing down his fist on + the table. “I have private advices from Philadelphia that the + President's consideration for Governor Shelby is worn out, and that he + will issue a proclamation within the next few days warning all citizens at + their peril from any connection with the pirates.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact, Mr. Marshall,” said I, “Citizen + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">469</a></span> + Genêt has been liberal with nothing except commissions, and they + have neither money nor men.” + </p> + <p> + “The rascals have all left town,” said Mr. Marshall. “Citizen + Quartermaster Depeau, their local financier, has gone back to his store at + Knob Licks. The Sieur de St. Gré and a Mr. Temple, as doubtless you + know, have gone to New Orleans. And the most mysterious and therefore the + most dangerous of the lot, Citizen Gignoux, has vanished like an evil + spirit. It is commonly supposed that he, too, has gone down the river. You + may see him, Vigo,” said Mr. Marshall, turning to the trader; “he is + a little man with a big nose and grizzled chestnut eyebrows.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I know a lil 'bout him,” said Monsieur Vigo; “he was on my + boat two days ago, asking me questions.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil he was!” said Mr. Marshall. + </p> + <p> + I had another disquieting night, and by the morning I had made up my mind. + The sun was glinting on the placid waters of the river when I made my way + down to the bank, to a great ten-oared keel boat that lay on the Bear + Grass, with its square sail furled. An awning was stretched over the deck, + and at a walnut table covered with papers sat Monsieur Vigo, smoking his + morning pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” said he, “you have come <i>à la bonne heure</i>. At + ten I depart for New Orleans.” He sighed. “It is so long voyage,” + he added, “and so lonely one. Sometime I have the good fortune to pick + up a companion, but not to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to go with you?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted,” he said, “but you mek a jest.” + </p> + <p> + “I was never more serious in my life,” I answered, “for I have + business in New Orleans. I shall be ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha,” cried Monsieur Vigo, hospitably, “I shall be enchant. We will + talk philosophe, Beaumarchais, Voltaire, Rousseau.” + </p> + <p> + For Monsieur Vigo was a great reader, and we had often indulged in + conversation which (we flattered ourselves) had a literary turn. + </p> + <p> + I spent the remaining hours arranging with a young lawyer of my + acquaintance to look after my business, and at + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">470</a></span> + ten o'clock I was aboard + the keel boat with my small baggage. At eleven, Monsieur Vigo and I were + talking “<i>philosophe</i>” over a wonderful breakfast under the + awning, as we dropped down between the forest-lined shores of the Ohio. My + host travelled in luxury, and we ate the Creole dishes, which his cook + prepared, with silver forks which he kept in a great chest in the cabin. + </p> + <p> + You who read this may feel something of my impatience to get to New + Orleans, and hence I shall not give a long account of the journey. What a + contrast it was to that which Nick and I had taken five years before in + Monsieur Gratiot's fur boat! Like all successful Creole traders, Monsieur + Vigo had a wonderful knack of getting on with the Indians, and often when + we tied up of a night the chief men of a tribe would come down to greet + him. We slipped southward on the great, yellow river which parted the + wilderness, with its sucks and eddies and green islands, every one of + which Monsieur knew, and I saw again the flocks of water-fowl and herons + in procession, and hawks and vultures wheeling in their search. Sometimes + a favorable wind sprang up, and we hoisted the sail. We passed the Walnut + Hills, the <i>Nogales</i>, the moans of the alligators broke our sleep by + night, and at length we came to Natchez, ruled over now by that watch-dog + of the Spanish King, Gayoso de Lemos. Thanks to Monsieur Vigo, his manners + were charming and his hospitality gracious, and there was no trouble + whatever about my passport. + </p> + <p> + Our progress was slow when we came at last to the belvedered plantation + houses amongst the orange groves; and as we sat on the wide galleries in + the summer nights, we heard all the latest gossip of the capital of + Louisiana. The river was low; there was an ominous quality in the heat + which had its effect, indeed, upon me, and made the old Creoles shake + their heads and mutter a word with a terrible meaning. New Orleans was a + cesspool, said the enlightened. The Baron de Carondelet, indefatigable + man, aimed at digging a canal to relieve the city of its filth, but this + would be the year when it was most needed, and it was not dug. Yes, + Monsieur le Baron was energy + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">471</a></span> + itself. That other fever—the political + one—he had scotched. “Ça Ira” and “La Marseillaise” + had been sung in the theatres, but not often, for the Baron had sent the + alcaldes to shut them up. Certain gentlemen of French ancestry had gone to + languish in the Morro at Havana. Yes, Monsieur de Carondelet, though fat, + was on horseback before dawn, New Orleans was fortified as it never had + been before, the militia organized, real cannon were on the ramparts which + could shoot at a pinch. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sub rosa</i>, I found much sympathy among the planters with the Rights + of Man. What had become, they asked, of the expedition of Citizen General + Clark preparing in the North? They may have sighed secretly when I painted + it in its true colors, but they loved peace, these planters. Strangely + enough, the name of Auguste de St. Gré never crossed their lips, + and I got no trace of him or Nick at any of these places. Was it possible + that they might not have come to New Orleans after all? + </p> + <p> + Through the days, when the sun beat upon the awning with a tropical + fierceness, when Monsieur Vigo abandoned himself to his siestas, I + thought. It was perhaps characteristic of me that I waited nearly three + weeks to confide in my old friend the purpose of my journey to New + Orleans. It was not because I could not trust him that I held my tongue, + but because I sought some way of separating the more intimate story of + Nick's mother and his affair with Antoinette de St. Gré from the + rest of the story. But Monsieur Vigo was a man of importance in Louisiana, + and I reflected that a time might come when I should need his help. One + evening, when we were tied up under the oaks of a bayou, I told him. There + emanated from Monsieur Vigo a sympathy which few men possess, and this I + felt strongly as he listened, breaking his silence only at long intervals + to ask a question. It was a still night, I remember, of great beauty, with + a wisp of a moon hanging over the forest line, the air heavy with odors + and vibrant with a thousand insect tones. + </p> + <p> + “And what you do, Davy?” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + “I must find my cousin and St. Gré before they have a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">472</a></span> + chance to get into + much mischief,” I answered. “If they have already made a noise, I + thought of going to the Baron de Carondelet and telling him what I know of + the expedition. He will understand what St. Gré is, and I will + explain that Mr. Temple's reckless love of adventure is at the bottom of + his share in the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon</i>, Davy,” said my host, “if you go, I go with you. But + I believe ze Baron think Morro good place for them jus' the sem. Ze Baron + has been make <i>misérable</i> with Jacobins. But I go with you + if you go.” + </p> + <p> + He discoursed for some time upon the quality of the St. Gré's, their + public services, and before he went to sleep he made the very just remark + that there was a flaw in every string of beads. As for me, I went down + into the cabin, surreptitiously lighted a candle, and drew from my pocket + that piece of ivory which had so strangely come into my possession once + more. The face upon it had haunted me since I had first beheld it. The + miniature was wrapped now in a silk handkerchief which Polly Ann had + bought for me in Lexington. Shall I confess it?—I had carefully + rubbed off the discolorations on the ivory at the back, and the picture + lacked now only the gold setting. As for the face, I had a kind of + consolation from it. I seemed to draw of its strength when I was tired, of + its courage when I faltered. And, during those four days of indecision in + Louisville, it seemed to say to me in words that I could not evade or + forget, “Go to New Orleans.” It was a sentiment—foolish, if you + please—which could not resist. Nay, which I did not try to resist, + for I had little enough of it in my life. What did it matter? I should + never see Madame la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour. + </p> + <p> + She was Hélène to me; and the artist had caught the strength + of her soul in her clear-cut face, in the eyes that flashed with wit and + courage,—eyes that seemed to look with scorn upon what was mean in + the world and untrue, with pity on the weak. Here was one who might have + governed a province and still have been a woman, one who had taken into + exile the best of safeguards against misfortune,—humor and an + indomitable spirit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">473</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER V</a> + </h2> + <h3>The House of the Honecombed Tiles</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">As</span> long as I live I shall never forget that + Sunday morning of my second + arrival at New Orleans. A saffron heat-haze hung over the river and the + city, robbed alike from the yellow waters of the one and the pestilent + moisture of the other. It would have been strange indeed if this capital + of Louisiana, brought hither to a swamp from the sands of Biloxi many + years ago by the energetic Bienville, were not visited from time to time + by the scourge! + </p> + <p> + Again I saw the green villas on the outskirts, the verdure-dotted expanse + of roofs of the city behind the levee bank, the line of Kentucky boats, + keel boats and barges which brought our own resistless commerce hither in + the teeth of royal mandates. Farther out, and tugging fretfully in the + yellow current, were the aliens of the blue seas, high-hulled, their + tracery of masts and spars shimmering in the heat: a full-rigged ocean + packet from Spain, a barque and brigantine from the West Indies, a rakish + slaver from Africa with her water-line dry, discharged but yesterday of a + teeming horror of freight. I looked again upon the familiar rows of trees + which shaded the gravelled promenades where Nick had first seen + Antoinette. Then we were under it, for the river was low, and the + dingy-uniformed officer was bowing over our passports beneath the awning. + We walked ashore, Monsieur Vigo and I, and we joined a staring group of + keel boatmen and river-men under the willows. + </p> + <p> + Below us, the white shell walks of the Place d'Armes were thronged with + gayly dressed people. Over their heads rose the fine new Cathedral, built + by the munificence of Don Andreas Almonaster, and beside that the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">474</a></span> + many-windowed, heavy-arched Cabildo, nearly finished, which will stand for + all time a monument to Spanish builders. + </p> + <p> + “It is Corpus Christi day,” said Monsieur Vigo; “let us go and see + the procession.” + </p> + <p> + Here once more were the bright-turbaned negresses, the gay Creole gowns + and scarfs, the linen-jacketed, broad-hatted merchants, with those of + soberer and more conventional dress, laughing and chatting, the children + playing despite the heat. Many of these people greeted Monsieur Vigo. + There were the saturnine, long-cloaked Spaniards, too, and a greater + number than I had believed of my own keen-faced countrymen lounging about, + mildly amused by the scene. We crossed the square, and with the courtesy + of their race the people made way for us in the press; and we were no + sooner placed ere the procession came out of the church. Flaming soldiers + of the Governor's guard, two by two; sober, sandalled friars in brown, + priests in their robes,—another batch of color; crosses shimmering, + tapers emerging from the cool darkness within to pale by the light of day. + Then down on their knees to Him who sits high above the yellow haze fell + the thousands in the Place d'Armes. For here was the Host itself, + flower-decked in white and crimson, its gold-tasselled canopy upheld by + four tonsured priests, a sheen of purple under it,—the Bishop of + Louisiana in his robes. + </p> + <p> + “The Governor!” whispered Monsieur Vigo, and the word was passed from + mouth to mouth as the people rose from their knees. François Louis Hector, + Baron de Carondelet, resplendent in his uniform of colonel in the royal + army of Spain, his orders glittering on his breast,—pillar of + royalty and enemy to the Rights of Man! His eye was stern, his carriage + erect, but I seemed to read in his careworn face the trials of three years + in this moist capital. After the Governor, one by one, the waiting + Associations fell in line, each with its own distinguishing sash. So the + procession moved off into the narrow streets of the city, the people in + the Place dispersed to new vantage points, and Monsieur Vigo signed me to + follow him. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">475</a></span> + “I have a frien', <i>la veuve</i> Gravois, who lives ver' quiet. She have one + room, and I ask her tek you in, Davy.” He led the way through the empty + Rue Chartres, turned to the right at the Rue Bienville, and stopped before + an unpretentious house some three doors from the corner. Madame Gravois, + elderly, wizened, primp in a starched cotton gown, opened the door + herself, fell upon Monsieur Vigo in the Creole fashion; and within a + quarter of an hour I was installed in her best room, which gave out on a + little court behind. Monsieur Vigo promised to send his servant with my + baggage, told me his address, bade me call on him for what I wanted, and + took his leave. + </p> + <p> + First, there was Madame Gravois' story to listen to as she bustled about + giving orders to a kinky-haired negro girl concerning my dinner. Then came + the dinner, excellent—if I could have eaten it. The virtues of the + former Monsieur Gravois were legion. He had come to Louisiana from Toulon, + planted indigo, fought a duel, and Madame was a widow. So I condense two + hours into two lines. Happily, Madame was not proof against the habits of + the climate, and she retired for her siesta. I sought my room, almost + suffocated by a heat which defies my pen to describe, a heat reeking with + moisture sucked from the foul kennels of the city. I had felt nothing like + it in my former visit to New Orleans. It seemed to bear down upon my + brain, to clog the power of thought, to make me vacillating. Hitherto my + reasoning had led me to seek Monsieur de St. Gré, to count upon that + gentleman's common sense and his former friendship. But now that the time + had come for it, I shrank from such a meeting. I remembered his passionate + affection for Antoinette, I imagined that he would not listen calmly to + one who was in some sort connected with her unhappiness. So a kind of + cowardice drove me first to Mrs. Temple. She might know much that would + save me useless trouble and blundering. + </p> + <p> + The shadows of tree-top, thatch, and wall were lengthening as I walked + along the Rue Bourbon. Heedless of what the morrow might bring forth, the + street was given + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">476</a></span> + over to festivity. Merry groups were gathered on the + corners, songs and laughter mingled in the court-yards, billiard balls + clicked in the <i>cabarets</i>. A fat, jolly little Frenchman, surrounded by + tripping children, sat in his doorway on the edge of the <i>banquette</i>, + fiddling with all his might, pausing only to wipe the beads of + perspiration from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Clive, <i>mais oui, Monsieur, l' petite maison en face.</i>” + Smiling benignly at the children, he began to fiddle once more. + </p> + <p> + The little house opposite! Mrs. Temple, mistress of Temple Bow, had come + to this! It was a strange little home indeed, Spanish, one-story, its + dormers hidden by a honeycombed screen of terra-cotta tiles. This screen + was set on the extreme edge of the roof which overhung the <i>banquette</i> + and shaded the yellow adobe wall of the house. Low, unpretentious, the + latticed shutters of its two windows giving it but a scant air of + privacy,—indeed, they were scarred by the raps of careless + passers-by on the sidewalk. The two little battened doors, one step up, + were closed. I rapped, waited, and rapped again. The musician across the + street stopped his fiddling, glanced at me, smiled knowingly at the + children; and they paused in their dance to stare. Then one of the doors + was pushed open a scant four inches, a scarlet madras handkerchief + appeared in the crack above a yellow face. There was a long moment of + silence, during which I felt the scrutiny of a pair of sharp, black eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What yo' want, Marse?” + </p> + <p> + The woman's voice astonished me, for she spoke the dialect of the American + tide-water. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see Mrs. Clive,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + The door closed a shade. + </p> + <p> + “Mistis sick, she ain't see nobody,” said the woman. She closed the + door a little more, and I felt tempted to put my foot in the crack. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her that Mr. David Ritchie is here,” I said. + </p> + <p> + There was an instant's silence, then an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Lan' sakes, is you Marse Dave?” She opened the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">477</a></span> + door—furtively, I + thought—just wide enough for me to pass through. I found myself in a + low-ceiled, darkened room, opposite a trim negress who stood with her arms + akimbo and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave, you doan rec'lect me. I'se Lindy, I'se Breed's daughter. I + rec'lect you when you was at Temple Bow. Marse Dave, how you'se done + growed! Yassir, when I heerd from Miss Sally I done comed here to tek cyar + ob her.” + </p> + <p> + “How is your mistress?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She po'ly, Marse Dave,” said Lindy, and paused for adequate words. I took + note of this darky who, faithful to a family, had come hither to share her + mistress's exile and obscurity. Lindy was spare, energetic, forceful—and, + I imagined, a discreet guardian indeed for the unfortunate. “She po'ly, + Marse Dave, an' she ain' nebber leabe dis year house. Marse Dave,” said + Lindy earnestly, lowering her voice and taking a step closer to me, “I + done reckon de Mistis gwine ter die ob lonesomeness. She des sit dar an' + brood, an' brood—an' she use' ter de bes' company, to de quality. + No, sirree, Marse Dave, she ain' nebber sesso, but she tink 'bout de young + Marsa night an' day. Marse Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave, she have a lil pink frock dat Marsa Nick had when he was a + bebby. I done cotch Mistis lookin' at it, an' she hid it when she see me + an' blush like 'twas a sin. Marse Dave?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” I said again. + </p> + <p> + “Where am de young Marsa?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Lindy,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Lindy sighed. + </p> + <p> + “She done talk 'bout you, Marse Dave, an' how good you is—” + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Temple sees no one,” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dar's one lady come hyar ebery week, er French lady, but she speak + English jes' like the Mistis. Dat's my fault,” said Lindy, showing a line + of white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Your fault,” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">478</a></span> + “Yassir. When I comed here from Caroliny de Mistis done tole me not ter + let er soul in hyah. One day erbout three mont's ergo, dis yer lady come + en she des wheedled me ter let her in. She was de quality, Marse Dave, and + I was des' afeard not ter. I declar' I hatter. Hush,” said Lindy, putting + her fingers to her lips, “dar's de Mistis!” + </p> + <p> + The door into the back room opened, and Mrs. Temple stood on the + threshold, staring with uncertain eyes into the semi-darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Lindy,” she said, “what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sally—” Lindy began, and looked at me. But I could not speak + for looking at the lady in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she said again, and her hand sought the door-post + tremblingly. “Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + Then I went to her. At my first step she gave a little cry and swayed, and + had I not taken her in my arms I believe she would have fallen. + </p> + <p> + “David!” she said, “David, is it you? I—I cannot see very + well. Why did you not speak?” She looked at Lindy and smiled. “It is + because I am an old woman, Lindy,” and she lifted her hand to her + forehead. “See, my hair is white—I shock you, David.” + </p> + <p> + Leaning on my shoulder, she led me through a little bedroom in the rear + into a tiny garden court beyond, a court teeming with lavish colors and + redolent with the scent of flowers. A white shell walk divided the garden + and ended at the door of a low outbuilding, from the chimney of which blue + smoke curled upward in the evening air. Mrs. Temple drew me almost + fiercely towards a bench against the adobe wall. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” she said. “Where is he, David?” + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of the question staggered me; I hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + I could not look into her face and say it. The years of torment and + suffering were written there in characters not to be mistaken. Sarah + Temple, the beauty, was dead indeed. The hope which threatened to light + again the dead fires in the woman's eyes frightened me. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">479</a></span> + “Ah,” she said sharply, “you are deceiving me. It is not like you, David. + You are deceiving me. Tell me, tell me, for the love of God, who has + brought me to bear chastisement.” And she gripped my arm with a strength I + had not thought in her. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” I said, trying to calm myself as well as her. “Listen, Mrs. + Temple.” I could not bring myself to call her otherwise. + </p> + <p> + “You are keeping him away from me,” she cried. “Why are you keeping him + away? Have I not suffered enough? David, I cannot live long. I do not dare + to die—until he has forgiven me.” + </p> + <p> + I forced her, gently as I might, to sit on the bench, and I seated myself + beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” I said, with a sternness that hid my feelings, and perforce her + expression changed again to a sad yearning, “you must hear me. And you + must trust me, for I have never pretended. You shall see him if it is in + my power.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me so piteously that I was near to being unmanned. + </p> + <p> + “I will trust you,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen him,” I said. She started violently, but I laid my hand on + hers, and by some self-mastery that was still in her she was silent. “I + saw him in Louisville a month ago, when I returned from a year's visit to + Philadelphia.” I could not equivocate with this woman, I could no more + lie to her sorrow than to the Judgment. Why had I not foreseen her + question? + </p> + <p> + “And he hates me?” She spoke with a calmness now that frightened me more + than her agitation had done. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” I answered; “when I would have spoken to him he was + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “He was drunk,” she said. I stared at her in frightened wonderment. + “He was drunk—it is better than if he had cursed me. He did not + mention me? Or any one?” + </p> + <p> + “He did not,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face away. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, I will listen to you,” she said, and sat + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">480</a></span> + immovable through the + whole of my story, though her hand trembled in mine. And while I live I + hope never to have such a thing to go through with again. Truth held me to + the full, ludicrous tragedy of the tale, to the cheap character of my old + Colonel's undertaking, to the incident of the drum, to the conversation in + my room. Likewise, truth forbade me to rekindle her hope. I did not tell + her that Nick had come with St. Gré to New Orleans, for of this my own + knowledge was as yet not positive. For a long time after I had finished + she was silent. + </p> + <p> + “And you think the expedition will not get here?” she asked finally, in a + dead voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am positive of it,” I answered, “and for the sake of those who are + engaged in it, it is mercifully best that it should not. The day may + come,” I added, for the sake of leading her away, “when Kentucky will be + strong enough to overrun Louisiana. But not now.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me with a trace of her former fierceness. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you in New Orleans?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + A sudden resolution came to me then. + </p> + <p> + “To bring you back with me to Kentucky,” I answered. She shook her head + sadly, but I continued: “I have more to say. I am convinced that neither + Nick nor you will be happy until you are mother and son again. You have + both been wanderers long enough.” + </p> + <p> + Once more she turned away and fell into a revery. Over the housetop, from + across the street, came the gay music of the fiddler. Mrs. Temple laid her + hand gently on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, smiling, “I could not live for the journey.” + </p> + <p> + “You must live for it,” I answered. “You have the will. You must + live for it, for his sake.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and smiled at me with a courage which was the crown of + her sufferings. + </p> + <p> + “You are talking nonsense, David,” she said; “it is not like you. + Come,” she said, rising with something of her old manner, “I must + show you what I have been doing all these years. You must admire my + garden.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">481</a></span> + I followed her, marvelling, along the shell path, and there came unbidden + to my mind the garden at Temple Bow, where she had once been wont to sit, + tormenting Mr. Mason or bending to the tale of Harry Riddle's love. Little + she cared for flowers in those days, and now they had become her life. + With such thoughts in my mind, I listened unheeding to her talk. The place + was formerly occupied by a shiftless fellow, a tailor; and the court, now + a paradise, had been a rubbish heap. That orange tree which shaded the + uneven doorway of the kitchen she had found here. Figs, pomegranates, + magnolias; the camellias dazzling in their purity; the blood-red + oleanders; the pink roses that hid the crumbling adobe and climbed even to + the sloping tiles,—all these had been set out and cared for with her + own hands. Ay, and the fragrant bed of yellow jasmine over which she + lingered,—Antoinette's favorite flower. + </p> + <p> + Antoinette's flowers that she wore in her hair! In her letters Mrs. Temple + had never mentioned Antoinette, and now she read the question (perchance + purposely put there) in my eyes. Her voice faltered sadly. Scarce a week + had she been in the house before Antoinette had found her. + </p> + <p> + “I—I sent the girl away, David. She came without Monsieur de St. + Gré's knowledge, without his consent. It is natural that he thinks + me—I will not say what. I sent Antoinette away. She clung to me, she + would not go, and I had to be—cruel. It is one of the things which + make the nights long—so long. My sins have made her life unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you hear of her? She is not married?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, she is not married,” said Mrs. Temple, stooping over the jasmines. + Then she straightened and faced me, her voice shaken with earnestness. + “David, do you think that Nick still loves her?” + </p> + <p> + Alas, I could not answer that. She bent over the jasmines again. + </p> + <p> + “There were five years that I knew nothing,” she continued. + “I did not dare ask Mr. Clark, who comes to me + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">482</a></span> + on business, as you know. It was Mr. + Clark who brought back Lindy on one of his trips to Charleston. And then, + one day in March of this year, Madame de Montméry came.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame de Montméry?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “It is a strange story,” said Mrs. Temple. “Lindy had never + admitted any one, save Mr. Clark. One day early in the spring, when I was + trimming my roses by the wall there, the girl ran to me and said that a + lady wished to see me. Why had she let her in? Lindy did not know, she + could not refuse her. Had the lady demanded admittance? Lindy thought that + I would like to see her. David, it was a providential weakness, or + curiosity, that prompted me to go into the front room, and then I saw why + Lindy had opened the door to her. Who she is or what she is I do not know + to this day. Who am I now that I should inquire? I know that she is a + lady, that she has exquisite manners, that I feel now that I cannot live + without her. She comes every week, sometimes twice, she brings me little + delicacies, new seeds for my garden. But, best of all, she brings me + herself, and I am always counting the days until she comes again. Yes, + and I always fear that she, too, will be taken away from me.” + </p> + <p> + I had not heard the sound of voices, but Mrs. Temple turned, startled, and + looked towards the house. I followed her glance, and suddenly I knew that + my heart was beating. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">483</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER VI</a> + </h2> + <h3>Madame la Vicomtesse</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Hesitating</span> on the step, a lady stood in the + vine-covered doorway, a study + in black and white in a frame of pink roses. The sash at her waist, the + lace mantilla that clung about her throat, the deftly coiled hair with its + sheen of the night waters—these in black. The simple gown—a + tribute to the art of her countrywomen—in white. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple had gone forward to meet her, but I stood staring, marvelling, + forgetful, in the path. They were talking, they were coming towards me, + and I heard Mrs. Temple pronounce my name and hers—Madame de + Montméry. I bowed, she courtesied. There was a baffling light in + the lady's brown eyes when I dared to glance at them, and a smile playing + around her mouth. Was there no word in the two languages to find its way + to my lips? Mrs. Temple laid her hand on my arm. + </p> + <p> + “David is not what one might call a ladies' man, Madame,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you will frighten him with your wit,” answered Mrs. Temple, + smiling. “He is worth sparing.” + </p> + <p> + “He is worth frightening, then,” said the lady, in exquisite English, + and she looked at me again. + </p> + <p> + “You and David should like each other,” said Mrs. Temple; “you + are both capable persons, friends of the friendless and towers of + strength to the weak.” + </p> + <p> + The lady's face became serious, but still there was the expression I could + not make out. In an instant she seemed to have scrutinized me with a + precision from which there could be no appeal. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">484</a></span> + “I seem to know Mr. Ritchie,” she said, and added quickly: + “Mrs. Clive has talked a great deal about you. She has made you out a + very wonderful person.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Mrs. Temple, “the wonderful people of this world + are those who find time to comfort and help the unfortunate. That is why + you and David are wonderful. No one knows better than I how easy it is to + be selfish.” + </p> + <p> + “I have brought you an English novel,” said Madame de + Montoméry, turning abruptly to Mrs. Temple. “But you must not + read it at night. Lindy is not to let you have it until to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Mrs. Temple, gayly, to me, “Madame is not happy + unless she is controlling some one, and I am a rebellious subject.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not been taking care of yourself,” said Madame. She glanced + at me, and bit her lips, as though guessing the emotion which my visit had + caused. “Listen,” she said, “the vesper bells! You must go into the + house, and Mr. Ritchie and I must leave you.” + </p> + <p> + She took Mrs. Temple by the arm and led her, unresisting, along the path. + I followed, a thousand thoughts and conjectures spinning in my brain. They + reached the bench under the little tree beside the door, and stood talking + for a moment of the routine of Mrs. Temple's life. Madame, it seemed, had + prescribed a regimen, and meant to have it followed. Suddenly I saw Mrs. + Temple take the lady's arm, and sink down upon the bench. Then we were + both beside her, bending over her, she sitting upright and smiling at us. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” she said; “I am so easily tired.” + </p> + <p> + Her lips were ashen, and her breath came quickly. Madame acted with that + instant promptness which I expected of her. + </p> + <p> + “You must carry her in, Mr. Ritchie,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is only momentary, David,” said Mrs. Temple. I remember how + pitifully frail and light she was as I picked her up and followed Madame + through the doorway into the little bedroom. I laid Mrs. Temple on the + bed. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">485</a></span> + “Send Lindy here,” said Madame. + </p> + <p> + Lindy was in the front room with the negress whom Madame had brought with + her. They were not talking. I supposed then this was because Lindy did not + speak French. I did not know that Madame de Montméry's maid was a + mute. Both of them went into the bedroom, and I was left alone. The door + and windows were closed, and a green myrtle-berry candle was burning on + the table. I looked about me with astonishment. But for the low ceiling + and the wide cypress puncheons of the floor the room might have been a + budoir in a manor-house. On the slender-legged, polished mahogany table + lay books in tasteful bindings; a diamond-paned bookcase stood in the + corner; a <i>fauteuil</i> and various other chairs which might have come + from the hands of an Adam were ranged about. Tall silver candlesticks + graced each end of the little mantel-shelf, and between them were two + Lowestoft vases having the Temple coat of arms. + </p> + <p> + It might have been half an hour that I waited, now pacing the floor, now + throwing myself into the arm-chair by the fireplace. Anxiety for Mrs. + Temple, problems that lost themselves in a dozen conjectures, all + idle—these agitated me almost beyond my power of self-control. Once + I felt for the miniature, took it out, and put it back without looking at + it. At last I was startled to my feet by the opening of the door, and + Madame de Montméry came in. She closed the door softly behind her, + with the deft quickness and decision of movement which a sixth sense had + told me she possessed, crossed the room swiftly, and stood confronting me. + </p> + <p> + “She is easy again, now,” she said simply. “It is one of her + attacks. I wish you might have seen me before you told her what you had + to say to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish indeed that I had known you were here.” + </p> + <p> + She ignored this, whether intentionally, I know not. + </p> + <p> + “It is her heart, poor lady! I am afraid she cannot live long.” She + seated herself in one of the straight chairs. “Sit down, Mr. + Ritchie,” she said; “I am glad you waited. I wanted to talk with + you.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">486</a></span> + “I thought that you might, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She made no gesture, either of surprise or displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “So you knew,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you the moment you appeared in the doorway,” I replied. + It was not just what I meant to say. + </p> + <p> + There flashed over her face that expression of the miniature, the mouth + repressing the laughter in the brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Montméry is one of my husband's places,” she said. “When + Antoinette asked me to come here and watch over Mrs. Temple, I chose + the name.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mrs. Temple has never suspected you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not. She thinks I came at Mr. Clark's request. And being a lady, + she does not ask questions. She accepts me for what I appear to be.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed so strange to me to be talking here in New Orleans, in this + little Spanish house, with a French vicomtesse brought up near the court + of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette; nay, with Hélène de + St. Gré, whose portrait had twice come into my life by a kind of + strange fatality (and was at that moment in my pocket), that I could + scarce maintain my self-possession in her presence. I had given the + portrait, too, attributes and a character, and I found myself watching + the lady with a breathless interest lest she should fail in any of these. + In the intimacy of the little room I felt as if I had known her always, + and again, that she was as distant from me and my life as the court from + which she had come. I found myself glancing continually at her face, on + which the candle-light shone. The Vicomtesse might have been four and + twenty. Save for the soberer gown she wore, she seemed scarce older than + the young girl in the miniature who had the presence of a woman of the + world. Suddenly I discovered with a flush that she was looking at me + intently, without embarrassment, but with an expression that seemed to + hint of humor in the situation. To my astonishment, she laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “You are a very odd person, Mr. Ritchie,” she said. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">487</a></span> + “I have heard so much of you from Mrs. Temple, from Antoinette, that I + know something of your strange life. After all,” she added with a trace + of sadness, “it has been no stranger than my own. First I will answer + your questions, and then I shall ask some.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have asked no questions, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And you are a very simple person, Mr. Ritchie,” continued Madame la + Vicomtesse, smiling; “it is what I had been led to suppose. A serious + person. As the friend of Mr. Nicholas Temple, as the relation and (may I + say?) benefactor of this poor lady here, it is fitting that you should + know certain things. I will not weary you with the reasons and events + which led to my coming from Europe to New Orleans, except to say that I, + like all of my class who have escaped the horrors of the Revolution, am a + wanderer, and grateful to Monsieur de St. Gré for the shelter he + gives me. His letter reached me in England, and I arrived three months + ago.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated—nay, I should rather say paused, for there was little + hesitation in what she did. She paused, as though weighing what she was to + say next. + </p> + <p> + “When I came to Les Îles I saw that there was a sorrow weighing + upon the family; and it took no great astuteness on my part, Mr. Ritchie, + to discover that Antoinette was the cause of it. One has only to see + Antoinette to love her. I wondered why she had not married. And yet I saw + that there had been an affair. It seemed very strange to me, Mr. Ritchie, + for with us, you understand, marriages are arranged. Antoinette really has + beauty, she is the daughter of a man of importance in the colony, her + strength of character saves her from being listless. I found a girl with + originality of expression, with a sense of the fitness of things, devoted + to charitable works, who had not taken the veil. That was on her father's + account. As you know, they are inseparable. Monsieur Philippe de St. + Gré is a remarkable man, with certain vigorous ideas not in + accordance with the customs of his neighbors. It was he who first confided + in me that he would not force Antoinette + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">488</a></span> + to marry; it was she, at length, who told me + the story of Nicholas Temple and his mother.” She paused again, and, + reading between the lines, I perceived that Madame la Vicomtesse had + become essential to the household at Les Îles. Philippe de St. + Gré was not a man to misplace a confidence. + </p> + <p> + “It was then that I first heard of you, Mr. Ritchie, and of the part + which you played in that affair. It was then I had my first real insight + into Antoinette's character. Her affection for Mrs. Temple astonished me, + bewildered me. The woman had deceived her and her family, and yet + Antoinette gave up her lover because he would not take his mother back. + Had Mrs. Temple been willing to return to Les Îles after you had + providentially taken her away, they would have received her. Philippe de + St. Gré is not a man to listen to criticism. As it was, Antoinette + did not rest until she found where Mrs. Temple had hidden herself, and + then she came here to her. It is not for us to judge any of them. In + sending Antoinette away the poor lady denied herself the only consolation + that was left to her. Antoinette understood. Every week she has had news + of Mrs. Temple from Mr. Clark. And when I came and learned her trouble, + Antoinette begged me to come here and be Mrs. Temple's friend. Mr. + Ritchie, she is a very ill woman and a very sad woman,—the saddest + woman I have ever known, and I have seen many.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mademoiselle de St. Gré?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about this man for whom Antoinette has ruined her life,” + said Madame la Vicomtesse, brusquely. “Is he worth it? No, no man is + worth what she has suffered. What has become of him? Where is he? Did + you not tell her that you would bring him back?” + </p> + <p> + “I said that I would bring him back if I could,” I answered, + “and I meant it, Madame.” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse bit her lip. Had she known me better, she might have + smiled. As for me, I was wholly puzzled to account for these fleeting + changes in her humor. + </p> + <p> + “You have taken a great deal upon your shoulders, Mr. Ritchie,” + she said. “They are from all accounts broad + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">489</a></span> + ones. There, I was wrong to be indignant + in your presence,—you who seem to have spent your life in trying to + get others out of difficulties. Mercy,” she said, with a quick gesture + at my protest, “there are few men with whom one might talk thus in so + short an acquaintance. I love the girl, and I cannot help being angry with + Mr. Temple. I suppose there is something to be said on his side. Let us + hear it—I dare say he could not have a better advocate,” she + finished, with an indefinable smile. + </p> + <p> + I began at the wrong end of my narrative, and it was some time before I + had my facts arranged in proper sequence. I could not forget that Madame + la Vicomtesse was looking at me fixedly. I reviewed Nick's neglected + childhood; painted as well as I might his temperament and + character—his generosity and fearlessness, his recklessness and + improvidence. His loyalty to those he loved, his detestation of those he + hated. I told how, under these conditions, the sins and vagaries of his + parents had gone far to wreck his life at the beginning of it. I told how + I had found him again with Sevier, how he had come to New Orleans with me + the first time, how he had loved Antoinette, and how he had disappeared + after the dreadful scene in the garden at Les Îles, how I had not + seen him again for five years. Here I hesitated, little knowing how to + tell the Vicomtesse of that affair in Louisville. Though I had a sense + that I could not keep the truth from so discerning a person, I was + startled to find this to be so. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I understand,” she said quickly. “And in the morning he + had flown with that most worthy of my relatives, Auguste de St. + Gré.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her, finding no words to express my astonishment at this + perspicacity. + </p> + <p> + “And now what do you intend to do?” she asked. “Find him in New + Orleans, if you can, of course. But how?” She rose quickly, went to the + fireplace, and stood for a moment with her back to me. Suddenly she + turned. “It ought not to be difficult, after all. Auguste de St. + Gré is a fool, and he confirms what you say of the expedition. + He is, indeed, a pretty person to choose for an + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">490</a></span> + intrigue of this kind. And your cousin,—what shall we call him?” + </p> + <p> + “To say the least, secrecy is not Nick's forte,” I answered, catching + her mood. + </p> + <p> + She was silent awhile. + </p> + <p> + “It would be a blessing if Monsieur le Baron could hang Auguste + privately. As for your cousin, he may be worth saving, after all. I know + Monsieur de Carondelet, and he has no patience with conspirators of this + sort. I think he would not hesitate to make examples of them. However, + we will try to save them.” + </p> + <p> + “We!” I repeated unwittingly. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse looked at me and laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “you will do some things, I others. There are the + gaming clubs with their ridiculous names, <i>L'Amour, La Mignonne, La + Désirée</i>” (she counted them reflectively on her fingers). + “Both of our gentlemen might be tempted into one of these. You will drop + into them, Mr. Ritchie. Then there is Madame Bouvet's.” + </p> + <p> + “Auguste would scarcely go there,” I objected. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Madame la Vicomtesse, “but Madame Bouvet will know the + names of some of Auguste's intimates. This Bouvet is evidently a good + person, perhaps she will do more for you. I understand that she has a + weak spot in her heart for Auguste.” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse turned her back again. Had she heard how Madame + Bouvet had begged me to buy the miniature? + </p> + <p> + “Have you any other suggestions to make?” she said, putting a foot + on the fender. + </p> + <p> + “They have all been yours, so far,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And yet you are a man of action, of expedients,” she murmured, + without turning. “Where are your wits, Mr. Ritchie? Have you any + plan?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been so used to rely on myself, Madame,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “That you do not like to have your affairs meddled with by a woman,” + she said, into the fireplace. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">491</a></span> + “I give you the credit to believe that you are too clever to + misunderstand me, Madame,” I said. “You must know that your help + is most welcome.” + </p> + <p> + At that she swung around and regarded me strangely, mirth lurking in her + eyes. She seemed about to retort, and then to conquer the impulse. The + effect of this was to make me anything but self-complacent. She sat down + in the chair and for a little while she was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we do find them,” she said suddenly. “What shall we do + with them?” She looked up at me questioningly, seriously. “Is it + likely that your Mr. Temple will be reconciled with his mother? Is it + likely that he is still in love with Antoinette?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is likely that he is still in love with Mademoiselle de St. + Gré,” I answered, “though I have no reason for saying so.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very honest, Mr. Ritchie. We must look at this problem from all + sides. If he is not reconciled with his mother, Antoinette will not + receive him. And if he is, we have the question to consider whether he is + still worthy of her. The agents of Providence must not be heedless,” + she added with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure that Nick would alter his life if it became worth living,” + I said. “I will answer for that much.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he must be reconciled with his mother,” she replied with + decision. “Mrs. Temple has suffered enough. And he must be found before + he gets sufficiently into the bad graces of the Baron de + Carondelet,—these two things are clear.” She rose. + “Come here to-morrow evening at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + She started quickly for the bedroom door, but something troubled me still. + </p> + <p> + “Madame—” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, turning quickly. + </p> + <p> + I did not know how to begin. There were many things I wished to say, to + know, but she was a woman whose mind seemed to leap the chasms, whose + words touched only upon those points which might not be understood. She + regarded me with seeming patience. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">492</a></span> + “I should think that Mrs. Temple might have recognized you,” + I said, for want of a better opening. + </p> + <p> + “From the miniature?” she said. + </p> + <p> + I flushed furiously, and it seemed to burn me through the lining of my + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “That was my salvation,” she said. “Mrs. Temple has never seen the + miniature. I have heard how you rescued it, Mr. Ritchie,” she added, + with a curious smile. “Monsieur Philippe de St. Gré told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he knew?” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you that you are a very simple person,” she said. + “Even you are not given to intrigues. I thank you for rescuing me.” + </p> + <p> + I flushed more hotly than before. + </p> + <p> + “I never expected to see you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been a shock,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I was dumb. I had my hand in my coat; I fully intended to give her the + miniature. It was my plain duty. And suddenly, overwhelmed, I remembered + that it was wrapped in Polly Ann's silk handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse remained for a moment where she was. + </p> + <p> + “Do not do anything until the morning,” she said. “You must go back + to your lodgings at once.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be to lose time,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You must think of yourself a little,” she said. “Do as I say. I + have heard that two cases of the yellow fever have broken out this + afternoon. And you, who are not used to the climate, must not be out + after dark.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I am used to it,” she replied; “I have been here three months. + Lest anything should happen, it might be well for you to give me your + address.” + </p> + <p> + “I am with Madame Gravois, in the Rue Bienville.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Gravois, in the Rue Bienville,” she repeated. “I shall + remember. <i>À demain, Monsieur</i>.” She courtesied and went + swiftly into Mrs. Temple's room. Seizing my hat, I opened the door and + found myself in the dark street. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">493</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER VII</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Disposal of the Sieur de St. Gré</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I had</span> met Hélène de St. + Gré at last. And what a fool she must think me! As I hurried along + the dark banquettes this thought filled my brain for a time to the + exclusion of all others, so strongly is vanity ingrained in us. After + all, what did it matter what she thought,—Madame la Vicomtesse + d'Ivry-le-Tour? I had never shone, and it was rather late to begin. But + I possessed, at least, average common sense, and I had given no proof + even of this. + </p> + <p> + I wandered on, not heeding the command which she had given me,—to go + home. The scent of camellias and magnolias floated on the heavy air of the + night from the court-yards, reminding me of her. Laughter and soft voices + came from the galleries. Despite the Terror, despite the <i>Faubourg + Saint-Antoine</i>, despite the Rights of Man and the wars and suffering + arising therefrom, despite the scourge which might come to-morrow, life + went gayly on. The cabarets echoed, and behind the tight blinds lines of + light showed where the Creole gentry gamed at their tables, perchance in + the very clubs Madame la Vicomtesse had mentioned. + </p> + <p> + The moon, in her first quarter, floated in a haze. Washed by her light, + the quaintly wrought balconies and heavy-tiled roofs of the Spanish + buildings, risen from the charred embers, took on a touch of romance. I + paused once with a twinge of remembrance before the long line of the + Ursuline convent, with its latticed belfry against the sky. There was the + lodge, with its iron gates shut, and the wall which Nick had threatened to + climb. As I passed the great square of the new barracks, a sereno (so the + night watchmen were called) was crying the hour. I came + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">494</a></span> + to the rambling + market-stalls, casting black shadows on the river road,—empty now, + to be filled in the morning with shouting <i>marchands</i>. The promenade + under the willows was deserted, the great river stretched away under the + moon towards the forest line of the farther shore, filmy and indistinct. + A black wisp of smoke rose from the gunwale of a flatboat, and I stopped + to listen to the weird song of a negro, which I have heard many times + since. + </p> + <p class="center" style="padding-top:2em;"> + <a name="Page_494-T1" id="Page_494-T1"></a> + <span class="large;">CAROLINE.</span> + <a href="#Transcriber_Notes">†</a> + </p> + <p class="poem1"> + In, dé, tois, Ca-ro-line, Qui ci ça yé, comme <br /> + ça ma chére? In, dé, tois, Ca-ro-line, Quo <br /> + fair t'-apés cri—é ma chére? Mo l'-aimé + toé to <br /> + con-né ça, C'est to m'ou—lé, c'est to mo prend, + Mo <br /> + l'-aimé toé, to con-né ca — a c'est to + m'oulé c'est to mo prend. + </p> + <p> + Gaining the promenade, I came presently to the new hotel which had been + built for the Governor, with its balconied windows looking across the + river—the mansion of Monsieur le Baron de Carondelet. Even as I sat + on the bench in the shadow of the willows, watching the sentry who paced + before the arched entrance, I caught sight of a man stealing along the + banquette on the other + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">495</a></span> + side of the road. Twice he paused to look behind + him, and when he reached the corner of the street he stopped for some time + to survey the Governor's house opposite. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I was on my feet, every sense alert, staring. In the moonlight, + made milky by the haze, he was indistinct. And yet I could have taken oath + that the square, diminutive figure, with the head set forward on the + shoulders, was Gignoux's. If this man were not Gignoux, then the Lord had + cast two in a strange mould. + </p> + <p> + And what was Gignoux doing in New Orleans? As if in answer to the question + two men emerged from the dark archway of the Governor's house, passed the + sentry, and stood for an instant on the edge of the shadow. One wore a + long Spanish cloak, and the other a uniform that I could not make out. A + word was spoken, and then my man was ambling across to meet them, and the + three walked away up Toulouse Street. + </p> + <p> + I was in a fire of conjecture. I did not dare to pass the sentry and + follow them, so I made round as fast as I could by the Rue St. Pierre, + which borders the Place d'Armes, and then crossed to Toulouse again by + Chartres. The three were nowhere to be seen. I paused on the corner for + thought, and at length came to a reluctant but prudent conclusion that I + had best go back to my lodging and seek Monsieur early in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Madame Gravois was awaiting me. Was Monsieur mad to remain out at night? + Had Monsieur not heard of the yellow fever? Madame Gravois even had + prepared some concoction which she poured out of a bottle, and which I + took with the docility of a child. Monsieur Vigo had called, and there was + a note. A note? It was a small note. I glanced stupidly at the seal, + recognized the swan of the St. Gré crest, broke it, and + read:— + </p> + <p style="font-style:italic;"> + “Mr. Ritchie will confer a favor upon la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour if he + will come to Monsieur de St. Gré's house at eight to-morrow + morning.” + </p> + <p> + I bade the reluctant Madame Gravois good night, gained my room, threw off + my clothes, and covered myself with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">496</a></span> + the mosquito bar. There was no + question of sleep, for the events of the day and surmises for the morrow + tortured me as I tossed in the heat. Had the man been Gignoux? If so, he + was in league with Carondelet's police. I believed him fully capable of + this. And if he knew Nick's whereabouts and St. Gré's, they would + both be behind the iron gateway of the <i>calabozo</i> in the morning. + Monsieur Vigo had pointed out to me that day the gloomy, heavy-walled + prison in the rear of the Cabildo,—ay, and he had spoken of its + instruments of torture. + </p> + <p> + What could the Vicomtesse want? Truly (I thought with remorse) she had + been more industrious than I. + </p> + <p> + I fell at length into a fevered sleep, and awoke, athirst, with the light + trickling through my lattices. Contrary to Madame Gravois's orders, I had + opened the glass of my window. Glancing at my watch,—which I had + bought in Philadelphia,—I saw that the hands pointed to half after + seven. I had scarcely finished my toilet before there was a knock at the + door, and Madame Gravois entered with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand + and her bottle of medicine in the other. + </p> + <p> + “I did not wake Monsieur,” she said, “for he was tired.” + </p> + <p> + She gave me another dose of the medicine, made me drink two cups of + coffee, and then I started out with all despatch for the House of the + Lions. As I turned into the Rue Chartres I saw ahead of me four horses, + with their bridles bunched and held by a negro lad, waiting in the street. + Yes, they were in front of the house. There it was, with its solid green + gates between the lions, its yellow walls with the fringe of peeping + magnolias and oranges, with its green-latticed gallery from which Monsieur + Auguste had let himself down after stealing the miniature. I knocked at + the wicket, the same <i>gardienne</i> answered the call, smiled, led me + through the cool, paved archway which held in its frame the green of the + court beyond, and up the stairs with the quaint balustrade which I had + mounted five years before to meet Philippe de St. Gré. As I reached + the gallery Madame la Vicomtesse, gowned in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">497</a></span> + brown linen for riding, rose quickly from + her chair and came forward to meet me. + </p> + <p> + “You have news?” I asked, as I took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have the kind of news I expected,” she answered, a smile + tempering the gravity of her face; “Auguste is, as usual, in + need of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have found them,” I answered, my voice betraying my + admiration for the feat. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse shrugged her shoulders slightly. + </p> + <p> + “I did nothing,” she said. “From what you told me, I suspected that + as soon as Auguste reached Louisiana he would have a strong desire to go + away again. This is undoubtedly what has happened. In any event, I knew + that he would want money, and that he would apply to a source which has + hitherto never failed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Antoinette!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” answered Madame la Vicomtesse. “When I reached home last + night I questioned Antoinette, and I discovered that by a singular chance + a message from Auguste had already reached her.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” she replied. “But he will be behind the hedge of + the garden at Les Îles at eleven o'clock—unless he has lost + before then his love of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is to say—” + </p> + <p> + “He will be there unless he is dead. That is why I sent for you, + Monsieur.” She glanced at me. “Sometimes it is convenient to + have a man.” + </p> + <p> + I was astounded. Then I smiled, the affair was so ridiculously simple. + </p> + <p> + “And Monsieur de St. Gré?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Has been gone for a week with Madame to visit the estimable Monsieur + Poydras at Pointe Coupée.” Madame la Vicomtesse, who had better + use for her words than to waste them at such a time, left me, went to + the balcony, and began to give the <i>gardienne</i> in the court below + swift directions in French. Then she turned to me again. + </p> + <p> + “Are you prepared to ride with Antoinette and me to Les + Îles, Monsieur?” she asked. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">498</a></span> + “I am,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + It must have been my readiness that made her smile. Then her eyes rested + on mine. + </p> + <p> + “You look tired, Mr. Ritchie,” she said. “You did not obey me + and go home last night.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that?” I asked, with a thrill at her interest. + </p> + <p> + “Because Madame Gravois told my messenger that you were out.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent. + </p> + <p> + “You must take care of yourself,” she said briefly. “Come, there + are some things which I wish to say to you before Antoinette is ready.” + </p> + <p> + She led me toward the end of the gallery, where a bright screen of + morning-glories shaded us from the sun. But we had scarce reached the + place ere the sound of steps made us turn, and there was Mademoiselle + Antoinette herself facing us. I went forward a few steps, hesitated, and + bowed. She courtesied, my name faltering on her lips. Yes, it was + Antoinette, not the light-hearted girl whom we had heard singing “<i>Ma + luron</i>” in the garden, but a woman now with a strange beauty that + astonished me. Hers was the dignity that comes from unselfish service, the + calm that is far from resignation, though the black veil caught up on her + <i>chapeau de paille</i> gave her the air of a Sister of Mercy. Antoinette + had inherited the energies as well as the features of the St. + Gré's, yet there was a painful moment as she stood there, striving + to put down the agitation the sight of me gave her. As for me, I was + bereft of speech, not knowing what to say or how far to go. My last + thought was of the remarkable quality in this woman before me which had + held her true to Mrs. Temple, and which sent her so courageously to her + duty now. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse, as I had hoped, relieved the situation. She knew how + to broach a dreaded subject. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie is going with us, Antoinette,” she said. + “It is perhaps best to explain everything to him before we start. I was + about to tell you, Mr. Ritchie,” she continued, turning to me, “that + Auguste has given no hint + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">499</a></span> + in his note of Mr. Temple's presence in Louisiana. And yet you told me + that they were to have come here together.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “and I have no reason to think they have + separated.” + </p> + <p> + “I was merely going to suggest,” said the Vicomtesse, firmly, + “I was merely going to suggest the possibility of our meeting + Mr. Temple with Auguste.” + </p> + <p> + It was Antoinette who answered, with a force that revealed a new side of + her character. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple will not be there,” she said, flashing a glance upon us. + “Do you think he would come to me—?” + </p> + <p> + Hélène laid her hand upon the girl's arm. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I think nothing,” she said quietly; “but it is best for + us to be prepared against any surprise. Remember that I do not know Mr. + Temple, and that you have not seen him for five years.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not like him, you know it is not like him,” exclaimed + Antoinette, looking at me. + </p> + <p> + “I know it is not like him, Mademoiselle,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse, from behind the girl, gave me a significant look. + </p> + <p> + “This occurred to me,” she went on in an undisturbed tone, “that Mr. + Temple might come with Auguste to protest against the proceeding,—or + even to defend himself against the imputation that he was to make use of + this money in any way. I wish you to realize, Antoinette, before you + decide to go, that you may meet Mr. Temple. Would it not be better to let + Mr. Ritchie go alone? I am sure that we could find no better emissary.” + </p> + <p> + “Auguste is here,” said Antoinette. “I must see him.” Her voice + caught. “I may never see him again. He may be ill, he may be + starving—and I know that he is in trouble. Whether” (her voice + caught) “whether Mr. Temple is with him or not, I mean to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it would be well to start,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + Deftly dropping her veil, she picked up a riding whip that lay on the + railing and descended the stairs to the courtyard. Antoinette and I + followed. As we came through the archway I saw André, Monsieur de + St. Gré's mulatto, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">500</a></span> + holding open the wicket for us to pass. He helped the + ladies to mount the ponies, lengthened my own stirrups for me, swung into + the saddle himself, and then the four of us were picking our way down the + Rue Chartres at an easy amble. Turning to the right beyond the cool garden + of the Ursulines, past the yellow barracks, we came to the river front + beside the fortifications. A score of negroes were sweating there in the + sun, swinging into position the long logs for the palisades, nearly + completed. They were like those of Kaskaskia and our own frontier forts in + Kentucky, with a forty-foot ditch in front of them. Seated on a horse + talking to the overseer was a fat little man in white linen who pulled off + his hat and bowed profoundly to the ladies. His face gave me a start, and + then I remembered that I had seen him only the day before, resplendent, + coming out of church. He was the Baron de Carondelet. + </p> + <p> + There was a sentry standing under a crape-myrtle where the Royal Road ran + through the gateway. Behind him was a diminutive five-sided brick fort + with a dozen little cannon on top of it. The sentry came forward, brought + his musket to a salute, and halted before my horse. + </p> + <p> + “You will have to show your passport,” murmured Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + I drew the document from my pocket. It was signed by De Lemos, and duly + countersigned by the officer of the port. The man bowed, and I passed on. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange, silent ride through the stinging heat to Les Îles, + the brown dust hanging behind us like a cloud, to settle slowly on the + wayside shrubbery. Across the levee bank the river was low, listless, + giving off hot breath like a monster in distress. The forest pools were + cracked and dry, the Spanish moss was a haggard gray, and under the sun + was the haze which covered the land like a saffron mantle. At times a + listlessness came over me such as I had never known, to make me forget the + presence of the women at my side, the very errand on which we rode. From + time to time I was roused into admiration of the horsemanship of Madame + la Vicomtesse, for the restive Texas pony which she rode was stung to + madness by the flies. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">501</a></span> + As for Antoinette, she glanced neither right nor left through her + veil, but rode unmindful of the way, heedless of heat and discomfort, + erect, motionless save for the easy gait of her horse. At length we turned + into the avenue through the forest, lined by wild orange trees, came in + sight of the low, belvedered plantation house, and drew rein at the foot + of the steps. Antoinette was the first to dismount, and passed in silence + through the group of surprised house servants gathering at the door. I + assisted the Vicomtesse, who paused to bid the negroes disperse, and we + lingered for a moment on the gallery together. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Antoinette!” she said, “I wish we might have saved her + this.” She looked up at me. “How she defended him!” she + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “She loves him,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there is no help for it,” she said. “But it is very + difficult not to be angry with Mr. Temple. The girl cared for his mother, + gave her a home, clung to her when he and the world would have cast her + off, sacrificed her happiness for them both. If I see him, I believe I + shall shake him. And if he doesn't fall down on his knees to her, I shall + ask the Baron to hang him. We must bring him to his senses, Mr. Ritchie. + He must not leave Louisiana until he sees her. Then he will marry her.” + She paused, scrutinized me in her quick way, and added: “You see that I + take your estimation of his character. You ought to be flattered.” + </p> + <p> + “I am flattered by any confidence you repose in me, Madame la + Vicomtesse.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. I was not flattered then, but cursed myself for the quaint + awkwardness in my speech that amused her. And she was astonishingly quick + to perceive my moods. + </p> + <p> + “There, don't be angry. You will never be a courtier, my honest friend, + and you may thank God for it. How sweet the shrubs are! Your chief + business in life seems to be getting people out of trouble, and I am going + to help you with this case.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">502</a></span> + It was my turn to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to help!” I exclaimed. “My services have been heavy, + so far.” + </p> + <p> + “You should not walk around at night,” she replied irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I remembered Gignoux, but even as I was about to tell her of the + incident Antoinette appeared in the doorway. She was very pale, but her + lips were set with excitement and her eyes shone strangely. She was still + in her riding gown, in her hand she carried a leather bag, and behind her + stood André with a bundle. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” she said; “we are wasting time, and he may be gone.” + </p> + <p> + Checking an exclamation which could hardly have been complimentary to + Auguste, the Vicomtesse crossed quickly to her and put her arm about her. + </p> + <p> + “We will follow you, <i>mignonne</i>,” she said in French. + </p> + <p> + “Must you come?” said Antoinette, appealingly. “He may not appear + if he sees any one.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to risk that,” said the Vicomtesse, dryly, with a + glance at me. “You shall not go alone, but we will wait a few moments + at the hedge.” + </p> + <p> + We took the well-remembered way through the golden-green light under the + trees, Antoinette leading, and the sight of the garden brought back to me + poignantly the scene in the moonlight with Mrs. Temple. There was no sound + save the languid morning notes of the birds and the humming of the bees + among the flowers as Antoinette went tremblingly down the path and paused, + listening, under the branches of that oak where I had first beheld her. + Then, with a little cry, we saw her run forward—into the arms of + Auguste de St. Gré. It was a pitiful thing to look upon. + </p> + <p> + Antoinette had led her brother to the seat under the oak. How long we + waited I know not, but at length we heard their voices raised, and without + more ado Madame la Vicomtesse, beckoning me, passed quickly through the + gap in the hedge and went towards them. I followed with André. + Auguste rose with an oath, and then stood + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">503</a></span> + facing his cousin like a man struck + dumb, his hands dropped. He was a sorry sight indeed, unshaven, unkempt, + dark circles under his eyes, clothes torn. + </p> + <p> + “Hélène! You here—in America!” he cried in + French, staring at her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Auguste,” she replied quite simply, “I am here.” He would + have come towards her, but there was a note in her voice which arrested + him. + </p> + <p> + “And Monsieur le Vicomte—Henri?” he said. + </p> + <p> + I found myself listening tensely for the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Henri is in Austria, fighting for his King, I hope,” said Madame la + Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “So Madame la Vicomtesse is a refugee,” he said with a bow and a smile + that made me very angry. + </p> + <p> + “And Monsieur de St. Gré!” I asked. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of my voice he started and gave back, for he had not + perceived me. He recovered his balance, such as it was, instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur seems to take an extraordinary interest in my affairs,” + he said jauntily. + </p> + <p> + “Only when they are to the detriment of other persons who are my + friends,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur has intruded in a family matter,” said Auguste, grandly, + still in French. + </p> + <p> + “By invitation of those most concerned, Monsieur,” I answered, for + I could have throttled him. + </p> + <p> + Auguste had developed. He had learned well that effrontery is often the + best weapon of an adventurer. He turned from me disdainfully, petulantly, + and addressed the Vicomtesse once more. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to be alone with Antoinette,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “I demand it,” said Auguste. + </p> + <p> + “The demand is not granted,” said the Vicomtesse; “that is why we + have come. Your sister has already made enough sacrifices for you. I know + you, Monsieur Auguste de St. Gré,” she continued with quiet + contempt. “It is not for love of Antoinette that you have sought this + meeting. It is because,” she said, riding down a torrent of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">504</a></span> + words which began to escape from him, “it is because you are in a + predicament, as usual, and you need money.” + </p> + <p> + “Hélène!” + </p> + <p> + It was Antoinette who spoke. She had risen, and was standing behind + Auguste. She still held the leather bag in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the sum is not enough,” she said; “he has to get to + France. Perhaps we could borrow more until my father comes home.” + She looked questioningly at us. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse was truly a woman of decision. Without more ado she + took the bag from Antoinette's unresisting hands and put it into mine. I + was no less astonished than the rest of them. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie will keep this until the negotiations are finished,” + said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Negotiations!” cried Auguste, beside himself. “This is insolence, + Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, sir,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Auguste!” cried Antoinette, putting her hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you tell them?” he demanded, turning on her. + </p> + <p> + “Because I trust them, Auguste,” Antoinette answered. She spoke + without anger, as one whose sorrow has put her beyond it. Her speech had a + dignity and force which might have awed a worthier man. His disappointment + and chagrin brought him beyond bounds. + </p> + <p> + “You trust them!” he cried, “you trust them when they tell you to + give your brother, who is starving and in peril of his life, eight hundred + livres? Eight hundred livres, <i>pardieu</i>, and your brother!” + </p> + <p> + “It is all I have, Auguste,” said his sister, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” he said dramatically, “I see, they seek my destruction. + This man”—pointing at me—“is a Federalist, and Madame + la Vicomtesse”—he bowed ironically—“is a Royalist.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” said the Vicomtesse, impatiently, “it would be an easy + matter to have you sent to the Morro—a word to Monsieur de + Carondelet, Auguste. Do you believe for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">505</a></span> + a moment that, in your father's absence, I + would have allowed Antoinette to come here alone? And it was a happy + circumstance that I could call on such a man as Mr. Ritchie to come with + us.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that Mr. Ritchie and his friends have already brought + sufficient misfortune on the family.” + </p> + <p> + It was a villanous speech. Antoinette turned away, her shoulders + quivering, and I took a step towards him; but Madame la Vicomtesse made a + swift gesture, and I stopped, I know not why. She gave an exclamation so + sharp that he flinched physically, as though he had been struck. But it + was characteristic of her that when she began to speak, her words cut + rather than lashed. + </p> + <p> + “Auguste de St. Gré,” she said, “I know you. The Tribunal is + merciful compared to you. There is no one on earth whom you would not + torture for your selfish ends, no one whom you would not sell without + compunction for your pleasure. There are things that a woman should not + mention, and yet I would tell them without shame to your face were it not + for your sister. If it were not for her, I would not have you in my + presence. Shall I speak of your career in France? There is Valenciennes, + for example—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly. The man was gray, but not on his account did the + Vicomtesse stay her speech. She forgot him as though he did not exist, and + by one of those swift transitions which thrilled me had gone to the + sobbing Antoinette and taken her in her arms, murmuring endearments of + which our language is not capable. I, too, forgot Auguste. But no rebuke, + however stinging, could make him forget himself, and before we realized it + he was talking again. He had changed his tactics. + </p> + <p> + “This is my home,” he said, “where I might expect shelter and + comfort. You make me an outcast.” + </p> + <p> + Antoinette disengaged herself from Hélène with a cry, but + he turned away from her and shrugged. + </p> + <p> + “A stranger would have fared better. Perhaps you will have more + consideration for a stranger. There is a French ship at the <i>Terre aux + Bœufs</i> in the English Turn, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">506</a></span> + which sails to-night. I appeal to you, Mr. Ritchie,”—he was + still talking in French—“I appeal to you, who are a man of + affairs,”—and he swept me a bow,—“if a captain + would risk taking a fugitive to France for eight hundred livres? + <i>Pardieu</i>, I could get no farther than the Balize for that. + Monsieur,” he added meaningly, “you have an interest in this. + There are two of us to go.” + </p> + <p> + The amazing effrontery of this move made me gasp. Yet it was neither the + Vicomtesse nor myself who answered him. We turned by common impulse to + Antoinette, and she was changed. Her breath came quickly, her eyes + flashed, her anger made her magnificent. + </p> + <p> + “It is not true,” she cried, “you know it is not true.” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his shoulders and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You are my brother, and I am ashamed to acknowledge you. I was willing + to give my last sou, to sell my belongings, to take from the poor to help + you—until you defamed a good man. You cannot make me believe,” + she cried, unheeding the color that surged into her cheeks, “you cannot + make me believe that he would use this money. You cannot make me believe + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us do him the credit of thinking that he means to repay it,” + said Auguste. + </p> + <p> + Antoinette's eyes filled with tears,—tears of pride, of humiliation, + ay, and of an anger of which I had not thought her capable. She was indeed + a superb creature then, a personage I had not imagined. Gathering up her + gown, she passed Auguste and turned on him swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “If you were to bring that to him,” she said, pointing to the bag in + my hand, “he would not so much as touch it. To-morrow I shall go to the + Ursulines, and I thank God I shall never see you again. I thank God I + shall no longer be your sister. Give Monsieur the bundle,” she said to + the frightened André, who still stood by the hedge; “he may need + food and clothes for his journey.” + </p> + <p> + She left us. We stood watching her until her gown had disappeared amongst + the foliage. André came forward and held out the bundle to Auguste, + who took it mechanically. Then Madame La Vicomtesse motioned to André + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">507</a></span> + to + leave, and gave me a glance, and it was part of the deep understanding of + her I had that I took its meaning. I had my forebodings at what this last + conversation with Auguste might bring forth, and I wished heartily that we + were rid of him. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de St. Gré,” I said, “I understood you to say + that a ship is lying at the English Turn some five leagues below us, on + which you are to take passage at once.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and glared at me, some devilish retort on his lips which he held + back. Suddenly he became suave. + </p> + <p> + “I shall want two thousand livres Monsieur; it was the sum I asked + for.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a question of what you asked for,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Since when did Monsieur assume this intimate position in my family?” + he said, glancing at the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de St. Gré,” I replied with difficulty, “you will + confine yourself to the matter in hand. You are in no situation to demand + terms; you must take or leave what is offered you. Last night the man + called Gignoux, who was of your party, was at the Governor's house.” + </p> + <p> + At this he started perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, I thought he was a traitor,” he cried. Strangely enough, he did + not doubt my word in this. + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised that your father's house has not been searched this + morning,” I continued, astonished at my own moderation. “The + sentiments of the Baron de Carondelet are no doubt known to you, and + you are aware that your family or your friends cannot save you if you + are arrested. You may have this money on two conditions. The first is + that you leave the province immediately. The second, that you reveal + the whereabouts of Mr. Nicholas Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is very kind,” he replied, and added the taunt, “and + well versed in the conduct of affairs of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Monsieur de St. Gré accept?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He threw out his hands with a gesture of resignation. + </p> + <p> + “Who am I to accept?” he said, “a fugitive, an outcast. And I + should like to remind Monsieur that time passes.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">508</a></span> + “It is a sensible observation,” said I, meaning that it was the + first. His sudden docility made me suspicious. “What preparations + have you made to go?” + </p> + <p> + “They are not elaborate, Monsieur, but they are complete. When I leave + you I step into a pirogue which is tied to the river bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” I replied. “And Mr. Temple?” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse smiled, for Auguste was fairly caught. He had not the + astuteness to be a rogue; oddly, he had the sense to know that he could + fool us no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Temple is at Lamarque's,” he answered sullenly. + </p> + <p> + I glanced questioningly at the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Lamarque is an old pensioner of Monsieur de St. Gré's,” said + she; “he has a house and an arpent of land not far below here.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Auguste, “and if Mr. Ritchie believes that he + will save money by keeping Mr. Temple in Louisiana instead of giving + him this opportunity to escape, it is no concern of mine.” + </p> + <p> + I reflected a moment on this, for it was another sensible remark. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed no concern of yours,” said Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” he said, “I take it that there are no further + conscientious scruples against my receiving this paltry sum.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you to your pirogue,” I answered, “when you + embark you shall have it.” + </p> + <p> + “I, too, will go,” said Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “You overwhelm me with civility, Madame,” said the Sieur de St. + Gré, bowing low. + </p> + <p> + “Lead the way, Monsieur,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He took his bundle, and started off down the garden path with a grand air. + I looked at the Vicomtesse inquiringly, and there was laughter in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I must show you the way to Lamarque's.” And then she whispered, + “You have done well, Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + I did not return her look, but waited until she took the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">509</a></span> + path ahead of me. + In silence we followed Auguste through the depths of the woods, turning + here and there to avoid a fallen tree or a sink-hole where the water still + remained. At length we came out in the glare of the sun and crossed the + dusty road to the levee bank. Some forty yards below us was the canoe, and + we walked to it, still in silence. Auguste flung in his bundle, and turned + to us. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Monsieur is satisfied,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I handed him the bag, and he took it with an elaborate air of + thankfulness. Nay, the rascal opened it as if to assure himself that he + was not tricked at the last. At the sight of the gold and silver which + Antoinette had hastily collected, he turned to Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Should I have the good fortune to meet Monsieur le Vicomte in France, I + shall assure him that Madame is in good hands” (he swept an exultant + look at me) “and enjoying herself.” + </p> + <p> + I could have flung him into the river, money-bag and all. But Madame la + Vicomtesse made him a courtesy there on the levee bank, and said + sweetly:— + </p> + <p> + “That is very good of you, Auguste.” + </p> + <p> + “As for you, Monsieur,” he said, and now his voice shook with + uncontrolled rage, “I am in no condition to repay your kindnesses. + But I have no doubt that you will not object to keeping the miniature + a while longer.” + </p> + <p> + I was speechless with anger and shame, and though I felt the eyes of the + Vicomtesse upon me, I dared not look at her. I heard Auguste but + indistinctly as he continued:— + </p> + <p> + “Should you need the frame, Monsieur, you will doubtless find it still + with Monsieur Isadore, the Jew, in the Rue Toulouse.” With that he + leaped into his boat, seized the paddle, and laughed as he headed into the + current. How long I stood watching him as he drifted lazily in the sun I + know not, but at length the voice of Madame la Vicomtesse aroused me. + </p> + <p> + “He is a pleasant person,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">510</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER VIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>At Lamarque's</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Until</span> then it seemed as if the sun had gotten + into my brain and set it on + fire. Her words had the strange effect of clearing my head, though I was + still in as sad a predicament as ever I found myself. There was the thing + in my pocket, still wrapped in Polly Ann's handkerchief. I glanced at the + Vicomtesse shyly, and turned away again. Her face was all repressed + laughter, the expression I knew so well. + </p> + <p> + “I think we should feel better in the shade, Mr. Ritchie,” she said + in English, and, leaping lightly down from the bank, crossed the road + again. I followed her, perforce. + </p> + <p> + “I will show you the way to Lamarque's,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + Had she no curiosity? Was she going to let pass what Auguste had hinted? + Lifting up her skirts, she swung round and faced me. In her eyes was a + calmness more baffling than the light I had seen there but a moment since. + How to begin I knew not, and yet I was launched. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse, there was once a certain miniature painted of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “By Boze, Monsieur,” she answered, readily enough. The embarrassment + was all on my side. “We spoke of it last evening. I remember well when + it was taken. It was the costume I wore at Chantilly, and Monsieur le + Prince complimented me, and the next day the painter himself came to our + hotel in the Rue de Bretagne and asked the honor of painting me.” She + sighed. “Ah, those were happy days! Her Majesty was very angry with + me.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” I asked, forgetful of my predicament. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">511</a></span> + “For sending it to Louisiana, to Antoinette.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did you send it?” + </p> + <p> + “A whim,” said the Vicomtesse. “I had always written twice a year + either to Monsieur de St. Gré or Antoinette, and although I had + never seen them, I loved them. Perhaps it was because they had the + patience to read my letters and the manners to say they liked them.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not, Madame,” I said. “Monsieur de St. Gré spoke + often to me of the wonderful pictures you drew of the personages at + court.” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse had an answer on the tip of her tongue. I know now + that she spared me. + </p> + <p> + “And what of this miniature, Monsieur?” she asked. “What became of + it after you restored it to its rightful owner?” + </p> + <p> + I flushed furiously and fumbled in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I obtained it again, Madame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You obtained it!” she cried, I am not sure to this day whether in + consternation or jest. In passing, it was not just what I wanted to say. + </p> + <p> + “I meant to give it you last night,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And why did you not?” she demanded severely. + </p> + <p> + I felt her eyes on me, and it seemed to me as if she were looking into my + very soul. Even had it been otherwise, I could not have told her how I had + lived with this picture night and day, how I had dreamed of it, how it had + been my inspiration and counsel. I drew it from my pocket, wrapped as it + was in the handkerchief, and uncovered it with a reverence which she must + have marked, for she turned away to pick a yellow flower by the roadside. + I thank Heaven that she did not laugh. Indeed, she seemed to be far from + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “You have taken good care of it, Monsieur,” she said. + “I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “It was not mine, Madame,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And if it had been?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange prompting. + </p> + <p> + “If it had been, I could have taken no better care of it,” + I answered, and I held it towards her. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">512</a></span> + She took it simply. + </p> + <p> + “And the handkerchief?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The handkerchief was Polly Ann's,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She stopped to pick a second flower that had grown by the first. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Polly Ann?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “When I was eleven years of age and ran away from Temple Bow after my + father died, Polly Ann found me in the hills. When she married Tom + McChesney they took me across the mountains into Kentucky with them. Polly + Ann has been more than a mother to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Madame la Vicomtesse. Then she looked at me with a stranger + expression than I had yet seen in her face. She thrust the miniature in + her gown, turned, and walked in silence awhile. Then she said:— + </p> + <p> + “So Auguste sold it again?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to have found a ready market only in you,” said the + Vicomtesse, without turning her head. “Here we are at Lamarque's.” + </p> + <p> + What I saw was a low, weather-beaten cabin on the edge of a clearing, and + behind it stretched away in prim rows the vegetables which the old + Frenchman had planted. There was a little flower garden, too, and an + orchard. A path of beaten earth led to the door, which was open. There we + paused. Seated at a rude table was Lamarque himself, his hoary head bent + over the cards he held in his hand. Opposite him was Mr. Nicholas Temple, + in the act of playing the ace of spades. I think that it was the laughter + of Madame la Vicomtesse that first disturbed them, and even then she had + time to turn to me. + </p> + <p> + “I like your cousin,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, St. Gré?” said Nick. “I wish to the devil you + would learn not to sneak. You frighten me. Where the deuce did you go + to?” + </p> + <p> + But Lamarque had seen the lady, stared at her wildly for a moment, and + rose, dropping his cards on the floor. He bowed humbly, not without + trepidation. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse!” he said. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">513</a></span> + By this time Nick had risen, and he, too, was staring at her. How he + managed to appear so well dressed was a puzzle to me. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he said, bowing, “I beg your pardon. I thought you were + that—I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand your feelings, sir,” answered the Vicomtesse as she + courtesied. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said Nick, and looked at her again. “Egad, I'll be hanged + if it's not—” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time I had seen the Vicomtesse in confusion. And indeed + if it were confusion she recovered instantly. + </p> + <p> + “You will probably be hanged, sir, if you do not mend your company,” + she said. “Do you not think so, Mr. Ritchie?” + </p> + <p> + “Davy!” he cried. And catching sight of me in the doorway, over her + shoulder, “Has he followed me here too?” Running past the Vicomtesse, + he seized me in his impulsive way and searched my face. “So you have + followed me here, old faithful! Madame,” he added, turning to the + Vicomtesse, “there is some excuse for my getting into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “What excuse, Monsieur?” she asked. She was smiling, yet looking at + us with shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The pleasure of having Mr. Ritchie get me out,” he answered. + “He has never failed me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are far from being out of this,” I said. “If the Baron de + Carondelet does not hang you or put you in the Morro, you will not have + me to thank. It will be Madame la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse!” exclaimed Nick, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “May I present to you, Madame, Mr. Nicholas Temple?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Nick bowed, and she courtesied again. + </p> + <p> + “So Monsieur le Baron is really after us,” said Nick. He opened his + eyes, slapped his knee, and laughed. “That may account for the Citizen + Captain de St. Gré's absence,” he said. “By the way, Davy, + you haven't happened by any chance to meet him?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">514</a></span> + The Vicomtesse and I exchanged a look of understanding. Relief was plain + on her face. It was she who answered. + </p> + <p> + “We have met him—by chance, Monsieur. He has just left for + <i>Terre aux Bœufs</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Terre aux Bœufs</i>! What the dev—I beg your pardon, + Madame la Vicomtesse, but you give me something of a surprise. Is there + another conspiracy at <i>Terre aux Bœufs</i>, or—does + somebody live there who has never before lent Auguste money?” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse laughed. Then she grew serious again. + </p> + <p> + “You did not know where he had gone?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I did not even know he had gone,” said Nick. “Citizen Lamarque + and I were having a little game of piquet—for vegetables. + Eh, citizen?” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse laughed again, and once more the shade of sadness + came into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “They are the same the world over,” she said,—not to me, nor + yet to any one there. And I knew that she was thinking of her own kind in + France, who faced the guillotine without sense of danger. She turned to + Nick. “You may be interested to know, Mr. Temple,” she added, + “that Auguste is on his way to the English Turn to take ship for + France.” + </p> + <p> + Nick regarded her for a moment, and then his face lighted up with that + smile which won every one he met, which inevitably made them smile back at + him. + </p> + <p> + “The news is certainly unexpected, Madame,” he said. “But then, + after one has travelled much with Auguste it is difficult to take a great + deal of interest in him. Am I to be sent to France, too?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not if it can be helped,” replied the Vicomtesse, seriously. + “Mr. Ritchie will tell you, however, that you are in no small danger. + Doubtless you know it. Monsieur le Baron de Carondelet considers that the + intrigues of the French Revolutionists in Louisiana have already robbed + him of several years of his life. He is not disposed to be lenient towards + persons connected with that cause.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">515</a></span> + “What have you been doing since you arrived here on this ridiculous + mission?” I demanded impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “My cousin is a narrow man, Madame la Vicomtesse,” said Nick. + “We enjoy ourselves in different ways. I thought there might be some + excitement in this matter, and I was sadly mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not over yet,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “And Davy,” continued Nick, bowing to me, “gets his pleasures and + excitement by extracting me from my various entanglements. Well, there is + not much to tell. St. Gré and I were joined above Natchez by that + little pig, Citizen Gignoux, and we shot past De Lemos in the night. Since + then we have been permitted to sleep—no more—at various + plantations. We have been waked up at barbarous hours in the morning and + handed on, as it were. They were all fond of us, but likewise they were + all afraid of the Baron. What day is to-day? Monday? Then it was on + Saturday that we lost Gignoux.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to think that he has already sold out to the Baron,” + I put in. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him in communication with the police at the Governor's hotel last + night,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Nick was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “that may make some excitement.” + Then he laughed. “I wonder why Auguste didn't think of doing that,” + he said. “And now, what?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get to this house?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “We came down on Saturday night, after we had lost Gignoux above the + city.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where you are?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not I,” said Nick. “I have been playing piquet with Lamarque + most of the time since I arrived. He is one of the pleasantest men I + have met in Louisiana, although a little taciturn, as you perceive, + and more than a little deaf. I think he does not like Auguste. He + seems to have known him in his youth.” + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse looked at him with interest. + </p> + <p> + “You are at Les Îles, Nick,” I said; “you are on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">516</a></span> + Monsieur de St. Gré's plantation, and within a quarter of a mile + of his house.” + </p> + <p> + His face became grave all at once. He seized me by both shoulders, and + looked into my face. + </p> + <p> + “You say that we are at Les Îles?” he repeated slowly. + </p> + <p> + I nodded, seeing the deception which Auguste had evidently practised in + order to get him here. Then Nick dropped his arms, went to the door, and + stood for a long time with his back turned to us, looking out over the + fields. When finally he spoke it was in the tone he used in anger. + </p> + <p> + “If I had him now, I think I would kill him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Auguste had deluded him in other things, had run away and deserted him in + a strange land. But this matter of bringing him to Les Îles was past + pardon. It was another face he turned to the Vicomtesse, a stronger face, + a face ennobled by a just anger. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse,” he said, “I have a vague notion that you + are related to Monsieur de St. Gré. I give you my word of honor + as a gentleman that I had no thought of trespassing upon him in any + way.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple, we were so sure of that—Mr. Ritchie and I—that + we should not have sought for you here otherwise,” she replied quickly. + Then she glanced at me as though seeking my approval for her next move. It + was characteristic of her that she did not now shirk a task imposed by her + sense of duty. “We have little time, Mr. Temple, and much to say. + Perhaps you will excuse us, Lamarque,” she added graciously, in French. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse!” said the old man. And, with the tact of his + race, he bowed and retired. The Vicomtesse seated herself on one of the + rude chairs, and looked at Nick curiously. There was no such thing as + embarrassment in her manner, no trace of misgiving that she would not move + properly in the affair. Knowing Nick as I did, the difficulty of the task + appalled me, for no man was likelier than he to fly off at a misplaced + word. + </p> + <p> + Her beginning was so bold that I held my breath, knowing full well as I + did that she had chosen the very note. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">517</a></span> + “Sit down, Mr. Temple,” she said. “I wish to speak to you about + your mother.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped like a man who had been struck, straightened, and stared at her + as though he had not taken her meaning. Then he swung on me. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother is in New Orleans,” I said. “I would have told you in + Louisville had you given me the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an interesting piece of news, David,” he answered, + “which you might have spared me. Mrs. Temple did not think herself + necessary to my welfare when I was young, and now I have learned to + live without her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no such thing as expiation, Monsieur?” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he said, “she made me what I am, and when I might have + redeemed myself she came between me and happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the Vicomtesse, “have you ever considered her + sufferings?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new interest. She was not so far beyond + his experience as mine. + </p> + <p> + “Her sufferings?” he repeated, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse should know them,” I interrupted; and without + heeding her glance of protest I continued, “It is she who has cared for + Mrs. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “You, Madame!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Do not deny your own share in it, Mr. Ritchie,” she answered. + “As for me, Monsieur,” she went on, turning to Nick, “I have done + nothing that was not selfish. I have been in the world, I have lived my + life, misfortunes have come upon me too. My visits to your mother have + been to me a comfort, a pleasure,—for she is a rare person.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never found her so, Madame,” he said briefly. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it is your misfortune rather than your fault, Mr. Temple. + It is because you do not know her now.” + </p> + <p> + Again he looked at me, puzzled, uneasy, like a man who would run if he + could. But by a kind of fascination his eyes went back to this woman who + dared a subject sore + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">518</a></span> + to the touch—who pressed it gently, but with + determination, never doubting her powers, yet with a kindness and sympathy + of tone which few women of the world possess. The Vicomtesse began to + speak again, evenly, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple,” said she, “I am merely going to tell you some things + which I am sure you do not know, and when I have finished I shall not + appeal to you. It would be useless for me to try to influence you, and + from what Mr. Ritchie and others have told me of your character I am sure + that no influence will be necessary. And,” she added, with a smile, + “it would be much more comfortable for us both if you sat down.” + </p> + <p> + He obeyed her without a word. No wonder Madame la Vicomtesse had had an + influence at court. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she said. “If any reference I am about to make gives you + pain, I am sorry.” She paused briefly. “After Mr. Ritchie took your + mother from here to New Orleans, some five years ago, she rented a little + house in the Rue Bourbon with a screen of yellow and red tiles at the edge + of the roof. It is on the south side, next to the corner of the Rue St. + Philippe. There she lives absolutely alone, except for a servant. Mr. + Clark, who has charge of her affairs, was the only person she allowed to + visit her. For her pride, however misplaced, and for her spirit we must + all admire her. The friend who discovered where she was, who went to her + and implored Mrs. Temple to let her stay, she refused.” + </p> + <p> + “The friend?” he repeated in a low tone. I scarcely dared to glance + at the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was Antoinette,” she answered. He did not reply, but his + eyes fell. “Antoinette went to her, would have comforted her, would have + cared for her, but your mother sent her away. For five years she has lived + there, Mr. Temple, alone with her past, alone with her sorrow and remorse. + You must draw the picture for yourself. If the world has a more terrible + punishment, I have not heard of it. And when, some months ago, I came, and + Antoinette sent me to her—” + </p> + <p> + “Sent you to her!” he said, raising his head quickly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">519</a></span> + “Under another name than my own,” Hélène continued, + apparently taking no notice of his interruption. She leaned toward him + and her voice faltered. “I found your mother dying.” + </p> + <p> + He said nothing, but got to his feet and walked slowly to the door, where + he stood looking out again. I felt for him, I would have gone to him then + had it not been for the sense in me that Hélène did not + wish it. As for Hélène, she sat waiting for him to turn + back to her, and at length he did. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is her heart, Mr. Temple, that we fear the most. Last night I thought + the end had come. It cannot be very far away now. Sorrow and remorse have + killed her, Monsieur. The one thing that she has prayed for through the + long nights is that she might see you once again and obtain your + forgiveness. God Himself does not withhold forgiveness, Mr. Temple,” + said the Vicomtesse, gently. “Shall any of us presume to?” + </p> + <p> + A spasm of pain crossed his face, and then his expression hardened. + </p> + <p> + “I might have been a useful man,” he said; “she ruined my + life—” + </p> + <p> + “And you will allow her to ruin the rest of it?” asked the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + He stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “If you do not go to her and forgive her, you will remember it until you + die,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He sank down on the chair opposite to her, his head bowed into his hands, + his elbows on the table among the cards. At length I went and laid my + hands upon his shoulder, and at my touch he started. Then he did a + singular thing, an impulsive thing, characteristic of the old Nick I had + known. He reached across the table and seized the hand of Madame la + Vicomtesse. She did not resist, and her smile I shall always remember. It + was the smile of a woman who has suffered, and understands. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to her, Madame!” he said, springing to his feet. + “I will go to her. I—I was wrong.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">520</a></span> + She rose, too, he still clinging to her hand, she still unresisting. His + eye fell upon me. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my hat, Davy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse withdrew her hand and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, it is not quite so simple as that, Mr. Temple,” she said; + “Monsieur de Carondelet has first to be reckoned with.” + </p> + <p> + “She is dying, you say? then I will go to her. After that Monsieur de + Carondelet may throw me into prison, may hang me, may do anything he + chooses. But I will go to her.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced anxiously at the Vicomtesse, well knowing how wilful he was when + aroused. Admiration was in her eyes, seeing that he was heedless of his + own danger. + </p> + <p> + “You would not get through the gates of the city. Monsieur le Baron + requires passports now,” she said. + </p> + <p> + At that he began to pace the little room, his hands clenched. + </p> + <p> + “I could use your passport, Davy,” he cried. “Let me have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mr. Temple, I do not think you could,” said the + Vicomtesse. I flushed. I suppose the remark was not to be resisted. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will go to-night,” he said, with determination. “It will + be no trouble to steal into the city. You say the house has yellow and red + tiles, and is near the Rue St. Philippe?” + </p> + <p> + Hélène laid her fingers on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Monsieur, there is a better way,” she said. “Monsieur + le Baron is doubtless very angry with you, and I am sure that this is + chiefly because he does not know you. For instance, if some one were to + tell him that you are a straightforward, courageous young man, a + gentleman with an unquenchable taste for danger, that you are not a + low-born adventurer and intriguer, that you have nothing in particular + against his government, he might not be quite so angry. Pardon me if I + say that he is not disposed to take your expedition any more seriously + than is your own Federal government. The little Baron + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">521</a></span> + is irascible, choleric, stern, or else + good-natured, good-hearted, and charitable, just as one happens to take + him. As we say in France, it is not well to strike flint and steel in his + presence. He might blow up and destroy one. Suppose some one were to go to + Monsieur de Carondelet and tell him what a really estimable person you + are, and assure him that you will go quietly out of his province at the + first opportunity, and be good, so far as he is concerned, forever after? + Mark me, I merely say <em>suppose</em>. I do not know how far things have + gone, or what he may have heard. But suppose a person whom I have reason + to believe he likes and trusts and respects, a person who understands + his vagaries, should go to him on such an errand.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is such a person to be found,” said Nick, amused in spite + of himself. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse courtesied. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, she is before you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” he cried, “do you mean to say, Madame, that you will go + to the Baron on my behalf?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as I ever get to town,” she said. “He will have to be + waked from his siesta, and he does not like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But he will forgive you,” said Nick, quick as a flash. + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to believe he will,” said Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” cried Nick, “he would not be flesh and blood if he + didn't.” + </p> + <p> + At that the Vicomtesse laughed, and her eye rested judicially on me. I was + standing rather glumly, I fear, in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to take him with you?” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of it,” said the Vicomtesse. “Mr. Ritchie knows + you, and he is such a reliable and reputable person.” + </p> + <p> + Nick bowed. + </p> + <p> + “You should have seen him marching in a Jacobin procession, Madame,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “He follows his friends into strange places,” she retorted. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">522</a></span> + “And now, Mr. Temple,” she added, “may we trust you to stay here + with Lamarque until you have word from us?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I cannot stay here,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “And why not, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were captured here, I should get Monsieur de St. Gré into + trouble; and besides,” he said, with a touch of coldness, “I cannot + be beholden to Monsieur de St. Gré. I cannot remain on his land.” + </p> + <p> + “As for getting Monsieur de St. Gré into trouble, his own son + could not involve him with the Baron,” answered Madame la Vicomtesse. + “And it seems to me, Monsieur, that you are already so far beholden to + Monsieur de St. Gré that you cannot quibble about going a little + more into his debt. Come, Mr. Temple, how has Monsieur de St. Gré + ever offended you?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, with an air not to be denied, “I believe I + can discern a point of honor as well as you. I fail to see that you have a + case.” + </p> + <p> + He was indeed no match for her. He turned to me appealingly, his brows + bent, but I had no mind to meddle. He swung back to her. + </p> + <p> + “But Madame—!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She was arranging the cards neatly on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you are tiresome,” she said. “What is it now?” + </p> + <p> + He took a step toward her, speaking in a low tone, his voice shaking. + But, true to himself, he spoke plainly. As for me, I looked on + frightened,—as though watching a contest,—almost agape to + see what a clever woman could do. + </p> + <p> + “There is—Mademoiselle de St. Gré—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is Mademoiselle de St. Gré,” repeated the + Vicomtesse, toying with the cards. + </p> + <p> + His face lighted, though his lips twitched with pain. + </p> + <p> + “She is still—” + </p> + <p> + “She is still Mademoiselle de St. Gré, Monsieur, if that is what + you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will she think if I stay here?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">523</a></span> + “Ah, do you care what she thinks, Mr. Temple?” said the Vicomtesse, + raising her head quickly. “From what I have heard, I should not have + thought you could.” + </p> + <p> + “God help me,” he answered simply, “I do care.” + </p> + <p> + Hélène's eyes softened as she looked at him, and my pride + in him was never greater than at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple,” she said gently, “remain where you are and have + faith in us. I begin to see now why you are so fortunate in your + friends.” Her glance rested for a brief instant on me. “Mr. + Ritchie and I will go to New Orleans, talk to the Baron, and send + André at once with a message. If it is in our power, you shall + see your mother very soon.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand to him, and he bent and kissed it reverently, with + an ease I envied. He followed us to the door. And when the Vicomtesse had + gone a little way down the path she looked at him over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Do not despair, Mr. Temple,” she said. + </p> + <p> + It was an answer to a yearning in his face. He gripped me by the + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Davy,” he whispered, and added, “God bless you + both.” + </p> + <p> + I overtook her where the path ran into the forest's shade, and for a long + while I walked after her, not breaking her silence, my eyes upon her, a + strange throbbing in my forehead which I did not heed. At last, when the + perfumes of the flowers told us we were nearing the garden, she turned to + me. + </p> + <p> + “I like Mr. Temple,” she said, again. + </p> + <p> + “He is an honest gentleman,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “One meets very few of them,” she said, speaking in a low voice. + “You and I will go to the Governor. And after that, have you any idea + where you will go?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied, troubled by her regard. + </p> + <p> + “Then I will tell you. I intend to send you to Madame Gravois's, and she + will compel you to go to bed and rest. I do not mean to allow you to kill + yourself.” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">524</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER IX</a> + </h2> + <h3>Monsieur le Baron</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">The</span> sun beat down mercilessly on thatch and + terrace, the yellow walls flung back the quivering heat, as Madame la + Vicomtesse and I walked through the empty streets towards the Governor's + house. We were followed by André and Madame's maid. The sleepy + orderly started up from under the archway at our approach, bowed + profoundly to Madame, looked askance at me, and declared, with a thousand + regrets, that Monsieur le Baron was having his siesta. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will wake him,” said Madame la Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + Wake Monsieur le Baron! <i>Bueno Dios</i>, did Madame understand what it + meant to wake his Excellency? His Excellency would at first be angry, no + doubt. Angry? As an Andalusian bull, Madame. Once, when his Excellency had + first come to the province, he, the orderly, had presumed to awake him. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Assez</i>!” said Madame, so suddenly that the man straightened + and looked at her again. “You will wake Monsieur le Baron, and tell him + that Madame la Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour has something of importance to + say to him.” + </p> + <p> + Madame had the air, and a title carried with a Spanish soldier in New + Orleans in those days. The orderly fairly swept the ground and led us + through a court where the sun drew bewildering hot odors from the fruits + and flowers, into a darkened room which was the Baron's cabinet. I + remember it vaguely, for my head was hot and throbbing from my exertions + in such a climate. It was a new room,—the hotel being newly + built,—with white walls, a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">525</a></span> + picture of his Catholic Majesty and the royal arms of + Spain, a map of Louisiana, another of New Orleans fortified, some walnut + chairs, a desk with ink and sand and a seal, and a window, the closed + lattice shutters of which showed streaks of light green light. These + doubtless opened on the Royal Road and looked across the levee esplanade + on the waters of the Mississippi. Madame la Vicomtesse seated herself, and + with a gesture which was an order bade me do likewise. + </p> + <p> + “He will be angry, the dear Baron,” she said. “He is harassed to + death with republics. No offence, Mr. Ritchie. He is up at dawn looking to + the forts and palisades to guard against such foolish enterprises as this + of Mr. Temple's. And to be waked out of a well-earned siesta—to save + a gentleman who has come here to make things unpleasant for him—is + carrying a joke a little far. <i>Mais—que voulez-vous</i>?” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little shrug to her slim shoulders as she smiled at me, and she + seemed not a whit disturbed concerning the conversation with his + Excellency. I wondered whether this were birth, or training, or both, or a + natural ability to cope with affairs. The women of her order had long been + used to intercede with sovereigns, to play a part in matters of state. + Suddenly I became aware that she was looking at me. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking of?” she demanded, and continued without + waiting for a reply, “you strange man.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking how odd it was,” I replied, “that I should have + known you all these years by a portrait, that we should finally be thrown + together, and that you should be so exactly like the person I had + supposed you to be.” + </p> + <p> + She lowered her eyes, but she did not seem to take offence. I meant none. + </p> + <p> + “And you,” she answered, “are continually reminding me of an + Englishman I knew when I was a girl. He was a very queer person to be + attached to the Embassy,—not a courtier, but a serious, literal + person like you, Mr. Ritchie, and he resembled you very much. I was + very fond of him.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">526</a></span> + “And—what became of him?” I asked. Other questions rose to my + lips, but I put them down. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” she answered, bending forward a little. “He did + something which I believe you might have done. A certain Marquis spoke + lightly of a lady, an Englishwoman at our court, and my Englishman ran him + through one morning at Versailles.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and I saw that her breath was coming more quickly at the + remembrance. + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “He fled to England. He was a younger son, and poor. But his King heard + of the affair, had it investigated, and restored him to the service. I + have never seen him since,” she said, “but I have often thought of + him. There,” she added, after a silence, with a lightness which seemed + assumed, “I have given you a romance. How long the Baron takes to + dress!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment there were footsteps in the court-yard, and the orderly + appeared at the door, saluting, and speaking in Spanish. + </p> + <p> + “His Excellency the Governor!” + </p> + <p> + We rose, and Madame was courtesying and I was bowing to the little man. He + was in uniform, his face perspiring in the creases, his plump calves + stretching his white stockings to the full. Madame extended her hand and + he kissed it, albeit he did not bend easily. He spoke in French, and his + voice betrayed the fact that his temper was near slipping its leash. The + Baron was a native of Flanders. + </p> + <p> + “To what happy circumstance do I owe the honor of this visit, Madame la + Vicomtesse?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To a woman's whim, Monsieur le Baron,” she answered, “for a man + would not have dared to disturb you. May I present to your Excellency, + Mr. David Ritchie of Kentucky?” + </p> + <p> + His Excellency bowed stiffly, looked at me with no pretence of pleasure, + and I had had sufficient dealings with men to divine that, in the coming + conversation, the overflow of his temper would be poured upon me. His + first sensation was surprise. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">527</a></span> + “An American!” he said, in a tone that implied reproach to Madame la + Vicomtesse for having fallen into such company. “Ah,” he cried, + breathing hard in the manner of stout people, “I remember you came down + with Monsieur Vigo, Monsieur, did you not?” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn to be surprised. If the Baron took a like cognizance of all + my countrymen who came to New Orleans, he was a busy man indeed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your Excellency,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “And you are a Federalist?” he said, though petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “I am, your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your nation to overrun the earth?” said the Baron. “Every + morning when I ride through the streets it seems to me that more Americans + have come. <i>Pardieu</i>, I declare every day that, if it were not for + the Americans, I should have ten years more of life ahead of me.” I + could not resist the temptation to glance at Madame la Vicomtesse. Her + eyes, half closed, betrayed an amusement that was scarce repressed. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Monsieur le Baron,” she said, “you and I have like + beliefs upon most matters. We have both suffered at the hands of people + who have mistaken a fiend for a Lady.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have me believe, Madame,” the Baron put in, with a wit + I had not thought in him, “that Mr. Ritchie knows a lady when he sees + one. I can readily believe it.” + </p> + <p> + Madame laughed. + </p> + <p> + “He at least has a negative knowledge,” she replied. “And he has + brought into New Orleans no coins, boxes, or clocks against your + Excellency's orders with the image and superscription of the Goddess in + whose name all things are done. He has not sung 'Ça Ira' at the + theatres, and he detests the tricolored cockades as much as you do.” + </p> + <p> + The Baron laughed in spite of himself, and began to thaw. There was a + little more friendliness in his next glance at me. + </p> + <p> + “What images have you brought in, Mr. Ritchie?” he asked. “We all + worship the sex in some form, however misplaced our notions of it.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">528</a></span> + There is not the least doubt that, for the sake of the Vicomtesse, he was + trying to be genial, and that his remark was a purely random one. But the + roots of my hair seemed to have taken fire. I saw the Baron as in a glass, + darkly. But I kept my head, principally because the situation had elements + of danger. + </p> + <p> + “The image of Madame la Vicomtesse, Monsieur,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dame</i>!” exclaimed his Excellency, eying me with a new interest, + “I did not suspect you of being a courtier.” + </p> + <p> + “No more he is, Monsieur le Baron,” said the Vicomtesse, “for he + speaks the truth.” + </p> + <p> + His Excellency looked blank. As for me, I held my breath, wondering what + <i>coup</i> Madame was meditating. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie brought down from Kentucky a miniature of me by Boze, that + was painted in a costume I once wore at Chantilly.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Comment! diable</i>,” exclaimed the Baron. “And how did such a + thing get into Kentucky, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “You have brought me to the point,” she replied, “which is no small + triumph for your Excellency. Mr. Ritchie bought the miniature from that + most estimable of my relations, Monsieur Auguste de St. Gré.” + </p> + <p> + The Baron sat down and began to fan himself. He even grew a little purple. + He looked at Madame, sputtered, and I began to think that, if he didn't + relieve himself, his head might blow off. As for the Vicomtesse, she wore + an ingenuous air of detachment, and seemed supremely unconscious of the + volcano by her side. + </p> + <p> + “So, Madame,” cried the Governor at length, after I know not what + repressions, “you have come here in behalf of that—of Auguste de + St. Gré!” + </p> + <p> + “So far as I am concerned, Monsieur,” answered the Vicomtesse, + calmly, “you may hang Auguste, put him in prison, drown him, or do + anything you like with him.” + </p> + <p> + “God help me,” said the poor man, searching for his handkerchief, and + utterly confounded, “why is it you have come to me, then? Why did you + wake me up?” he added, so far forgetting himself. + </p> + <p> + “I came in behalf of the gentleman who had the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">529</a></span> + indiscretion to accompany Auguste to Louisiana,” she continued, + “in behalf of Mr. Nicholas Temple, who is a cousin of Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + The Baron started abruptly from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of him,” he cried; “Madame knows where he is?” + </p> + <p> + “I know where he is. It is that which I came to tell your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hein</i>!” said his Excellency, again nonplussed. “You came to + tell me where he is? And where the—the other one is?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Parfaitement</i>,” said Madame. “But before I tell you where + they are, I wish to tell you something about Mr. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I know something of him already,” said the Baron, + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said she, “from Gignoux. And what do you hear from Gignoux?” + </p> + <p> + This was another shock, under which the Baron fairly staggered. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Diable</i>! is Madame la Vicomtesse in the plot?” he cried. + “What does Madame know of Gignoux?” + </p> + <p> + Madame's manner suddenly froze. + </p> + <p> + “I am likely to be in the plot, Monsieur,” she said. “I am likely + to be in a plot which has for its furtherance that abominable anarchy which + deprived me of my home and estates, of my relatives and friends and my + sovereign.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons, Madame la Vicomtesse,” said the Baron, more at + sea than ever. “I have had much to do these last years, and the heat + and the Republicans have got on my temper. Will Madame la Vicomtesse pray + explain?” + </p> + <p> + “I was about to do so when your Excellency interrupted,” said Madame. + “You see before you Mr. Ritchie, barrister, of Louisville, Kentucky, + whose character of sobriety, dependence, and ability” (there was a + little gleam in her eye as she gave me this array of virtues) “can be + perfectly established. When he came to New Orleans some years ago he + brought letters to Monsieur de + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">530</a></span> + St. Gré from Monsieur Gratiot and Colonel Chouteau of St. + Louis, and he is known to Mr. Clark and to Monsieur Vigo. He is a + Federalist, as you know, and has no sympathy with the Jacobins.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Eh bien</i>, Mr. Ritchie,” said the Baron, getting his breath, + “you are fortunate in your advocate. Madame la Vicomtesse neglected to + say that she was your friend, the greatest of all recommendations in my + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are delightful, Monsieur le Baron,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Mr. Ritchie can tell me something of this expedition,” + said the Baron, his eyes growing smaller as he looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” I answered. “Although I know that your Excellency is + well informed, and that Monsieur Vigo has doubtless given you many of the + details that I know.” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me with a grunt. + </p> + <p> + “You Americans are clever people, Monsieur,” he said; + “you contrive to combine shrewdness with frankness.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had anything to hide from your Excellency, I should not be + here,” I answered. “The expedition, as you know, has been as much + of a farce as Citizen Genêt's commissions. But it has been a sad + farce to me, inasmuch as it involves the honor of my old friend and + Colonel, General Clark, and the safety of my cousin, Mr. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “So you were with Clark in Illinois?” said the Baron, craftily. + “Pardon me, Mr. Ritchie, but I should have said that you are too + young.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Vigo will tell you that I was the drummer boy of the regiment, + and a sort of ward of the Colonel's. I used to clean his guns and cook his + food.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not see fit to follow your Colonel to Louisiana?” + said his Excellency, for he had been trained in a service of suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “General Clark is not what he was,” I replied, chafing a little at his + manner; “your Excellency knows that, and I put loyalty to my government + before friendship. And I might remind your Excellency that I am neither an + adventurer nor a fool.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">531</a></span> + The little Baron surprised me by laughing. His irritability and his good + nature ran in streaks. + </p> + <p> + “There is no occasion to, Mr. Ritchie,” he answered. “I have seen + something of men in my time. In which category do you place your cousin, + Mr. Temple?” + </p> + <p> + “If a love of travel and excitement and danger constitutes an adventurer, + Mr. Temple is such,” I said. “Fortunately the main spur of the + adventurer's character is lacking in his case. I refer to the desire for + money. Mr. Temple has an annuity from his father's estate in Charleston + which puts him beyond the pale of the fortune-seeker, and I firmly believe + that if your Excellency sees fit to allow him to leave the province, and + if certain disquieting elements can be removed from his life” (I glanced + at the Vicomtesse), “he will settle down and become a useful citizen of + the United States. As much as I dislike to submit to a stranger private + details in the life of a member of my family, I feel that I must tell your + Excellency something of Mr. Temple's career, in order that you may know + that restlessness and the thirst for adventure were the only motives that + led him into this foolish undertaking.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray proceed, Mr. Ritchie,” said the Baron. + </p> + <p> + I was surprised not to find him more restless, and in addition the glance + of approbation which the Vicomtesse gave me spurred me on. However + distasteful, I had the sense to see that I must hold nothing back of which + his Excellency might at any time become cognizant, and therefore I told + him as briefly as possible Nick's story, leaving out only the episode with + Antoinette. When I came to the relation of the affairs which occurred at + Les Îles five years before and told his Excellency that Mrs. Temple + had since been living in the Rue Bourbon as Mrs. Clive, unknown to her + son, the Baron broke in upon me. + </p> + <p> + “So the mystery of that woman is cleared at last,” he said, and + turned to the Vicomtesse. “I have learned that you have been a + frequent visitor, Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a sparrow falls to the ground in Louisiana that your Excellency + does not hear of it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “And Gignoux?” he said, speaking to me again. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">532</a></span> + “As I told you, Monsieur le Baron,” I answered, “I have come to New + Orleans at a personal sacrifice to induce my cousin to abandon this + matter, and I went out last evening to try to get word of him.” + This was not strictly true. “I saw Monsieur Gignoux in conference with + some of your officers who came out of this hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “You have sharp eyes, Monsieur,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “I suspected the man when I met him in Kentucky,” I continued, not + heeding this. “Monsieur Vigo himself distrusted him. To say that Gignoux + were deep in the councils of the expedition, that he held a commission + from Citizen Genêt, I realize will have no weight with your + Excellency,—provided the man is in the secret service of his Majesty + the King of Spain.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie,” said the Baron, “you are a young man and I an old + one. If I tell you that I have a great respect for your astuteness and + ability, do not put it down to flattery. I wish that your countrymen, + who are coming down the river like driftwood, more resembled you. As for + Citizen Gignoux,” he went on, smiling, and wiping his face, “let not + your heart be troubled. His Majesty's minister at Philadelphia has written + me letters on the subject. I am contemplating for Monsieur Gignoux a sea + voyage to Havana, and he is at present partaking of my hospitality in + the <i>calabozo</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “In the <i>calabozo</i>!” I cried, overwhelmed at this example of + Spanish justice and omniscience. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said the Baron, drumming with his fingers on his fat + knee. “And now,” he added, “perhaps Madame la Vicomtesse is ready + to tell me of the whereabouts of Mr. Temple and her estimable cousin, + Auguste. It may interest her to know why I have allowed them their + liberty so long.” + </p> + <p> + “A point on which I have been consumed with curiosity—since I + have begun to tremble at the amazing thoroughness of your Excellency's + system,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + His Excellency scarcely looked the tyrant as he sat before us, with his + calves crossed and his hands folded on his waistcoat and his little black + eyes twinkling. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">533</a></span> + “It is because,” he said, “there are many French planters in the + province bitten with the three horrors” (he meant Liberty, Equality, + and Fraternity), “I sent six to Havana; and if Monsieur Étienne + de Boré had not, in the nick of time for him, discovered how to + make sugar he would have gone, too. I had an idea that the Sieur de St. + Gré and Mr. Temple might act as a bait to reveal the disease in + some others. Ha, I am cleverer than you thought, Mr. Ritchie. You are + surprised?” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised, and showed it. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said, “you are astute. Why did you think I left them at + liberty?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought your Excellency believed them to be harmless, as they + are,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + He turned again to the Vicomtesse. “You have picked up a diplomat, + Madame. I must confess that I misjudged him when you introduced him to + me. And again, where are Mr. Temple and your estimable cousin? Shall + I tell you? They are at old Lamarque's, on the plantation of Philippe + de St. Gré.” + </p> + <p> + “They were, your Excellency,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” exclaimed the Baron, jumping. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle de St. Gré has given her brother eight hundred + livres, and he is probably by this time on board a French ship at the + English Turn. He is very badly frightened. I will give your Excellency + one more surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse,” said the Baron, “I have heard that, but + for your coolness and adroitness, Monsieur le Vicomte, your husband, + and several other noblemen and their ladies and some of her Majesty's + letters and jewels would never have gotten out of France. I take this + opportunity of saying that I have the greatest respect for your + intelligence. Now what is the surprise?” + </p> + <p> + “That your Excellency intended that both Mr. Temple and Auguste de + St. Gré were to escape on that ship.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mille tonneres</i>,” exclaimed the Baron, staring at her, and + straightway he fell into a fit of laughter that left him coughing and + choking and perspiring as only a man in his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">534</a></span> + condition of flesh can perspire. To say + that I was bewildered by this last evidence of the insight of the woman + beside me would be to put it mildly. The Vicomtesse sat quietly watching + him, the wonted look of repressed laughter on her face, and by degrees his + Excellency grew calm again. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu</i>,” said he, “I always like to cross swords with + you, Madame la Vicomtesse, yet this encounter has been more pleasurable + than any I have had since I came to Louisiana. But, <i>diable</i>,” + he cried, “just as I was congratulating myself that I was to have one + American the less, you come and tell me that he has refused to flee. Out + of consideration for the character and services of Monsieur Philippe de + St. Gré I was willing to let them both escape. But now?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple is not known in New Orleans except to the St. Gré + family,” said the Vicomtesse. “He is a man of honor. Suppose Mr. + Ritchie were to bring him to your Excellency, and he were to give you + his word that he would leave the province at the first opportunity? He + now wishes to see his mother before she dies, and it was as much as we + could do this morning to persuade him from going to her openly in the + face of arrest.” + </p> + <p> + But the Baron was old in a service which did not do things hastily. + </p> + <p> + “He is well enough where he is for to-day,” said his Excellency, + resuming his official manner. “To-night after dark I will send down + an officer and have him brought before me. He will not then be seen in + custody by any one, and provided I am satisfied with him he may go to + the Rue Bourbon.” + </p> + <p> + The little Baron rose and bowed to the Vicomtesse to signify that the + audience was ended, and he added, as he kissed her hand, “Madame la + Vicomtesse, it is a pleasure to be able to serve such a woman as you.” + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">535</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER X</a> + </h2> + <h3>The Scourge</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">As</span> we went through the court I felt as though + I had been tied to a string, suspended in the air, and spun. This was + undoubtedly due to the heat. And after the astonishing conversation from + which we had come, my admiration for the lady beside me was magnified to + a veritable awe. We reached the archway. Madame la Vicomtesse held me + lightly by the edge of my coat, and I stood looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, Mr. Ritchie,” she said, glancing at the few figures + hurrying across the Place d'Armes; “those are only Americans, and they + are too busy to see us standing here. What do you propose to do now?” + </p> + <p> + “We must get word to Nick as we promised, that he may know what to + expect,” I replied. “Suppose we go to Monsieur de St. Gré's + house and write him a letter?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Vicomtesse, with decision, “I am going to Mrs. + Temple's. I shall write the letter from there and send it by André, + and you will go direct to Madame Gravois's.” + </p> + <p> + Her glance rested anxiously upon my face, and there came an expression in + her eyes which disturbed me strangely. I had not known it since the days + when Polly Ann used to mother me. But I did not mean to give up. + </p> + <p> + “I am not tired, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, “and I will go + with you to Mrs. Temple's.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand,” she said, and smiled. “André and my + maid are used to my vagaries, and your own countrymen will not mind. Give + me your hand, Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + I gave it willingly enough, with a thrill as she took it + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">536</a></span> + between her own. + The same anxious look was in her eyes, and not the least embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “There, it is hot and dry, as I feared,” she said, “and you + seem flushed.” She dropped my hand, and there was a touch of irritation + in her voice as she continued: “You seemed fairly sensible when I first + met you last night, Mr. Ritchie. Are you losing your sanity? Do you not + realize that you cannot take liberties with this climate? Do as I say, + and go to Madame Gravois's at once.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my pleasure to obey you, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, + “but I mean to go with you as far as Mrs. Temple's, to see how she + fares. She may be—worse.” + </p> + <p> + “That is no reason why you should kill yourself,” said Madame, + coldly. “Will you not do as I say?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that I should go to Mrs. Temple's,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She did not reply to that, letting down her veil impatiently, with a + deftness that characterized all her movements. Without so much as asking + me to come after her, she reached the banquette, and I walked by her side + through the streets, silent and troubled by her displeasure. My pride + forbade me to do as she wished. It was the hottest part of a burning day, + and the dome of the sky was like a brazen bell above us. We passed the + the <i>calabozo</i> with its iron gates and tiny grilled windows pierced + in the massive walls, behind which Gignoux languished, and I could not + repress a smile as I thought of him. Even the Spaniards sometimes happened + upon justice. In the Rue Bourbon the little shops were empty, the doorstep + where my merry fiddler had played vacant, and the very air seemed to + simmer above the honeycombed tiles. I knocked at the door, once, twice. + There was no answer. I looked at Madame la Vicomtesse, and knocked again + so loudly that the little tailor across the street, his shirt opened at + the neck, flung out his shutter. Suddenly there was a noise within, the + door was opened, and Lindy stood before us, in the darkened room, with + terror in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Marse Dave,” she cried, as we entered, “oh, Madame, I'se so + glad you'se come, I'se so glad you'se come.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">537</a></span> + She burst into a flood of tears. And Madame la Vicomtesse, raising her + veil, seized the girl by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she said. “What is the matter, Lindy?” + </p> + <p> + Madame's touch seemed to steady her. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sally,” she moaned, “Miss Sally done got de yaller fever.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, for we were both too appalled by the news to + speak. + </p> + <p> + “Lindy, are you sure?” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “Yass'm, yass'm,” Lindy sobbed, “I reckon I'se done seed 'nuf of it, + Mistis.” And she went into a hysterical fit of weeping. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse turned to her own frightened servants in the doorway, bade + André in French to run for Dr. Perrin, and herself closed the battened + doors. There was a moment when her face as I saw it was graven on my + memory, reflecting a knowledge of the evils of this world, a spirit above + and untouched by them, a power to accept what life may bring with no + outward sign of pleasure or dismay. Doubtless thus she had made King and + Cardinal laugh, doubtless thus, ministering to those who crossed her path, + she had met her own calamities. Strangest of all was the effect she had + upon Lindy, for the girl ceased crying as she watched her. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Vicomtesse turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “You must go at once,” she said. “When you get to Madame Gravois's, + write to Mr. Temple. I will send André to you there.” + </p> + <p> + She started for the bedroom door, Lindy making way for her. I scarcely + knew what I did as I sprang forward and took the Vicomtesse by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I cried. “You cannot go in there! You cannot + go in there!” + </p> + <p> + It did not seem strange that she turned to me without anger, that she did + not seek to release her arm. It did not seem strange that her look had in + it a gentleness as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I must,” she said. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">538</a></span> + “I cannot let you risk your life,” I cried, wholly forgetting myself; + “there are others who will do this.” + </p> + <p> + “Others?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I will go. I—I have nursed people before this. And there is + Lindy.” + </p> + <p> + A smile quivered on her lips,—or was it a smile? + </p> + <p> + “You will do as I say and go to Madame Gravois's—at once,” she + murmured, striving for the first time to free herself. + </p> + <p> + “If you stay, I stay,” I answered; “and if you die, I die.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up into my eyes for a fleeting instant. + </p> + <p> + “Write to Mr. Temple,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Dazed, I watched her open the bedroom doors, motion to Lindy to pass + through, and then she had closed them again and I was alone in the + darkened parlor. + </p> + <p> + The throbbing in my head was gone, and a great clearness had come with a + great fear. I stood, I know not how long, listening to the groans that + came through the wall, for Mrs. Temple was in agony. At intervals I heard + Hélène's voice, and then the groans seemed to stop. Ten + times I went to the bedroom door, and as many times drew away again, my + heart leaping within me at the peril which she faced. If I had had the + right, I believe I would have carried her away by force. + </p> + <p> + But I had not the right. I sat down heavily, by the table, to think, and it + might have been a cry of agony sharper than the rest that reminded me once + more of the tragedy of the poor lady in torture. My eye fell upon the + table, and there, as though prepared for what I was to do, lay pen and + paper, ink and sand. My hand shook as I took the quill and tried to + compose a letter to my cousin. I scarcely saw the words which I put on the + sheet, and I may be forgiven for the unwisdom of that which I wrote. + </p> + <p class="communique"> + "The Baron de Carondelet will send an officer for you to-night so that you + may escape observation in custody. His Excellency knew of your + hiding-place, but is inclined to be lenient, will allow you to-morrow to + go to the Rue Bourbon, and will without doubt permit you to leave the + province. Your + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">539</a></span> + mother is ill, and Madame la Vicomtesse and myself are with + her. <br /> + <span class="movetoright">“DAVID.”</span> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + In the state I was it took me a long time to compose this much, and I had + barely finished it when there was a knock at the outer door. There was + André. He had the immobility of face which sometimes goes with the + mulatto, and always with the trained servant, as he informed me that + Monsieur le Médecin was not at home, but that he had left word. + There was an epidemic, Monsieur, so André feared. I gave him the + note and his directions, and ten minutes after he had gone I would have + given much to have called him back. How about Antoinette, alone at Les + Îles? Why had I not thought of her? We had told her nothing that + morning, Madame la Vicomtesse and I, after our conference with Nick. For + the girl had shut herself in her room, and Madame had thought it best not + to disturb her at such a stage. But would she not be alarmed when + Hélène failed to return that night? Had circumstances been + different, I myself would have ridden to Les Îles, but no + inducement now could make me desert the post I had chosen. After many + years I dislike to recall to memory that long afternoon which I spent, + helpless, in the Rue Bourbon. Now I was on my feet, pacing restlessly + the short breadth of the room, trying to shut out from my mind the + horrors of which my ears gave testimony. Again, in the intervals of + quiet, I sat with my elbows on the table and my head in my hands, striving + to allay the throbbing in my temples. Pains came and went, and at times I + felt like a fagot flung into the fire,—I, who had never known a sick + day. At times my throat pained me, an odd symptom in a warm climate. + Troubled as I was in mind and body, the thought of Hélène's + quiet heroism upheld me through it all. More than once I had my hand + raised to knock at the bedroom door and ask if I could help, but I dared + not; at length, the sun having done its worst and spent its fury, I began + to hear steps along the banquette and voices almost at my elbow beyond the + little window. At every noise I peered out, hoping for the doctor. But + he did not come. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">540</a></span> + And + then, as I fell back into the fauteuil, there was borne on my + consciousness a sound I had heard before. It was the music of the fiddler, + it was a tune I knew, and the voices of the children were singing the + refrain:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-.5em">"Ne sait quand reviendra,</span><br /> + Ne sait quand reviendra." + </p> + <p> + I rose, opened the door, and slipped out of it, and I must have made a + strange, hatless figure as I came upon the fiddler and his children from + across the street. + </p> + <p> + “Stop that noise,” I cried in French, angered beyond all reason at + the thought of music at such a time. “Idiots, there is yellow fever + there.” + </p> + <p> + The little man stopped with his bow raised; for a moment they all stared + at me, transfixed. It was a little elf in blue <i>indienne</i> who jumped + first and ran down the street, crying the news in a shrill voice, the + others following, the fiddler gazing stupidly after them. Suddenly he + scrambled up, moaning, as if the scourge itself had fastened on him, + backed into the house, and slammed the door in my face. I returned with + slow steps to shut myself in the darkened room again, and I recall feeling + something of triumph over the consternation I had caused. No sounds came + from the bedroom, and after that the street was quiet as death save for an + occasional frightened, hurrying footfall. I was tired. + </p> + <p> + All at once the bedroom door opened softly, and Hélène was + standing there, looking at me. At first I saw her dimly, as in a vision, + then clearly. I leaped to my feet and went and stood beside her. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor has not come,” I said. “Where does he live? + I will go for him.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “He can do no good. Lindy has procured all the remedies, such as they + are. They can only serve to alleviate,” she answered. “She cannot + withstand this, poor lady.” There were tears on Hélène's + lashes. “Her sufferings have been frightful—frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “Cannot I help?” I said thickly. “Cannot I do something?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">541</a></span> + She shook her head. She raised her hand timidly to the lapel of my coat, + and suddenly I felt her palm, cool and firm, upon my forehead. It rested + there but an instant. + </p> + <p> + “You ought not to be here,” she said, her voice vibrant with + earnestness and concern. “You ought not to be here. Will you not + go—if I ask it?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot,” I said; “you know I cannot if you stay.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer that. Our eyes met, and in that instant for me there + was neither joy nor sorrow, sickness nor death, nor time nor space nor + universe. It was she who turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Have you written him?” she asked in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “She would not have known him,” said Hélène; + “after all these years of waiting she would not have known him. + Her punishment has been great.” + </p> + <p> + A sound came from the bedroom, and Hélène was gone, + silently, as she had come. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + I must have been dozing in the fauteuil, for suddenly I found myself + sitting up, listening to an unwonted noise. I knew from the count of the + hoof-beats which came from down the street that a horse was galloping in + long strides—a spent horse, for the timing was irregular. Then he + was pulled up into a trot, then to a walk as I ran to the door and opened + it and beheld Nicholas Temple flinging himself from a pony white with + lather. And he was alone! He caught sight of me as soon as his foot + touched the banquette. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” I cried. “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + He halted on the edge of the banquette as a hurrying man runs into a wall. + He had been all excitement, all fury, as he jumped from his horse; and + now, as he looked at me, he seemed to lose his bearings, to be all + bewilderment. He cried out my name and stood looking at me like a fool. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean by coming here?” I + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">542</a></span> + cried. “Did I not write you to stay where you were? How did you get + here?” I stepped down on the banquette and seized him by the shoulders. + “Did you receive my letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “yes.” For a moment that was as far as he got, + and he glanced down the street and then at the heaving beast he had + ridden, which stood with head drooping to the kennel. Then he laid hold + of me. “Davy, is it true that she has yellow fever? Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” I demanded angrily. + </p> + <p> + “André,” he answered. “André said that the lady here + had yellow fever. Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said almost inaudibly. + </p> + <p> + He let his hand fall from my shoulder, and he shivered. + </p> + <p> + “May God forgive me for what I have done!” he said. + “Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “For what you have done?” I cried; “you have done an insensate + thing to come here.” Suddenly I remembered the sentry at the gate of + Fort St. Charles. “How did you get into the city?” I said; + “were you mad to defy the Baron and his police?” + </p> + <p> + “Damn the Baron and his police,” he answered, striving to pass me. + “Let me in! Let me see her.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he spoke I caught sight of men coming into the street, perhaps at + the corner of the Rue St. Pierre, and then more men, and as we went into + the house I saw that they were running. I closed the doors. There were + cries in the street now, but he did not seem to heed them. He stood + listening, heart-stricken, to the sounds that came through the bedroom + wall, and a spasm crossed his face. Then he turned like a man not to be + denied, to the bedroom door. I was before him, but Madame la Vicomtesse + opened it. And I remember feeling astonishment that she did not show + surprise or alarm. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here, Mr. Temple?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “My mother, Madame! My mother! I must go to her.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed past her into the bedroom, and I followed perforce. I shall + never forget the scene, though I had but the one glimpse of it,—the + raving, yellowed woman + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">543</a></span> + in the bed, not a spectre nor yet even a semblance + of the beauty of Temple Bow. But she was his mother, upon whom God had + brought such a retribution as He alone can bestow. Lindy, faithful servant + to the end, held the wasted hands of her mistress against the violence + they would have done. Lindy held them, her own body rocking with grief, + her lips murmuring endearments, prayers, supplications. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sally, honey, doan you know Lindy? Gawd'll let you git well, Miss + Sally, Gawd'll let you git well, honey, ter see Marse Nick—ter + see—Marse—Nick—” + </p> + <p> + The words died on Lindy's lips, the ravings of the frenzied woman ceased. + The yellowed hands fell limply to the sheet, the shrunken form stiffened. + The eyes of the mother looked upon the son, and in them at first was the + terror of one who sees the infinite. Then they softened until they became + again the only feature that was left of Sarah Temple. Now, as she looked + at him who was her pride, her honor, for one sight of whom she had + prayed,—ay, and even blasphemed,—her eyes were all tenderness. + Then she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she said softly, “be good to me, dear. You are all + I have now.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke of Harry Riddle! + </p> + <p> + But the long years of penance had not been in vain. Nick had forgiven her. + We saw him kneeling at the bedside, we saw him with her hand in his, and + Hélène was drawing me gently out of the room and closing the + door behind her. She did not look at me, nor I at her. + </p> + <p> + We stood for a moment close together, and suddenly the cries in the street + brought us back from the drama in the low-ceiled, reeking room we had + left. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ici! Ici! Voici le cheval</i>!” + </p> + <p> + There was a loud rapping at the outer door, and a voice demanding + admittance in Spanish in the name of his Excellency the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “Open it,” said Hélène. There was neither excitement + in her voice, nor yet resignation. In those two words was told the + philosophy of her life. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">544</a></span> + I opened the door. There, on the step, was an officer, perspiring, + uniformed and plumed, and behind him a crowd of eager faces, white and + black, that seemed to fill the street. He took a step into the room, his + hand on the hilt of his sword, and poured out at me a torrent of Spanish + of which I understood nothing. All at once his eye fell upon + Hélène, who was standing behind me, and he stopped in the + middle of his speech and pulled off his hat and bowed profoundly. + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse!” he stammered. I was no little surprised + that she should be so well known. + </p> + <p> + “You will please to speak French, Monsieur,” she said; + “this gentleman does not understand Spanish. What is it you desire?” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he said. “I am the + Alcalde de Barrio, and a wild Americano has passed the sentry at St. + Charles's gate without heeding his Excellency's authority and command. + I saw the man with my own eyes. I should know him again in a hundred. + We have traced him here to this house, Madame la Vicomtesse. Behold + the horse which he rode!” The Alcalde turned and pointed at the beast. + “Behold the horse which he rode, Madame la Vicomtesse. The animal + will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably,” answered the Vicomtesse, in an even tone. + </p> + <p> + “But the man,” cried the Alcalde, “the man is here, Madame la + Vicomtesse, here, in this house!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “he is here.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sancta Maria</i>! Madame,” he exclaimed, “I—I who speak + to you have come to get him. He has defied his Excellency's commands. + Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is in that room,” said the Vicomtesse, pointing at the bedroom + door. + </p> + <p> + The Alcalde took a step forward. She stopped him by a quick gesture. + </p> + <p> + “He is in that room with his mother,” she said, “and his mother + has the yellow fever. Come, we will go to him.” And she put her + hand upon the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yellow fever!” cried the Alcalde, and his voice was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">545</a></span> + thick with terror. + There was a moment's silence as he stood rooted to the floor. I did not + wonder then, but I have since thought it remarkable that the words spoken + low by both of them should have been caught up on the banquette and passed + into the street. Impassive, I heard it echoed from a score of throats, I + saw men and women stampeding like frightened sheep, I heard their + footfalls and their cries as they ran. A tawdry constable, who held with a + trembling hand the bridle of the tired horse, alone remained. + </p> + <p> + “Yellow fever!” the Alcalde repeated + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse inclined her head. + </p> + <p> + He was silent again for a while, uncertain, and then, without + comprehending, I saw the man's eyes grow smaller and a smile play about + his mouth. He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new admiration to which she + paid no heed. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he began, “but—” + </p> + <p> + “But you do not believe that I speak the truth,” she replied quietly. + </p> + <p> + He winced. + </p> + <p> + “Will you follow me?” she said, turning again. + </p> + <p> + He had started, plainly in an agony of fear, when a sound came from beyond + the wall that brought a cry to his lips. + </p> + <p> + Her manner changed to one of stinging scorn. + </p> + <p> + “You are a coward,” she said. “I will bring the gentleman to you + if he can be got to leave the bedside.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Alcalde, “no. I—I will go to him, Madame la + Vicomtesse.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” she said in a tone of authority, “I myself have been to + his Excellency to-day concerning this gentleman—” + </p> + <p> + “You, Madame la Vicomtesse?” + </p> + <p> + “I will open the door,” she continued, impatient at the interruption, + “and you will see him. Then I shall write a letter which you will take + to the Governor. The + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">546</a></span> + gentleman will not try to escape, for his mother is dying. + Besides, he could not get out of the city. You may leave your constable + where he is, or the man may come in and stand at this door in sight of the + gentleman while you are gone—if he pleases.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” said the Alcalde. + </p> + <p> + “It is my belief that his Excellency will allow the gentleman to remain + here, and that you will be relieved from the necessity of running any + further risk.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she opened the door, softly. The room was still now, still as + death, and the Alcalde went forward on tiptoe. I saw him peering in, I saw + him backing away again like a man in mortal fear. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is he—it is the man,” he stammered. He put his hand + to his brow. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse closed the door, and without a glance at him went quickly + to the table and began to write. She had no thought of consulting the man + again, of asking his permission. Although she wrote rapidly, five minutes + must have gone by before the note was finished and folded and sealed. She + held it out to him. + </p> + <p> + “Take this to his Excellency,” she said, “and bring me his + answer.” The Alcalde bowed, murmured her title, and went lamely out + of the house. He was plainly in an agony of uncertainty as to his duty, + but he glanced at the Vicomtesse—and went, flipping the note + nervously with his finger nail. He paused for a few low-spoken words + with the tawdry constable, who sat down on the banquette after his + chief had gone, still clinging to the bridle. The Vicomtesse went to + the doorway, looked at him, and closed the battened doors. The constable + did not protest. The day was fading without, and the room was almost in + darkness as she crossed over to the little mantel and stood with her + head laid upon her arm. + </p> + <p> + I did not disturb her. The minutes passed, the light waned until I could + see her no longer, and yet I knew that she had not moved. The strange + sympathy between us kept me silent until I heard her voice calling my + name. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">547</a></span> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The candle!” + </p> + <p> + I drew out my tinder-box and lighted the wick. She had turned, and was + facing me even as she had faced me the night before. The night before! The + greatest part of my life seemed to have passed since then. I remember + wondering that she did not look tired. Her face was sad, her voice was + sad, and it had an ineffable, sweet quality at such times that was all its + own. + </p> + <p> + “The Alcalde should be coming back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + These were our words, yet we scarce heeded their meaning. Between us was + drawn a subtler communion than speech, and we dared—neither of + us—to risk speech. She searched my face, but her lips were closed. + She did not take my hand again as in the afternoon. She turned away. I + knew what she would have said. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. We went together to open it, and the + Alcalde stood on the step. He held in his hand a long letter on which the + red seal caught the light, and he gave the letter to the Vicomtesse, with + a bow. + </p> + <p> + “From his Excellency, Madame la Vicomtesse.” + </p> + <p> + She broke the seal, went to the table, and read. Then she looked up at me. + </p> + <p> + “It is the Governor's permit for Mr. Temple to remain in this house. + Thank you,” she said to the Alcalde; “you may go.” + </p> + <p> + “With my respectful wishes for the continued good health of Madame la + Vicomtesse,” said the Alcalde. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">548</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER XI</a> + </h2> + <h3>“In the Midst of Life”</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">The</span> Alcalde had stopped on the step with an + exclamation at something in the darkness outside, and he backed, bowing, + into the room again to make way for some one. A lady, slim, gowned and + veiled in black and followed by a negress, swept past him. The lady lifted + her veil and stood before us. + </p> + <p> + “Antoinette!” exclaimed the Vicomtesse, going to her. + </p> + <p> + The girl did not answer at once. Her suffering seemed to have brought upon + her a certain acceptance of misfortune as inevitable. Her face, framed in + the black veil, was never more beautiful than on that night. + </p> + <p> + “What is the Alcalde doing here?” she said. + </p> + <p> + The officer himself answered the question. + </p> + <p> + “I am leaving, Mademoiselle,” said he. He reached out his hands + toward her, appealingly. “Do you not remember me, Mademoiselle? You + brought the good sister to see my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember you,” said Antoinette. + </p> + <p> + “Do not stay here, Mademoiselle!” he cried. “There is—there + is yellow fever.” + </p> + <p> + “So that is it,” said Antoinette, unheeding him and looking at her + cousin. “She has yellow fever, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg you to come away, Mademoiselle!” the man entreated. + </p> + <p> + “Please go,” she said to him. He looked at her, and went out silently, + closing the doors after him. “Why was he here?” she asked again. + </p> + <p> + “He came to get Mr. Temple, my dear,” said the Vicomtesse. The girl's + lips framed his name, but did not speak it. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">549</a></span> + “Where is he?” she asked slowly. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse pointed towards the bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “In there,” she answered, “with his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “He came to her?” Antoinette asked quite simply. + </p> + <p> + The Vicomtesse glanced at me, and drew the veil gently from the girl's + shoulders. She led her, unresisting, to a chair. I looked at them. The + difference in their ages was not so great. Both had suffered cruelly; one + had seen the world, the other had not, and yet the contrast lay not here. + Both had followed the gospel of helpfulness to others, but one as a + <i>religieuse</i>, innocent of the sin around her, though poignant of the + sorrow it caused. The other, knowing evil with an insight that went far + beyond intuition, fought with that, too. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, Antoinette,” began the Vicomtesse; “it was as you + said. Mr. Ritchie and I found him at Lamarque's. He had not taken your + money; he did not even know that Auguste had gone to see you. He did not + even know,” she said, bending over the girl, “that he was on your + father's plantation. When we told him that, he would have left it at + once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “He did not know that his mother was still in New Orleans. And when we + told him how ill she was he would have come to her then. It was as much as + we could do to persuade him to wait until we had seen Monsieur de + Carondelet. Mr. Ritchie and I came directly to town and saw his + Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + It was characteristic of the Vicomtesse that she told this almost with a + man's brevity, that she omitted the stress and trouble and pain of it all. + These things were done; the tact and skill and character of her who had + accomplished them were not spoken of. The girl listened immovable, her + lips parted and her eyes far away. Suddenly, with an awakening, she turned + to Hélène. + </p> + <p> + “You did this!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie and I together,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + Her next exclamation was an odd one, showing how the mind works at such a + time. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">550</a></span> + “But his Excellency was having his siesta!” said Antoinette. + </p> + <p> + Again Hélène glanced at me, but I cannot be sure that she + smiled. + </p> + <p> + “We thought the matter of sufficient importance to awake his + Excellency,” said Hélène. + </p> + <p> + “And his Excellency?” asked Antoinette. In that moment all three of + us seemed to have forgotten the tragedy behind the wall. + </p> + <p> + “His Excellency thought so, too, when we had explained it + sufficiently,” Hélène answered. + </p> + <p> + The girl seemed suddenly to throw off the weight of her grief. She seized + the hand of the Vicomtesse in both of her own. + </p> + <p> + “The Baron pardoned him?” she cried. “Tell me what his Excellency + said. Why are you keeping it from me?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, my dear,” said the Vicomtesse. “Yes, he pardoned him. + Mr. Temple was to have come to the city to-night with an officer. + Mr. Ritchie and I came to this house together, and we found—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said Antoinette. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie wrote to Mr. Temple that his Excellency was to send for him + to-night, but André told him of the fever, and he came here in the + face of danger to see her before she died. He galloped past the sentry at + the gate, and the Alcalde followed him from there.” + </p> + <p> + “And came here to arrest him?” cried Antoinette. Before the Vicomtesse + could prevent her she sprang from her chair, ran to the door, and was + peering out into the darkness. “Is the Alcalde waiting?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said the Vicomtesse, gently bringing her back. “I wrote + to his Excellency and we have his permission for Mr. Temple to remain + here.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Antoinette stopped in the middle of the floor, facing the candle, + her hands clasped, her eyes wide with fear. We started, + Hélène and I, as we looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, my dear?” said the Vicomtesse, laying a hand on her arm. + </p> + <p> + “He will take it,” she said, “he will take the fever.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">551</a></span> + A strange thing happened. Many, many times have I thought of it since, and + I did not know its meaning then. I had looked to see the Vicomtesse + comfort her. But Hélène took a step towards me, my eyes + met hers, and in them reflected was the terror I had seen in Antoinette's. + At that instant I, too, forgot the girl, and we turned to see that she + had sunk down, weeping, in the chair. Then we both went to her, I through + some instinct I did not fathom. + </p> + <p> + Hélène's hand, resting on Antoinette's shoulder, trembled + there. It may well have been my own weakness which made me think her + body swayed, which made me reach out as if to catch her. However + marvellous her strength and fortitude, these could not last forever. + And—Heaven help me—my own were fast failing. Once the room + had seemed to me all in darkness. Then I saw the Vicomtesse leaning + tenderly over her cousin and whispering in her ear, and Antoinette + rising, clinging to her. + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” she faltered, “I will go. He must not know I have + been here. You—you will not tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shall not tell him,” answered the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + “And—you will send word to me, Hélène?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” + </p> + <p> + Antoinette kissed her, and began to adjust her veil mechanically. I looked + on, bewildered by the workings of the feminine mind. Why was she going? + The Vicomtesse gave me no hint. But suddenly the girl's arms fell to her + sides, and she stood staring, not so much as a cry escaping her. The + bedroom doors had been opened, and between them was the tall figure of + Nicholas Temple. So they met again after many years, and she who had + parted them had brought them together once more. He came a step into the + room, as though her eyes had drawn him so far. Even then he did not speak + her name. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” he said. “Go, you must not stay here. Go!” + </p> + <p> + She bowed her head. + </p> + <p> + “I was going,” she answered. “I—I am going.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must go at once,” he cried excitedly. “Do you know what + is in there?” and he pointed towards the bedroom. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">552</a></span> + “Yes, yes, I know,” she said, “I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go,” he cried. “As it is you have risked too much.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted up her head and looked at him. There was a new-born note in her + voice, a tremulous note of joy in the midst of sorrow. It was of her he + was thinking! + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she said. “You have come and remained.” + </p> + <p> + “She is my mother,” he answered. “God knows it was the least I + could have done.” + </p> + <p> + Twice she had changed before our eyes, and now we beheld a new and yet + more startling transformation. When she spoke there was no reproach in her + voice, but triumph. Antoinette undid her veil. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is your mother,” she answered; “but for many years she + has been my friend. I will go to her. She cannot forbid me now. + Hélène has been with her,” she said, turning to where + the Vicomtesse stood watching her intently. “Hélène has + been with her. And shall I, who have longed to see her these many years, + leave her now?” + </p> + <p> + “But you were going!” he cried, beside himself with apprehension + at this new turning. “You told me that you were going.” + </p> + <p> + Truly, man is born without perception. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I told you that,” she replied almost defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “And why were you going?” he demanded. Then I had a sudden desire to + shake him. + </p> + <p> + Antoinette was mute. + </p> + <p> + “You yourself must find the answer to that question, Mr. Temple,” + said the Vicomtesse, quietly. + </p> + <p> + He turned and stared at Hélène, and she seemed to smile. + Then as his eyes went back, irresistibly, to the other, a light that was + wonderful to see dawned and grew in them. I shall never forget him as he + stood, handsome and fearless, a gentleman still, despite his years of + wandering and adventure, and in this supreme moment unselfish. The wilful, + masterful boy had become a man at last. + </p> + <p> + He started forward, stopped, trembling with a shock of remembrance, and + gave back again. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">553</a></span> + “You cannot come,” he said; “I cannot let you take this risk. Tell + her she cannot come, Madame,” he said to Hélène. + “For the love of God send her home again.” + </p> + <p> + But there were forces which even Hélène could not stem. He + had turned to go back, he had seized the door, but Antoinette was before + him. Custom does not weigh at such a time. Had she not read his avowal? + She had his hand in hers, heedless of us who watched. At first he sought + to free himself, but she clung to it with all the strength of her + love,—yet she did not look up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I will come with you,” she said in a low voice, “I will come + with you, Nick.” + </p> + <p> + How quaintly she spoke his name, and gently, and timidly—ay, and + with a supreme courage. True to him through all those numb years of + waiting, this was a little thing—that they should face death + together. A little thing, and yet the greatest joy that God can bestow + upon a good woman. He looked down at her with a great tenderness, he spoke + her name, and I knew that he had taken her at last into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They went in together, and the doors closed behind them. + </p> + <hr class="minor" /> + <p> + Antoinette's maid was on the step, and the Vicomtesse and I were alone + once more in the little parlor. I remember well the sense of unreality I + had, and how it troubled me. I remember how what I had seen and heard was + turning, turning in my mind. Nick had come back to Antoinette. They were + together in that room, and Mrs. Temple was dying—dying. No, it could + not be so. Again, I was in the garden at Les Îles on a night that + was all perfume, and I saw the flowers all ghostly white under the moon. + And then, suddenly, I was watching the green candle sputter, and out of + the stillness came a cry—the <i>sereno</i> calling the hour of the + night. How my head throbbed! It was keeping time to some rhythm, I knew + not what. Yes, it was the song my father used to sing:— + </p> + <p class="poem2"> + <span style="margin-left:-2em"> + "I've faught on land? I've faught at sea,</span><br /> + At hame I've faught my aunty, O!" + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">554</a></span> + But New Orleans was hot, burning hot, and this could not be cold I felt. + Ah, I had it, the water was cold going to Vincennes, so cold! + </p> + <p> + A voice called me. No matter where I had gone, I think I would have come + back at the sound of it. I listened intently, that I might lose no word of + what it said. I knew the voice. Had it not called to me many times in my + life before? But now there was fear in it, and fear gave it a vibrant + sweetness, fear gave it a quality that made it mine—mine. + </p> + <p> + “You are shivering.” + </p> + <p> + That was all it said, and it called from across the sea. And the sea was + cold,—cold and green under the gray light. If she who called to me + would only come with the warmth of her love! The sea faded, the light + fell, and I was in the eternal cold of space between the whirling worlds. + If she could but find me! Was not that her hand in mine? Did I not feel + her near me, touching me? I wondered that I should hear myself as I + answered her. + </p> + <p> + “I am not ill,” I said. “Speak to me again.” + </p> + <p> + She was pressing my hand now, I saw her bending over me, I felt her hair + as it brushed my face. She spoke again. There was a tremor in her voice, + and to that alone I listened. The words were decisive, of command, and + with them some sense as of a haven near came to me. Another voice answered + in a strange tongue, saying seemingly:— + </p> + <p> + "<i>Oui, Madame—malé + couri—bon djé—malé couri!</i>" + </p> + <p> + I heard the doors close, and the sound of footsteps running and dying + along the banquette, and after that my shoulders were raised and something + wrapped about them. Then stillness again, the stillness that comes between + waking and sleeping, between pain and calm. And at times when I felt her + hand fall into mine or press against my brow, the pain seemed more + endurable. After that I recall being lifted, being borne along. I opened + my eyes once and saw, above a tile-crowned wall, the moon all yellow and + distorted in the sky. Then a gate clicked, dungeon blackness, half-light + again, ascent, oblivion. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">555</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER XII</a> + </h2> + <h3>Visions, and an Awakening</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I have</span> still sharp memories of the tortures of + that illness, though it befell so long ago. At times, when my mind was + gone from me, I cried out I know not what of jargon, of sentiment, of the + horrors I had beheld in my life. I lived again the pleasant scenes, warped + and burlesqued almost beyond cognizance, and the tragedies were magnified + a hundred fold. Thus it would be: on the low, white ceiling five cracks + came together, and that was a device. And the device would take on color, + red-bronze like the sumach in the autumn and streaks of vermilion, and two + glowing coals that were eyes, and above them eagles' feathers, and the + cracks became bramble bushes. I was behind the log, and at times I started + and knew that it was a hideous dream, and again Polly Ann was clutching me + and praying me to hold back, and I broke from her and splashed over the + slippery limestone bed of the creek to fight single-handed. Through all + the fearful struggle I heard her calling me piteously to come back to her. + When the brute got me under water I could not hear her, but her voice came + back suddenly (as when a door opens) and it was like the wind singing in + the poplars. Was it Polly Ann's voice? + </p> + <p> + Again, I sat with Nick under the trees on the lawn at Temple Bow, and the + world was dark with the coming storm. I knew and he knew that the storm + was brewing that I might be thrust out into it. And then in the blackness, + when the air was filled with all the fair things of the earth torn + asunder, a beautiful woman came through the noise and the fury, and we ran + to her and clung to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">556</a></span> + her skirts, thinking we had found safety. But she + thrust us forth into the blackness with a smile, as though she were + flinging papers out of the window. She, too, grew out of the design in the + cracks of the ceiling, and a greater fear seized me at sight of her + features than when the red face came out of the brambles. + </p> + <p> + My constant torment was thirst. I was in the prairie, and it was scorched + and brown to the horizon. I searched and prayed pitifully for water,—for + only a sip of the brown water with the specks in it that was in the swamp. + There were no swamps. I was on the bed in the cabin looking at the shifts + and hunting shirts on the pegs, and Polly Ann would bring a gourdful of + clear water from the spring as far as the door. Nay, once I got it to my + lips, and it was gone. Sometimes a young man in a hunting shirt, + square-shouldered, clear-eyed, his face tanned and his fair hair bleached + by the sun, would bring the water. He was the hero of my boyhood, and part + of him indeed was in me. And I would have followed him again to Vincennes + despite the tortures of the damned. But when I spoke his name he grew + stouter before me, and his eyes lost their lustre and his hair turned + gray; and his hand shook as he held out the gourd and spilled its contents + ere I could reach them. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes another brought the water, and at sight of her I would tremble + and grow faint, and I had not the strength to reach for it. She would look + at me with eyes that laughed despite the resolution of the mouth. Then the + eyes would grow pitiful at my helplessness, and she would murmur my name. + There was some reason which I never fathomed why she could not give me the + water, and her own suffering seemed greater than mine because of it. So + great did it seem that I forgot my own and sought to comfort her. Then she + would go away, very slowly, and I would hear her calling to me in the + wind, from the stars to which I looked up from the prairie. It was she, I + thought, who ordered the world. Who, when women were lost and men cried + out in distress, came to them calmly, ministered to them deftly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">557</a></span> + Once—perhaps a score of times, I cannot tell—was limned on the + ceiling, where the cracks were, her miniature, and I knew what was coming + and shuddered and cried aloud because I could not stop it. I saw the + narrow street of a strange city deep down between high houses,—houses + with gratings on the lowest windows, with studded, evil-looking doors, + with upper stories that toppled over to shut out the light of the sky, + with slated roofs that slanted and twisted this way and that and dormers + peeping from them. Down in the street, instead of the King's white + soldiers, was a foul, unkempt rabble, creeping out of its damp places, + jesting, cursing, singing. And in the midst of the rabble a lady sat in a + cart high above it unmoved. She was the lady of the miniature. A window in + one of the jutting houses was flung open, a little man leaned out + excitedly, and I knew him too. He was Jean Baptiste Lenoir, and he cried + out in a shrill voice:— + </p> + <p> + “You must take off her ruff, citizens. You must take off her ruff!” + </p> + <p> + There came a blessed day when my thirst was gone, when I looked up at the + cracks in the ceiling and wondered why they did not change into horrors. I + watched them a long, long time, and it seemed incredible that they should + still remain cracks. Beyond that I would not go, into speculation I dared + not venture. They remained cracks, and I went to sleep thanking God. When + I awoke a breeze came in cool, fitful gusts, and on it the scent of + camellias. I thought of turning my head, and I remember wondering for a + long time over the expediency of this move. What would happen if I did! + Perhaps the visions would come back, perhaps my head would come off. + Finally I decided to risk it, and the first thing that I beheld was a + palm-leaf fan, moving slowly. That fact gave me food for thought, and + contented me for a while. Then I hit upon the idea that there must be + something behind the fan. I was distinctly pleased by this astuteness, and + I spent more time in speculation. Whatever it was, it had a tantalizing + elusiveness, keeping the fan between it and me. This was not fair. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">558</a></span> + I had an inspiration. If I feigned to be asleep, perhaps the thing behind + the fan would come out. I shut my eyes. The breeze continued steadily. + Surely no human being could fan as long as that without being tired! I + opened my eyes twice, but the thing was inscrutable. Then I heard a sound + that I knew to be a footstep upon boards. A voice whispered:— + </p> + <p> + “The delirium has left him.” + </p> + <p> + Another voice, a man's voice, answered:— + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! Let me fan him. You are tired.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not tired,” answered the first voice. + </p> + <p> + “I do not see how you have stood it,” said the man's voice. + “You will kill yourself, Madame la Vicomtesse. The danger is past + now.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Mr. Temple,” said the first voice. “Please go away. + You may come back in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + I heard the footsteps retreating. Then I said: “I am not asleep.” + </p> + <p> + The fan stopped for a brief instant and then went on vibrating inexorably. + I was entranced at the thought of what I had done. I had spoken, though + indeed it seemed to have had no effect. Could it be that I hadn't spoken? + I began to be frightened at this, when gradually something crept into my + mind and drove the fear out. I did not grasp what this was at first, it + was like the first staining of wine on the eastern sky to one who sees a + sunrise. And then the thought grew even as the light grows, tinged by + prismatic colors, until at length a memory struck into my soul like a + shaft of light. I spoke her name, unblushingly, aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Hélène!” + </p> + <p> + The fan stopped. There was a silence that seemed an eternity as the palm + leaf trembled in her hand, there was an answer that strove tenderly to + command. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, you must not talk,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Never, I believe, came such supreme happiness with obedience. I felt her + hand upon my brow, and the fan moved again. I fell asleep once more from + sheer weariness of joy. She was there, beside me. She had been + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">559</a></span> + there, beside me, through it all, and it was her touch which had brought + me back to life. + </p> + <p> + I dreamed of her. When I awoke again her image was in my mind, and I let + it rest there in contemplation. But presently I thought of the fan, turned + my head, and it was not there. A great fear seized me. I looked out of the + open door where the morning sun threw the checkered shadows of the + honeysuckle on the floor of the gallery, and over the railing to the + tree-tops in the court-yard. The place struck a chord in my memory. Then + my eyes wandered back into the room. There was a polished dresser, a + crucifix and a <i>prie-dieu</i> in the corner, a fauteuil, and another + chair at my bed. The floor was rubbed to an immaculate cleanliness, + stained yellow, and on it lay clean woven mats. The room was empty! + </p> + <p> + I cried out, a yellow and red turban shot across the window, and I beheld + in the door the spare countenance of the faithful Lindy. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave,” she cried, “is you feelin' well, honey?” + </p> + <p> + “Where am I, Lindy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Lindy, like many of her race, knew well how to assume airs of importance. + Lindy had me down, and she knew it. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave,” she said, “doan yo' know better'n dat? Yo' know yo' + ain't ter talk. Lawsy, I reckon I wouldn't be wuth pizen if she was to + hear I let yo' talk.” + </p> + <p> + Lindy implied that there was tyranny somewhere. + </p> + <p> + “She?” I asked, “who's she?” + </p> + <p> + “Now yo' hush, Marse Dave,” said Lindy, in a shrill whisper, + “I ain't er-gwine ter git mixed up in no disputation. Ef she was ter + hear me er-disputin' wid yo', Marse Dave, I reckon I'd done git such er + tongue-lashin'—” Lindy looked at me suspiciously. + “Yo'-er allus was powe'rful cute, Marse Dave.” + </p> + <p> + Lindy set her lips with a mighty resolve to be silent. I heard some one + coming along the gallery, and then I saw Nick's tall figure looming up + behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Lindy braced herself up doggedly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">560</a></span> + “Yo' ain't er-gwine to git in thar nohow, Marse Nick,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Lindy,” he answered, “I've been in there as much as + you have.” And he took hold of her thin arm and pulled her back. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Nick!” she cried, terror-stricken, “she'll done fin' out + dat you've been er-talkin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Pish!” said Nick with a fine air, “who's afraid of her?” + </p> + <p> + Lindy's face took on an expression of intense amusement. + </p> + <p> + “Yo' is, for one, Marse Nick,” she answered, with the familiarity of an + old servant. “I done seed yo' skedaddle when she comed.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut,” said Nick, grandly, “I run from no woman. Eh, Davy?” + He pushed past the protesting Lindy into the room and took my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Egad, you have been near the devil's precipice, my son. A three-bottle + man would have gone over.” In his eyes was all the strange affection he + had had for me ever since we had been boys at Temple Bow together. “Davy, + I reckon life wouldn't have been worth much if you'd gone.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I could only stare at him, mutely grateful for such an + affection. In all his wild life he had been true to me, and he had clung + to me stanchly in this, my greatest peril. Thankful that he was here, I + searched his handsome person with my eyes. He was dressed, as usual, with + care and fashion, in linen breeches and a light gray coat and a filmy + ruffle at his neck. But I thought there had come a change into his face. + The reckless quality seemed to have gone out of it, yet the spirit and + daring remained, and with these all the sweetness that was once in his + smile. There were lines under his eyes that spoke of vigils. + </p> + <p> + “You have been sitting up with me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he answered, patting my shoulder. “Of course I have. + What did you think I would be doing?” + </p> + <p> + “What was the matter with me?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much,” he said lightly, “a touch of the sun, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561">561</a></span> + and a great deal of + overwork in behalf of your friends. Now keep still, or I will be getting + peppered.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent for a while, turning over this answer in my mind. Then I + said:— + </p> + <p> + “I had yellow fever.” + </p> + <p> + He started. + </p> + <p> + “It is no use to lie to you,” he replied; “you're too shrewd.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent again for a while. + </p> + <p> + “Nick,” I said, “you had no right to stay here. You + have—other responsibilities now.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. It was the old buoyant, boyish laugh of sheer happiness, and I + felt the better for hearing it. + </p> + <p> + “If you begin to preach, parson, I'll go; I vow I'll have no more + sermonizing. Davy,” he cried, “isn't she just the dearest, sweetest, + most beautiful person in the world?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Where is she?” I asked, temporizing. Nick was not a subtle person, + and I was ready to follow him at great length in the praise of Antoinette. + “I hope she is not here.” + </p> + <p> + “We made her go to Les Îles,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “And you risked your life and stayed here without her?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “As for risking life, that kind of criticism doesn't come well from you. + And as for Antoinette,” he added with a smile, “I expect to see + something of her later on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I answered with a sigh of supreme content, “you have been + a fool all your life, and I hope that she will make you sensible.” + </p> + <p> + “You never could make me so,” said Nick, “and besides, I don't + think you've been so damned sensible yourself.” + </p> + <p> + We were silent again for a space. + </p> + <p> + “Davy,” he asked, “do you remember what I said when you had that + miniature here?” + </p> + <p> + “You said a great many things, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you to consider carefully the masterful features of that lady, + and to thank God you hadn't married her. I vow I never thought she'd + turn up. Upon my oath + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562">562</a></span> + I never thought I should be such a blind slave as I have been + for the last fortnight. Faith, Monsieur de St. Gré is a strong man, + but he was no more than a puppet in his own house when he came back here + for a day. That lady could govern a province,—no, a kingdom. But I + warrant you there would be no climbing of balconies in her dominions. I + have never been so generalled in my life.” + </p> + <p> + I had no answer for these comments. + </p> + <p> + “The deuce of it is the way she does it,” he continued, plainly bent + on relieving himself. “There's no noise, no fuss; but you must obey, you + don't know why. And yet you may flay me if I don't love her.” + </p> + <p> + “Love her!” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “She saved your life,” said Nick; “I don't believe any other woman + could have done it. She hadn't any thought of her own. She has been here, + in this room, almost constantly night and day, and she never let you go. + The little French doctor gave you up—not she. She held on. Cursed if + I see why she did it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said apologetically, “of course I would have done it, + but you weren't anything to her. Yes, egad, you were something to be + saved,—that was all that was necessary. She had you brought back + here—we are in Monsieur de St. Gré's house, by the + way—in a litter, and she took command as though she had nursed + yellow fever cases all her life. No flurry. I said that you were in love + with her once, Davy, when I saw you looking at the portrait. I take it + back. Of course a man could be very fond of her,” he said, “but a + king ought to have married her. As for that poor Vicomte she's tied up + to, I reckon I know the reason why he didn't come to America. An + ordinary man would have no chance at all. God bless her!” he cried, + with a sudden burst of feeling, “I would die for her + myself. She got me out of a barrel of trouble with his Excellency. She + cared for my mother, a lonely outcast, and braved death herself to go to + her when she was dying of the fever. God bless her!” + </p> + <p> + Lindy was standing in the doorway. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563">563</a></span> + “Lan' sakes, Marse Nick, yo' gotter go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He rose and pressed my fingers. “I'll go,” he said, and left me. + Lindy seated herself in the chair. She held in her hand a bowl of beef + broth. From this she fed me in silence, and when she left she commanded + me to sleep informing me that she would be on the gallery within call. + </p> + <p> + But I did not sleep at once. Nick's words had brought back a fact which my + returning consciousness had hitherto ignored. The birds sang in the + court-yard, and when the breeze stirred it was ever laden with a new + scent. I had been snatched from the jaws of death, my life was before me, + but the happiness which had thrilled me was gone, and in my weakness the + weight of the sadness which had come upon me was almost unbearable. If I + had had the strength, I would have risen then and there from my bed, I + would have fled from the city at the first opportunity. As it was, I lay + in a torture of thought, living over again every part of my life which she + had touched. I remembered the first long, yearning look I had given the + miniature at Madame Bouvet's. I had not loved her then. My feeling rather + had been a mysterious sympathy with and admiration for this brilliant lady + whose sphere was so far removed from mine. This was sufficiently strange. + Again, in the years of my struggle for livelihood which followed, I + dreamed of her; I pictured her often in the midst of the darkness of the + Revolution. Then I had the miniature again, which had travelled to her, as + it were, and come back to me. Even then it was not love I felt, but an + unnamed sentiment for one whom I clothed with gifts and attributes I + admired: constancy, an ability to suffer and to hide, decision, wit, + refuge for the weak, scorn for the false. So I named them at random and + cherished them, knowing that these things were not what other men longed + for in women. Nay, there was another quality which I believed was + there—which I knew was there—a supreme tenderness that was + hidden like a treasure too sacred to be seen. + </p> + <p> + I did not seek to explain the mystery which had brought + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564">564</a></span> + her across the sea + into that little garden of Mrs. Temple's and into my heart. There she was + now enthroned, deified; that she would always be there I accepted. That I + would never say or do anything not in consonance with her standards I + knew. That I would suffer much I was sure, but the lees of that suffering + I should hoard because they came from her. + </p> + <p> + What might have been I tried to put away. There was the moment, I thought, + when our souls had met in the little parlor in the Rue Bourbon. I should + never know. This I knew—that we had labored together to bring + happiness into other lives. + </p> + <p> + Then came another thought to appall me. Unmindful of her own safety, she + had nursed me back to life through all the horrors of the fever. The + doctor had despaired, and I knew that by the very force that was in her + she had saved me. She was here now, in this house, and presently she would + be coming back to my bedside. Painfully I turned my face to the wall in a + torment of humiliation—I had called her by her name. I would see her + again, but I knew not whence the strength for that ordeal was to come. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565">565</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER XIII</a> + </h2> + <h3>A MYSTERY</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">I knew</span> by the light that it was evening when I + awoke. So prisoners mark the passing of the days by a bar of sun light. + And as I looked at the green trees in the courtyard, vaguely troubled by + I knew not what, some one came and stood in the doorway. It was Nick. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem very cheerful,” said he; “a man ought to be who + has been snatched out of the fire.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be rather too sure of my future,” I said, trying to + smile. + </p> + <p> + “That's more like you,” said Nick. “Egad, you ought to be + happy—we all ought to be happy—she's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “She!” I cried. “Who's gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame la Vicomtesse,” he replied, rubbing his hands as he stood + over me. “But she's left instructions with me for Lindy as long as + Monsieur de Carondelet's <i>Bando de Buen Gobierno</i>. You are not to do + this, and you are not to do that, you are to eat such and such things, you + are to be made to sleep at such and such times. She came in here about an + hour ago and took a long look at you before she left.” + </p> + <p> + “She was not ill?” I said faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, I don't know why she was not,” he said. “She has done + enough to tire out an army. But she seems well and fairly happy. She had + her joke at my expense as she went through the court-yard, and she + reminded me that we were to send a report by André every day.” + </p> + <p> + Chagrin, depression, relief, bewilderment, all were struggling within me. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566">566</a></span> + “Where did she go?” I asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “To Les Îles,” he said. “You are to be brought there as + soon as you are strong enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you happen to know why she went?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Now how the deuce should I know?” he answered. “I've done + everything with blind servility since I came into this house. I never + asked for any reason—it never would have done any good. I suppose + she thought that you were well on the road to recovery, and she knew + that Lindy was an old hand. And then the doctor is to come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you go?” I demanded, with a sudden remembrance that he + was staying away from happiness. + </p> + <p> + “It was because I longed for another taste of liberty, Davy,” he + laughed. “You and I will have an old-fashioned time here + together,—a deal of talk, and perhaps a little + piquet,—who knows?” + </p> + <p> + My strength came back, bit by bit, and listening to his happiness did much + to ease the soreness of my heart—while the light lasted. It was in + the night watches that my struggles came—though often some unwitting + speech of his would bring back the pain. He took delight in telling me, + for example, how for hours at a time I had been in a fearful delirium. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord knows what foolishness you talked, Davy,” said he. “It + would have done me good to hear you had you been in your right mind.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did hear me,” I said, full of apprehensions. + </p> + <p> + “Some of it,” said he. “You were after Wilkinson once, in a burrow, + I believe, and you swore dreadfully because he got out of the other end. I + can't remember all the things you said. Oh, yes, once you were talking to + Auguste de St. Gré about money.” + </p> + <p> + “Money?” I repeated in a sinking voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a lot of jargon. The Vicomtesse pushed me out of the room, and + after that I was never allowed to be there when you had those flights. + Curse the mosquitoes!” He seized a fan and began to ply it vigorously. + “I remember. You were giving Auguste a lecture. Then I had to go.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567">567</a></span> + These and other reminiscences gave me sufficient food for reflection, and + many a shudder over the possibilities of my ravings. She had put him out! + No wonder. + </p> + <p> + After a while I was carried to the gallery, and there I would talk to the + little doctor about the yellow fever which had swept the city. Monsieur + Perrin was not much of a doctor, to be sure, and he had a heartier dread + of the American invasion than of the scourge. He worshipped the + Vicomtesse, and was so devoid of professional pride as to give her freely + all credit for my recovery. He too, clothed her with the qualities of + statesmanship. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, Monsieur,” he said, “if that lady had been King of France, + do you think there would have been any States General, any red bonnets, + any Jacobins or Cordeliers? <i>Parbleu</i>, she would have swept the + vicemongers and traitors out of the Palais Royal itself. There would have + been a house-cleaning there. I, who speak to you, know it.” + </p> + <p> + Every day Nick wrote a bulletin to be sent to the Vicomtesse, and he took + a fiendish delight in the composition of these. He would come out on the + gallery with ink and a blank sheet of paper and try to enlist my help. He + would insert the most ridiculous statements, as for instance, “Davy is + worse to-day, having bribed Lindy to give him a pint of Madeira against my + orders.” Or, “Davy feigns to be sinking rapidly because he wishes to + have you back.” Indeed, I was always in a torture of doubt to know what + the rascal had sent. + </p> + <p> + His company was most agreeable when he was recounting the many adventures + he had had during the five years after he had left New Orleans and been + lost to me. These would fill a book, and a most readable book it would be + if written in his own speech. His love for the excitement of the frontier + had finally drawn him back to the Cumberland country near Nashville, and + he had actually gone so far as to raise a house and till some of the land + which he had won from Darnley. It was perhaps characteristic of him that + he had named the place “Rattle-and-Snap” in honor of the game which + had put him in possession of it, and “Rattle-and-Snap” it remains to + this day. He was + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568">568</a></span> + going back there with Antoinette, so he said, to build a brick + mansion and to live a respectable life the rest of his days. + </p> + <p> + There was one question which had been in my mind to ask him, concerning + the attitude of Monsieur de St. Gré. That gentleman, with Madame, + had hurried back from Pointe Coupée at a message from the + Vicomtesse, and had gone first to Les Îles to see Antoinette. Then + he had come, in spite of the fever, to his own house in New Orleans to + see Nick himself. What their talk had been I never knew, for the subject + was too painful to be dwelt upon, and the conversation had been marked + by frankness on both sides. Monsieur de St. Gré was a just man, + his love for his daughter was his chief passion, and despite all that + had happened he liked Nick. I believe he could not wholly blame the + younger man, and he forgave him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Temple, poor lady, had died on that first night of my illness, and it + was her punishment that she had not known her son or her son's happiness. + Whatever sins she had committed in her wayward life were atoned for, and + by her death I firmly believe that she redeemed him. She lies now among + the Temples in Charleston, and on the stone which marks her grave is cut + no line that hints of the story of these pages.<br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + One bright morning, when Nick and I were playing cards, we heard some one + mounting the stairs, and to my surprise and embarrassment I beheld + Monsieur de St. Gré emerging on the gallery. He was in white linen + and wore a broad hat, which he took from his head as he advanced. He had + aged somewhat, his hair was a little gray, but otherwise he was the firm, + dignified personage I had admired on this same gallery five years before. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said in English; “ha, do not rise, + sir” (to me). He patted Nick's shoulder kindly, but not familiarly, as + he passed him, and extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritchie, it gives me more pleasure than I can express to see you so + much recovered.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_569" id="Page_569">569</a></span> + “I am again thrown on your hospitality, sir,” I said, flushing with + pleasure at this friendliness. For I admired and respected the man + greatly. “And I fear I have been a burden and trouble to you and your + family.” + </p> + <p> + He took my hand and pressed it. Characteristically, he did not answer + this, and I remembered he was always careful not to say anything which + might smack of insincerity. + </p> + <p> + “I had a glimpse of you some weeks ago,” he said, thus making light + of the risk he had run. “You are a different man now. You may thank + your Scotch blood and your strong constitution.” + </p> + <p> + “His good habits have done him some good, after all,” put in my + irrepressible cousin. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de St. Gré smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Nick,” he said (he pronounced the name quaintly, like Antoinette), + “his good habits have turned out to be some advantage to you. Mr. + Ritchie, you have a faithful friend at least.” He patted Nick's + shoulder again. “And he has promised me to settle down.” + </p> + <p> + “I have every inducement, sir,” said Nick. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de St. Gré became grave. + </p> + <p> + “You have indeed, Monsieur,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from Dr. Perrin's, David,”—he added, “May + I call you so? Well, then, I have just come from Dr. Perrin's, and he + says you may be moved to Les Îles this very afternoon. Why, upon + my word,” he exclaimed, staring at me, “you don't look pleased. One + would think you were going to the <i>calabozo</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Nick, slyly, “I know. He has tasted freedom, Monsieur, + and Madame la Vicomtesse will be in command again.” + </p> + <p> + I flushed. Nick could be very exasperating. + </p> + <p> + “You must not mind him, Monsieur,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I do not mind him,” answered Monsieur de St. Gré, laughing in + spite of himself. “He is a sad rogue. As for + Hélène—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not know how to thank the Vicomtesse,” I said. “She has + done me the greatest service one person can do another.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_570" id="Page_570">570</a></span> + “Hélène is a good woman,” answered Monsieur de St. + Gré, simply. “She is more than that, she is a wonderful woman. I + remember telling you of her once. I little thought then that she would + ever come to us.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to me. “Dr. Perrin will be here this afternoon, David, and he + will have you dressed. Between five and six if all goes well, we shall + start for Les Îles. And in the meantime, gentlemen,” he added + with a stateliness that was natural to him, “I have business which takes + me to-day to my brother-in-law's, Monsieur de Beauséjour's.” + </p> + <p> + Nick leaned over the gallery and watched meditatively his prospective + father-in-law leaving the court-yard. + </p> + <p> + “He got me out of a devilish bad scrape,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How was that?” I asked listlessly. + </p> + <p> + “That fat little Baron, the Governor, was for deporting me for running + past the sentry and giving him all the trouble I did. It seems that the + Vicomtesse promised to explain matters in a note which she wrote, and + never did explain. She was here with you, and a lot she cared about + anything else. Lucky that Monsieur de St. Gré came back. Now his + Excellency graciously allows me to stay here, if I behave myself, until I + get married.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know how I spent the rest of the day. It passed, somehow. If I + had had the strength then, I believe I should have fled. I was to see her + again, to feel her near me, to hear her voice. During the weeks that had + gone by I had schooled myself, in a sense, to the inevitable. I had not + let my mind dwell upon my visit to Les Îles, and now I was face to + face with the struggle for which I felt I had not the strength. I had + fought one battle,—I knew that a fiercer battle was to come. + </p> + <p> + In due time the doctor arrived, and while he prepared me for my departure, + the little man sought, with misplaced kindness, to raise my spirits. Was + not Monsieur going to the country, to a paradise? Monsieur—so Dr. + Perrin had noticed—had a turn for philosophy. Could two more able + and brilliant conversationalists be found than Philippe de St. Gré + and Madame la Vicomtesse? And there was the happiness of that strange but + lovable young + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_571" id="Page_571">571</a></span> + man, Monsieur Temple, to contemplate. He was in luck, <i>ce beau + garçon</i>, for he was getting an angel for his wife. Did Monsieur + know that Mademoiselle Antoinette was an angel? + </p> + <p> + At last I was ready, arrayed in my best, on the gallery, when Monsieur de + St. Gré came. André and another servant carried me down into + the court, and there stood a painted sedan-chair with the St. Gré + arms on the panels. + </p> + <p> + “My father imported it, David,” said Monsieur de St. Gré. + “It has not been used for many years. You are to be carried in it to + the levee, and there I have a boat for you.” + </p> + <p> + Overwhelmed by this kindness, I could not find words to thank him as I got + into the chair. My legs were too long for it, I remember. I had a quaint + feeling of unreality as I sank back on the red satin cushions and was + borne out of the gate between the lions. Monsieur de St. Gré and + Nick walked in front, the faithful Lindy followed, and people paused to + stare at us as we passed. We crossed the Place d'Armes, the Royal Road, + gained the willow-bordered promenade on the levee's crown, and a wide + barge was waiting, manned by six negro oarsmen. They lifted me into its + stern under the awning, the barge was cast off, the oars dipped, and we + were gliding silently past the line of keel boats on the swift current of + the Mississippi. The spars of the shipping were inky black, and the + setting sun had struck a red band across the waters. For a while the three + of us sat gazing at the green shore, each wrapped in his own + reflections,—Philippe de St. Gré thinking, perchance, of the + wayward son he had lost; Nick of the woman who awaited him; and I of one + whom fate had set beyond me. It was Monsieur de St. Gré who broke + the silence at last. + </p> + <p> + “You feel no ill effects from your moving, David?” he asked, with an + anxious glance at me. + </p> + <p> + “None, sir,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “The country air will do you good,” he said kindly. + </p> + <p> + “And Madame la Vicomtesse will put him on a diet,” added Nick, + rousing himself. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_572" id="Page_572">572</a></span> + “Hélène will take care of him,” answered Monsieur de + St. Gré. + </p> + <p> + He fell to musing again. “Madame la Vicomtesse has seen more in seven + years than most of us see in a lifetime,” he said. “She has beheld + the glory of France, and the dishonor and pollution of her country. Had + the old order lasted her salon would have been famous, and she would + have been a power in politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought that the Vicomtesse must have had a queer marriage,” + Nick remarked. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de St. Gré smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Such marriages were the rule amongst our nobility,” he said. + “It was arranged while Hélène was still in the convent, + though it was not celebrated until three years after she had been in the + world. There was a romantic affair, I believe, with a young gentleman of + the English embassy, though I do not know the details. He is said to be + the only man she ever cared for. He was a younger son of an impoverished + earl.” + </p> + <p> + I started, remembering what the Vicomtesse had said. But Monsieur de St. + Gré did not appear to see my perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “Be that as it may, if Hélène suffered, she never gave a + sign of it. The marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and the world + could only conjecture what she thought of the Vicomte. It was deemed + on both sides a brilliant match. He had inherited vast estates, + <i>Ivry-le-Tour, Montméry, Les Saillantes</i>, I know not what + else. She was heiress to the Château de St. Gré with its + wide lands, to the château and lands of the <i>Côte Rouge</i> + in Normandy, to the hotel St. Gré in Paris. Monsieur le Vicomte + was between forty and fifty at his marriage, and from what I have heard + of him he had many of the virtues and many of the faults of his order. + He was a bachelor, which does not mean that he had lacked consolations. + He was reserved with his equals, and distant with others. He had served + in the Guards, and did not lack courage. He dressed exquisitely, was + inclined to the Polignac party, took his ease everywhere, had a knowledge + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_573" id="Page_573">573</a></span> + of cards and courts, and little else. He was cheated by his stewards, + refused to believe that the Revolution was serious, and would undoubtedly + have been guillotined had the Vicomtesse not contrived to get him out + of France in spite of himself. They went first to the Duke de Ligne, + at Bel Oeil, and thence to Coblentz. He accepted a commission in the + Austrian service, which is much to his credit, and Hélène + went with some friends to England. There my letter reached her, and + rather than be beholden to strangers or accept my money there, she came + to us. That is her story in brief, Messieurs. As for Monsieur le Vicomte, + he admired his wife, as well he might, respected her for the way she + served the gallants, but he made no pretence of loving her. One + affair—a girl in the village of Montméry—had lasted. + Hélène was destined for higher things than may be found in + Louisiana,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, turning to Nick, “but + now that you are to carry away my treasure, Monsieur, I do not know what + I should have done without her.” + </p> + <p> + “And has there been any news of the Vicomte of late?” + </p> + <p> + It was Nick who asked the question, after a little. Monsieur de St. + Gré looked at him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, <i>mon Dieu</i>, have you not heard?” he said. + “<i>C'est vrai</i>, you have been with David. Did not the Vicomtesse + mention it? But why should she? Monsieur le Vicomte died in Vienna. + He had lived too well.” + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte is dead?” I said. + </p> + <p> + They both looked at me. Indeed, I should not have recognized my own voice. + What my face betrayed, what my feelings were, I cannot say. My heart beat + no faster, there was no tumult in my brain, and yet—my breath caught + strangely. Something grew within me which is beyond the measure of speech, + and so it was meant to be. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know this myself until Hélène returned to + Les Îles,” Monsieur de St. Gré was saying to me. “The + letter came to her the day after you were taken ill. It was from the + Baron von Seckenbrück, at whose house the Vicomte died. She took it + very calmly, for Hélène is not a woman to pretend. How much + better, after all, if she + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_574" id="Page_574">574</a></span> + had married her Englishman for + love! And she is much troubled now because, as she declares, she is + dependent upon my bounty. That is my happiness, my consolation,” the + good man added simply, “and her father, the Marquis, was kind to me when + I was a young provincial and a stranger. God rest his soul!” + </p> + <p> + We were drawing near to Les Îles. The rains had come during my + illness, and in the level evening light the forest of the shore was + the tender green of spring. At length we saw the white wooden steps + in the levee at the landing, and near them were three figures waiting. + We glided nearer. One was Madame de St. Gré, another was + Antoinette,—these I saw indeed. The other was Hélène, + and it seemed to me that her eyes met mine across the waters and drew + them. Then we were at the landing. I heard Madame de St. Gré's + voice, and Antoinette's in welcome—I listened for another. I saw Nick + running up the steps; in the impetuosity of his love he had seized + Antoinette's hand in his, and she was the color of a red rose. Creole + decorum forbade further advances. André and another lifted me out, + and they gathered around me,—these kind people and devoted + friends,—Antoinette calling me, with exquisite shyness, by name; Madame + de St. Gré giving me a grave but gentle welcome, and asking + anxiously how I stood the journey. Another took my hand, held it for the + briefest space that has been marked out of time, and for that instant I + looked into her eyes. Life flowed back into me, and strength, and a joy + not to be fathomed. I could have walked; but they bore me through the + well-remembered vista, and the white gallery at the end of it was like the + sight of home. The evening air was laden with the scent of the sweetest of + all shrubs and flowers. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_575" id="Page_575">575</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER XIV</a> + </h2> + <h3>“To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores”</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Monsieur</span> and Madame de St. Gré + themselves came with me to my chamber off the gallery, where everything + was prepared for my arrival with the most loving care,—Monsieur de + St. Gré supplying many things from his wardrobe which I lacked. + And when I tried to thank them for their kindness he laid his hand upon + my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tenez, mon ami</i>,” he said, “you got your illness by doing + things for other people. It is time other people did something for you.” + </p> + <p> + Lindy brought me the daintiest of suppers, and I was left to my + meditations. Nick looked in at the door, and hinted darkly that I had to + thank a certain tyrant for my abandonment. I called to him, but he paid no + heed, and I heard him chuckling as he retreated along the gallery. The + journey, the excitement into which I had been plunged by the news I had + heard, brought on a languor, and I was between sleeping and waking half + the night. I slept to dream of her, of the Vicomte, her husband, walking + in his park or playing cards amidst a brilliant company in a great + candle-lit room like the drawing-room at Temple Bow. Doubt grew, and sleep + left me. She was free now, indeed, but was she any nearer to me? Hope grew + again,—why had she left me in New Orleans? She had received a + letter, and if she had cared she would not have remained. But there was a + detestable argument to fit that likewise, and in the light of this + argument it was most natural that she should return to Les Îles. And + who was I, David Ritchie, a lawyer of the little town of Louisville, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_576" id="Page_576">576</a></span> + to aspire + to the love of such a creature? Was it likely that Hélène, + Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour, would think twice of me? The powers of the + world were making ready to crush the presumptuous France of the Jacobins, + and the France of King and Aristocracy would be restored. Châteaux + and lands would be hers again, and she would go back again to that + brilliant life among the great to which she was born, for which nature + had fitted her. Last of all was the thought of the Englishman whom I + resembled. She would go back to him. + </p> + <p> + Nick was the first in my room the next morning. He had risen early (so he + ingenuously informed me) because Antoinette had a habit of getting up with + the birds, and as I drank my coffee he was emphatic in his denunciations + of the customs of the country. + </p> + <p> + “It is a wonderful day, Davy,” he cried; “you must hurry and get + out. Monsieur de St. Gré sends his compliments, and wishes to know + if you will pardon his absence this morning. He is going to escort + Antoinette and me over to see some of my prospective cousins, the + Bertrands.” He made a face, and bent nearer to my ear. “I swear to + you I have not had one moment alone with her. We have been for a walk, but + Madame la Vicomtesse must needs intrude herself upon us. Egad, I told her + plainly what I thought of her tyranny.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did she say?” I asked, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “She laughed, and said that I belonged to a young nation which had done + much harm in the world to everybody but themselves. Faith, if I wasn't in + love with Antoinette, I believe I'd be in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt of it,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomtesse is as handsome as a queen this morning,” he + continued paying no heed to this remark. “She has on a linen dress that + puzzles me. It was made to walk among the trees and flowers, it is as + simple as you please; and yet it has a distinction that makes you + stare.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have stared,” I answered. “Since when did you take + such interest in gowns?” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_577" id="Page_577">577</a></span> + “Bless you, it was Antoinette. I never should have known,” said he. + “Antoinette had never before seen the gown, and she asked the Vicomtesse + where she got the pattern. The Vicomtesse said that the gown had been made + by Léonard, a court dressmaker, and it was of the fashion the Queen + had set to wear in the gardens of the Trianon when simplicity became the + craze. Antoinette is to have it copied, so she says.” + </p> + <p> + Which proved that Antoinette was human, after all, and happy once more. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it,” said Nick, “she paid more attention to that gown than + to me. Good-by, Davy. Obey the—the Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “Is—is not the Vicomtesse going with you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sorry for you,” he called back from the gallery. + </p> + <p> + He had need to be, for I fell into as great a fright as ever I had had in + my life. Monsieur de St. Gré knocked at the door and startled me + out of my wits. Hearing that I was awake, he had come in person to make + his excuses for leaving me that morning. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bon Dieu!</i>” he said, looking at me, “the country has done + you good already. Behold a marvel! <i>Au revoir</i>, David.” + </p> + <p> + I heard the horses being brought around, and laughter and voices. How + easily I distinguished hers! Then I heard the hoof-beats on the soft dirt + of the drive. Then silence,—the silence of a summer morning which is + all myriad sweet sounds. Then Lindy appeared, starched and turbaned. + </p> + <p> + “Marse Dave, how you feel dis mawnin'? Yo' 'pears mighty peart, sholy. + Marse Dave, yo' chair is sot on de gallery. Is you ready? I'll fotch dat + yaller nigger, André.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't fetch André,” I said; “I can walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Lan sakes, Marse Dave, but you is bumptious.” + </p> + <p> + I rose and walked out on the gallery with surprising steadiness. A great + cushioned chair had been placed there, and beside it a table with books, + and another chair. I sat down. Lindy looked at me sharply, but I did not + heed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_578" id="Page_578">578</a></span> + her, and presently she retired. The day, still in its early golden + glory, seemed big with prescience. Above, the saffron haze was lifted, and + there was the blue sky. The breeze held its breath; the fragrance of grass + and fruit and flowers, of the shrub that vied with all, languished on the + air. Out of these things she came. + </p> + <p> + I knew that she was coming, but I saw her first at the gallery's end, the + roses she held red against the white linen of her gown. Then I felt a + great yearning and a great dread. I have seen many of her kind since, and + none reflected so truly as she the life of the old régime. Her + dress, her carriage, her air, all suggested it; and she might, as Nick + said, have been walking in the gardens of the Trianon. Titles I cared + nothing for. Hers alone seemed real, to put her far above me. Had all who + bore them been as worthy, titles would have meant much to mankind. + </p> + <p> + She was coming swiftly. I rose to my feet before her. I believe I should + have risen in death. And then she was standing beside me, looking up into + my face. + </p> + <p> + “You must not do that,” she said, “or I will go away.” + </p> + <p> + I sat down again. She went to the door and called, I following her with my + eyes. Lindy came with a bowl of water. + </p> + <p> + “Put it on the table,” said the Vicomtesse. + </p> + <p> + Lindy put the bowl on the table, gave us a glance, and departed silently. + The Vicomtesse began to arrange the flowers in the bowl, and I watched + her, fascinated by her movements. She did everything quickly, deftly, but + this matter took an unconscionable time. She did not so much as glance at + me. She seemed to have forgotten my presence. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she said at last, giving them a final touch. “You are less + talkative, if anything, than usual this morning, Mr. Ritchie. You have not + said good morning, you have not told me how you were—you have not + even thanked me for the roses. One might almost believe that you are sorry + to come to Les Îles.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_579" id="Page_579">579</a></span> + “One might believe anything who didn't know, Madame la Vicomtesse.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand to the flowers again. + </p> + <p> + “It seems a pity to pick them, even in a good cause,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She was so near me that I could have touched her. A weakness seized me, + and speech was farther away than ever. She moved, she sat down and looked + at me, and the kind of mocking smile came into her eyes that I knew was + the forerunner of raillery. + </p> + <p> + “There is a statue in the gardens of Versailles which seems always about + to speak, and then to think better of it. You remind me of that statue, + Mr. Ritchie. It is the statue of Wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + What did she mean? + </p> + <p> + “Wisdom knows the limitations of its own worth, Madame,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “It is the one particular in which I should have thought wisdom was + lacking,” she said. “You have a tongue, if you will deign to use it. + Or shall I read to you?” she added quickly, picking up a book. “I + have read to the Queen, when Madame Campan was tired. Her Majesty, poor + dear lady, did me the honor to say she liked my English.” + </p> + <p> + “You have done everything, Madame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I have read to a Queen, to a King's sister, but never yet—to a + King,” she said, opening the book and giving me the briefest of glances. + “You are all kings in America are you not? What shall I read?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather have you talk to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will tell you how the Queen spoke English. No, I will not + do that,” she said, a swift expression of sadness passing over her + face. “I will never mock her again. She was a good sovereign and a brave + woman, and I loved her.” She was silent a moment, and I thought there + was a great weariness in her voice when she spoke again. “I have every + reason to thank God when I think of the terrors I escaped, of the friends + I have found. And yet I am an unhappy woman, Mr. Ritchie.” + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_580" id="Page_580">580</a></span> + “You are unhappy when you are not doing things for others, Madame,” + I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I am a discontented woman,” she said; “I always have been. And I + am unhappy when I think of all those who were dear to me and whom I loved. + Many are dead, and many are scattered and homeless.” + </p> + <p> + “I have often thought of your sorrows, Madame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Which reminds me that I should not burden you with them, my good friend, + when you are recovering. Do you know that you have been very near to + death?” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Madame,” I faltered. “I know that had it not been for you + I should not be alive to-day. I know that you risked your life to save my + own.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer at once, and when I looked at her she was gazing out + over the flowers on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “My life did not matter,” she said. “Let us not talk of that.” + </p> + <p> + I might have answered, but I dared not speak for fear of saying what was + in my heart. And while I trembled with the repression of it, she was + changed. She turned her face towards me and smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “If you had obeyed me you would not have been so ill,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then I am glad that I did not obey you.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin, the irrepressible Mr. Temple, says I am a tyrant. Come now, + do you think me a tyrant?” + </p> + <p> + “He has also said other things of you.” + </p> + <p> + “What other things?” + </p> + <p> + I blushed at my own boldness. + </p> + <p> + “He said that if he were not in love with Antoinette, he would be in + love with you.” + </p> + <p> + “A very safe compliment,” said the Vicomtesse. “Indeed, it sounds + too cautious for Mr. Temple. You must have tampered with it, Mr. + Ritchie,” she flashed. “Mr. Temple is a boy. He needs discipline. + He will have too easy a time with Antoinette.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not the sort of man you should marry,” I said, and sat amazed + at it. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_581" id="Page_581">581</a></span> + She looked at me strangely. + </p> + <p> + “No, he is not,” she answered. “He is more or less the sort of man + I have been thrown with all my life. They toil not, neither do they spin. + I know you will not misunderstand me, for I am very fond of him. Mr. + Temple is honest, fearless, lovable, and of good instincts. One cannot say + as much for the rest of his type. They go through life fighting, gaming, + horse-racing, riding to hounds,—I have often thought that it was no + wonder our privileges came to an end. So many of us were steeped in + selfishness and vice, were a burden on the world. The early nobles, with + all their crimes, were men who carved their way. Of such were the lords of + the Marches. We toyed with politics, with simplicity, we wasted the land, + we played cards as our coaches passed through famine-stricken villages. + The reckoning came. Our punishment was not given into the hands of the + bourgeois, who would have dealt justly, but to the scum, the + <i>canaille</i>, the demons of the earth. Had our King, had our nobility, + been men with the old fire, they would not have stood it. They were worn + out with centuries of catering to themselves. Give me a man who will shape + his life and live it with all his strength. I am tired of sham and + pretence, of cynical wit, of mocking at the real things of life, of pride, + vain-glory, and hypocrisy. Give me a man whose existence means + something.” + </p> + <p> + Was she thinking of the Englishman of whom she had spoken? Delicacy + forbade my asking the question. He had been a man, according to her own + testimony. Where was he now? Her voice had a ring of earnestness in it I + had never heard before, and this arraignment of her own life and of her + old friends surprised me. Now she seemed lost in a revery, from which I + forebore to arouse her. + </p> + <p> + “I have often tried to picture your life,” I said at last. + </p> + <p> + “You?” she answered, turning her head quickly. + “Often?” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since I first saw the miniature,” I said. “Monsieur de St. + Gré told me some things, and afterwards I read 'Le Mariage de + Figaro,' and some novels, and some + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_582" id="Page_582">582</a></span> + memoirs of the old courts which I got in Philadelphia + last winter. I used to think of you as I rode over the mountains, as I sat + reading in my room of an evening. I used to picture you in the palaces + amusing the Queen and making the Cardinals laugh. And then I used to + wonder—what became of you—and whether—” I hesitated, + overwhelmed by a sudden confusion, for she was gazing at me fixedly with + a look I did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “You used to think of that?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought to see you,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Laughter came into her eyes, and I knew that I had not vexed her. But I + had spoken stupidly, and I reddened. + </p> + <p> + “I had a quick tongue,” she said, as though to cover my confusion. + "I have it yet. In those days misfortune had not curbed it. I had not + learned to be charitable. When I was a child I used to ride with my + father to the hunts at St. Gré, and I was too ready to pick out + the weaknesses of his guests. If one of the company had a trick or a + mannerism, I never failed to catch it. People used to ask me what I + thought of such and such a person, and that was bad for me. I saw their + failings and pretensions, but I ignored my own. It was the same at + <i>Abbaye aux Bois</i>, the convent where I was taught. When I was + presented to her Majesty I saw why people hated her. They did not + understand her. She was a woman with a large heart, with + charity. Some did not suspect this, others forgot it because they beheld a + brilliant personage with keen perceptions who would not submit to being + bored. Her Majesty made many enemies at court of persons who believed she + was making fun of them. There was a dress-maker at the French court called + Mademoiselle Bertin, who became ridiculously pretentious because the Queen + allowed the woman to dress her hair in private. Bertin used to put on airs + with the nobility when they came to order gowns, and she was very rude to + me when I went for my court dress. There was a ball at Versailles the day + I was presented, and my father told me that her Majesty wished to speak + with me. I was very much frightened. The Queen was standing with her back + to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_583" id="Page_583">583</a></span> + the mirror, the Duchesse de Polignac and some other ladies beside her, + when my father brought me up, and her Majesty was smiling. + </p> + <p> + "'What did you say to Bertin, Mademoiselle?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + "I was more frightened than ever, but the remembrance of the woman's + impudence got the better of me. + </p> + <p> + "'I told her that in dressing your Majesty's hair she had acquired all the + court accomplishments but one.' + </p> + <p> + "'I'll warrant that Bertin was curious,' said the Queen. + </p> + <p> + "'She was, your Majesty.' + </p> + <p> + "'What is the accomplishment she lacks?' the Queen demanded; 'I should + like to know it myself.' + </p> + <p> + "'It is discrimination, your Majesty. I told the woman there were some + people she could be rude to with impunity. I was not one of them.' + </p> + <p> + "'She'll never be rude to you again, Mademoiselle,' said the Queen. + </p> + <p> + "'I am sure of it, your Majesty,' I said. + </p> + <p> + “The Queen laughed, and bade the Duchesse de Polignac invite me to supper + that evening. My father was delighted,—I was more frightened than + ever. But the party was small, her Majesty was very gracious and spoke to + me often, and I saw that above all things she liked to be amused. Poor + lady! It was a year after that terrible affair of the necklace, and she + wished to be distracted from thinking of the calumnies which were being + heaped upon her. She used to send for me often during the years that + followed, and I might have had a place at court near her person. But my + father was sensible enough to advise me not to accept,—if I could + refuse without offending her Majesty. The Queen was not offended; she was + good enough to say that I was wise in my request. She had, indeed, + abolished most of the ridiculous etiquette of the court. She would not eat + in public, she would not be followed around the palace by ladies in court + gowns, she would not have her ladies in the room when she was dressing. If + she wished a mirror, she would not wait for it to be passed through half a + dozen hands and handed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_584" id="Page_584">584</a></span> + her by a Princess of the Blood. Sometimes she used + to summon me to amuse her and walk with me by the water in the beautiful + gardens of the <i>Petit Trianon</i>. I used to imitate the people she + disliked. I disliked them, too. I have seen her laugh until the tears + came into her eyes when I talked of Monsieur Necker. As the dark days + drew nearer I loved more and more to be in the seclusion of the country + at Montméry, at the St. Gré of my girlhood. I can see St. + Gré now,” said the Vicomtesse, “the thatched houses of the + little village on either side of the high-road, the honest, red-faced + peasants courtesying in their doorways at our <i>berline</i>, the brick + wall of the park, the iron gates beside the lodge, the long avenue of + poplars, the deer feeding in the beechwood, the bridge over the shining + stream and the long, weather-beaten château beyond it. Paris and the + muttering of the storm were far away. The mornings on the sunny terrace + looking across the valley to the blue hills, the walks in the village, + grew very dear to me. We do not know the value of things, Mr. Ritchie, + until we are about to lose them.” + </p> + <p> + “You did not go back to court?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I went back. I thought it my duty. I was at Versailles that + terrible summer when the States General met, when the National Assembly + grew out of it, when the Bastille was stormed, when the King was throwing + away his prerogatives like confetti. Never did the gardens of the Trianon + seem more beautiful, or more sad. Sometimes the Queen would laugh even + then when I mimicked Bailly, Des Moulins, Mirabeau. I was with her Majesty + in the gardens on that dark, rainy day when the fishwomen came to + Versailles. The memory of that night will haunt me as long as I live. The + wind howled, the rain lashed with fury against the windows, the mob tore + through the streets of the town, sacked the wine-shops, built great fires + at the corners. Before the day dawned again the furies had broken into the + palace and murdered what was left of the Guard. You have heard how they + carried off the King and Queen to Paris—how they bore + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_585" id="Page_585">585</a></span> + the heads of the soldiers on their pikes. I saw it from a window, and I + shall never forget it.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice faltered, and there were tears on her lashes. Some quality in + her narration brought before me so vividly the scenes of which she spoke + that I started when she had finished. There was much more I would have + known, but I could not press her to speak longer on a subject that gave + her pain. At that moment she seemed more distant to me than ever before. + She rose, went into the house, and left me thinking of the presumptions of + the hopes I had dared to entertain, left me picturing sadly the existence + of which she had spoken. Why had she told me of it? Perchance she had + thought to do me a kindness! + </p> + <p> + She came back to me—I had not thought she would. She sat down with + her embroidery in her lap, and for some moments busied herself with it in + silence. Then she said, without looking up:— + </p> + <p> + “I do not know why I have tired you with this, why I have saddened + myself. It is past and gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not tired, Madame. It is very difficult to live in the present + when the past has been so brilliant,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “So brilliant!” She sighed. “So thoughtless,—I think that is + the sharpest regret.” I watched her fingers as they stitched, wondering + how they could work so rapidly. At last she said in a low voice, + “Antoinette and Mr. Temple have told me something of your life, Mr. + Ritchie.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It has been very humble,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “What I heard was—interesting to me,” she said, turning over + her frame. “Will you not tell me something of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Gladly, Madame, if that is the case,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then," she said, "why don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know which part you would like, Madame. Shall I tell you about + Colonel Clark? I do not know when to begin—” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her sewing in her lap and looked up at me quickly. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_586" id="Page_586">586</a></span> + “I told you that you were a strange man,” she said. “I almost lose + patience with you. No, don't tell me about Colonel Clark—at least + not until you come to him. Begin at the beginning, at the cabin in the + mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “You want the whole of it!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + She picked up her embroidery again and bent over it with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I want the whole of it.” + </p> + <p> + So I began at the cabin in the mountains. I cannot say that I ever forgot + she was listening, but I lost myself in the narrative. It presented to me, + for the first time, many aspects that I had not thought of. For instance, + that I should be here now in Louisiana telling it to one who had been the + companion and friend of the Queen of France. Once in a while the + Vicomtesse would look up at me swiftly, when I paused, and then go on with + her work again. I told her of Temple Bow, and how I had run away; of Polly + Ann and Tom, of the Wilderness Trail and how I shot Cutcheon, of the fight + at Crab Orchard, of the life in Kentucky, of Clark and his campaign. Of my + doings since; how I had found Nick and how he had come to New Orleans with + me; of my life as a lawyer in Louisville, of the conventions I had been + to. The morning wore on to midday, and I told her more than I believed it + possible to tell any one. When at last I had finished a fear grew upon me + that I had told her too much. Her fingers still stitched, her head was + bent and I could not see her face,—only the knot of her hair coiled + with an art that struck me suddenly. Then she spoke, and her voice was + very low. + </p> + <p> + “I love Polly Ann,” she said; “I should like to know her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish that you could know her,” I answered, quickening. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head, and looked at me with an expression that was not a + smile. I could not say what it was, or what it meant. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think you are stupid,” she said, in the same tone, + “but I do not believe you know how remarkable + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_587" id="Page_587">587</a></span> + your life has been. I can scarcely realize + that you have seen all this, have done all this, have felt all this. You + are a lawyer, a man of affairs, and yet you could guide me over the hidden + paths of half a continent. You know the mountain ranges, the passes, the + rivers, the fords, the forest trails, the towns and the men who made + them!" She picked up her sewing and bent over it once more. "And yet you + did not think that this would interest me.” + </p> + <p> + Perchance it was a subtle summons in her voice I heard that bade me open + the flood-gates of my heart,—I know not. I know only that no power + on earth could have held me silent then. + </p> + <p> + “Hélène!” I said, and stopped. My heart beat so wildly + that I could hear it. “I do not know why I should dare to think of you, + to look up to you—Hélène, I love you, I shall love you + till I die. I love you with all the strength that is in me, with all my + soul. You know it, and if you did not I could hide it no more. As long as + I live there will never be another woman in the world for me. I love you. + You will forgive me because of the torture I have suffered, because of + the pain I shall suffer when I think of you in the years to come.” + </p> + <p> + Her sewing dropped to her lap—to the floor. She looked at me, and + the light which I saw in her eyes flooded my soul with a joy beyond my + belief. I trembled with a wonder that benumbed me. I would have got to my + feet had she not come to me swiftly, that I might not rise. She stood + above me, I lifted up my arms; she bent to me with a movement that + conferred a priceless thing. + </p> + <p> + “David,” she said, “could you not tell that I loved you, that + you were he who has been in my mind for so many years, and in my + heart since I saw you?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not tell,” I said. “I dared not think it. I—I + thought there was another.” + </p> + <p> + She was seated on the arm of my chair. She drew back her head with a smile + trembling on her lips, with a lustre burning in her eyes like a + vigil—a vigil for me. + </p> + <p> + “He reminded me of you,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + I was lost in sheer, bewildering happiness. And she + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_588" id="Page_588">588</a></span> + who created it, who herself was that happiness, roused me from it. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking that a star has fallen,—that I may have a jewel + beyond other men,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And a star has risen for me,” she said, “that I may have a + guide beyond other women.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is you who have raised it, Hélène.” I was + silent a moment, trying again to bring the matter within my grasp. + “Do you mean that you love me, that you will marry me, that you will + come back to Kentucky with me and will be content,—you, who have + been the companion of a Queen?” + </p> + <p> + There came an archness into her look that inflamed me the more. + </p> + <p> + “I, who have been the companion of a Queen, love you, will marry you, + will go back to Kentucky with you and be content,” she repeated. + “And yet not I, David, but another woman—a happy woman. You + shall be my refuge, my strength, my guide. You will lead me over the + mountains and through the wilderness by the paths you know. You will + bring me to Polly Ann that I may thank her for the gift of + you,—above all other gifts in the world.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent again. + </p> + <p> + “Hélène,” I said at last, + “will you give me the miniature?” + </p> + <p> + “On one condition,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “yes. And again yes. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That you will obey me—sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a privilege I long for,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “You did not begin with promise,” she said. + </p> + <p><a name="Page_588-T1" id="Page_588-T1"></a> + I released her hand, and she drew the ivory from her gown and gave it me. + I kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to Monsieur Isadore's and get the frame,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “When I give you permission,” said Hélène, gently. + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + I have written this story for her eyes. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_589" id="Page_589">589</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">CHAPTER XV</a> + </h2> + <h3>An Episode in the Life of a Man</h3> + <p> + <span class="smcap">Out</span> of the blood and ashes of France a Man had + arisen who moved real kings and queens on his chess-board—which was + a large part of the world. The Man was Napoleon Buonaparte, at present, + for lack of a better name, First Consul of the French Republic. The + Man's eye, sweeping the world for a new plaything, had rested upon one + which had excited the fancy of lesser adventurers, of one John Law, for + instance. It was a large, unwieldy plaything indeed, and remote. It was + nothing less than that vast and mysterious country which lay beyond the + monster yellow River of the Wilderness, the country bordered on the south + by the Gulf swamps, on the north by no man knew what forests,—as + dark as those the Romans found in Gaul,—on the west by a line which + other generations might be left to settle. + </p> + <p> + This land was Louisiana. + </p> + <p> + A future king of France, while an <i>émigré</i>, had been to + Louisiana. This is merely an interesting fact worth noting. It was not + interesting to Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + Napoleon, by dint of certain screws which he tightened on his Catholic + Majesty, King Charles of Spain, in the Treaty of San Ildefonso on the 1st + of October, 1800, got his plaything. Louisiana was French + again,—whatever French was in those days. The treaty was a profound + secret. But secrets leak out, even the profoundest; and this was wafted + across the English Channel to the ears of Mr. Rufus King, American + Minister at London, who wrote of it to one Thomas Jefferson, President of + the United States. Mr. Jefferson was interested, not to say alarmed. + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_590" id="Page_590">590</a></span> + Mr. Robert Livingston was about to depart on his mission from the little + Republic of America to the great Republic of France. Mr. Livingston was + told not to make himself disagreeable, but to protest. If Spain was to + give up the plaything, the Youngest Child among the Nations ought to have + it. It lay at her doors, it was necessary for her growth. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Livingston arrived in France to find that Louisiana was a mere pawn on + the chess-board, the Republic he represented little more. He protested, + and the great Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders. What was Monsieur talking + about? A treaty. What treaty? A treaty with Spain ceding back Louisiana to + France after forty years. Who said there was such a treaty? Did Monsieur + take snuff? Would Monsieur call again when the Minister was less busy? + </p> + <p> + Monsieur did call again, taking care not to make himself disagreeable. He + was offered snuff. He called again, pleasantly. He was offered snuff. He + called again. The great Talleyrand laughed. He was always so happy to see + Monsieur when he (Talleyrand) was not busy. He would give Monsieur a + certificate of importunity. He had quite forgotten what Monsieur was + talking about on former occasions. Oh, yes, a treaty. Well, suppose there + was such a treaty, what then? + </p> + <p> + What then? Mr. Livingston, the agreeable but importunate, went home and + wrote a memorial, and was presently assured that the inaccessible Man who + was called First Consul had read it with interest—great interest. + Mr. Livingston did not cease to indulge in his enjoyable visits to + Talleyrand—not he. But in the intervals he sat down to think. + </p> + <p> + What did the inaccessible Man himself have in his mind? + </p> + <p> + The Man had been considering the Anglo-Saxon race, and in particular that + portion of it which inhabited the Western Hemisphere. He perceived that + they were a quarrelsome people, which possessed the lust for land and + conquest like the rest of their blood. He saw with + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_591" id="Page_591">591</a></span> + astonishment something + that had happened, something that they had done. Unperceived by the world, + in five and twenty years they had swept across a thousand miles of + mountain and forest wilderness in ever increasing thousands, had beaten + the fiercest of savage tribes before them, stolidly unmindful of their + dead. They had come at length to the great yellow River, and finding it + closed had cried aloud in their anger. What was beyond it to stop them? + Spain, with a handful of subjects inherited from the France of Louis the + Fifteenth. + </p> + <p> + Could Spain stop them? No. But he, the Man, would stop them. He would + raise up in Louisiana as a monument to himself a daughter of France to + curb their ambition. America should not be all Anglo-Saxon. + </p> + <p> + Already the Americans had compelled Spain to open the River. How long + before they would overrun Louisiana itself, until a Frenchman or a + Spaniard could scarce be found in the land? + </p> + <p> + Sadly, in accordance with the treaty which Monsieur Talleyrand had known + nothing about, his Catholic Majesty instructed his Intendant at New + Orleans to make ready to deliver Louisiana to the French Commission. That + was in July, 1802. This was not exactly an order to close the River + again—in fact, his Majesty said nothing about closing the River. + Mark the reasoning of the Spanish mind. The Intendant closed the River as + his plain duty. And Kentucky and Tennessee, wayward, belligerent infants + who had outgrown their swaddling clothes, were heard from again. The + Nation had learned to listen to them. The Nation was very angry. Mr. + Hamilton and the Federalists and many others would have gone to war and + seized the Floridas. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jefferson said, “Wait and see what his Catholic Majesty has to + say.” Mr. Jefferson was a man of great wisdom, albeit he had mistaken + Jacobinism for something else when he was younger. And he knew that + Napoleon could not play chess in the wind. The wind was rising. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Livingston was a patriot, able, importunate, but getting on in years + and a little hard of hearing. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_592" id="Page_592">592</a></span> + Importunity without an Army and a Navy + behind it is not effective—especially when there is no wind. But Mr. + Jefferson heard the wind rising, and he sent Mr. Monroe to Mr. + Livingston's aid. Mr. Monroe was young, witty, lively, popular with people + he met. He, too, heard the wind rising, and so now did Mr. Livingston. + </p> + <p> + The ships containing the advance guard of the colonists destined for the + new Louisiana lay in the roads at Dunkirk, their anchors ready to + weigh,—three thousand men, three thousand horses, for the Man did + things on a large scale. The anchors were not weighed. + </p> + <p> + His Catholic Majesty sent word from Spain to Mr. Jefferson that he was + sorry his Intendant had been so foolish. The River was opened again. + </p> + <p> + The Treaty of Amiens was a poor wind-shield. It blew down, and the + chessmen began to totter. One George of England, noted for his frugal + table and his quarrelsome disposition, who had previously fought with + France, began to call the Man names. The Man called George names, and sat + down to think quickly. George could not be said to be on the best of terms + with his American relations, but the Anglo-Saxon is unsentimental, + phlegmatic, setting money and trade and lands above ideals. George meant + to go to war again. Napoleon also meant to go to war again. But George + meant to go to war again right away, which was inconvenient and + inconsiderate, for Napoleon had not finished his game of chess. The + obvious outcome of the situation was that George with his Navy would get + Louisiana, or else help his relations to get it. In either case Louisiana + would become Anglo-Saxon. + </p> + <p> + This was the wind which Mr. Jefferson had heard. + </p> + <p> + The Man, being a genius who let go gracefully when he had to, decided + between two bad bargains. He would sell Louisiana to the Americans as a + favor; they would be very, very grateful, and they would go on hating + George. Moreover, he would have all the more money with which to fight + George. + </p> + <p> + The inaccessible Man suddenly became accessible. Nay, he became gracious, + smiling, full of loving-kindness, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_593" id="Page_593">593</a></span> + charitable. Certain dickerings followed + by a bargain passed between the American Minister and Monsieur + Barbé-Marbois. Then Mr. Livingston and Mr. Monroe dined with the + hitherto inaccessible. And the Man, after the manner of Continental + Personages, asked questions. Frederick the Great has started this fashion, + and many have imitated it. + </p> + <p> + Louisiana became American at last. Whether by destiny or chance, whether + by the wisdom of Jefferson or the necessity of Napoleon, who can say? It + seems to me, David Ritchie, writing many years after the closing words of + the last chapter were penned, that it was ours inevitably. For I have seen + and known and loved the people with all their crudities and faults, whose + inheritance it was by right of toil and suffering and blood. + </p> + <p> + And I, David Ritchie, saw the flags of three nations waving over it in the + space of two days. And it came to pass in this wise. + </p> + <p> + Rumors of these things which I have told above had filled Kentucky from + time to time, and in November of 1803 there came across the mountains the + news that the Senate of the United States had ratified the treaty between + our ministers and Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + I will not mention here what my life had become, what my fortune, save to + say that both had been far beyond my expectations. In worldly goods and + honors, in the respect and esteem of my fellow-men, I had been happy + indeed. But I had been blessed above other men by one whose power it was + to lift me above the mean and sordid things of this world. + </p> + <p> + Many times in the pursuit of my affairs I journeyed over that country + which I had known when it belonged to the Indian and the deer and the elk + and the wolf and the buffalo. Often did she ride by my side, making light + of the hardships which, indeed, were no hardships to her, wondering at the + settlements which had sprung up like magic in the wilderness, which were + the heralds of the greatness of the Republic,—her country now. + </p> + <p> + So, in the bright and boisterous March weather of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_594" id="Page_594">594</a></span> + year 1804, we found + ourselves riding together along the way made memorable by the footsteps of + Clark and his backwoodsmen. For I had an errand in St. Louis with Colonel + Chouteau. A subtle change had come upon Kaskaskia with the new blood which + was flowing into it: we passed Cahokia, full of memories to the drummer + boy whom she loved. There was the church, the garrison, the stream, and + the little house where my Colonel and I had lived together. She must see + them all, she must hear the story from my lips again; and the telling of + it to her gave it a new fire and a new life. + </p> + <p> + At evening, when the March wind had torn the cotton clouds to shreds, we + stood on the Mississippi's bank, gazing at the western shore, at + Louisiana. The low, forest-clad hills made a black band against the sky, + and above the band hung the sun, a red ball. He was setting, and man might + look upon his face without fear. The sight of the waters of that river + stirred me to think of many things. What had God in store for the vast + land out of which the waters flowed? Had He, indeed, saved it for a + People, a People to be drawn from all nations, from all classes? Was the + principle of the Republic to prevail and spread and change the complexion + of the world? Or were the lusts of greed and power to increase until in + the end they had swallowed the leaven? Who could say? What man of those + who, soberly, had put his hand to the Paper which declared the + opportunities of generations to come, could measure the Force which he had + helped to set in motion. + </p> + <p> + We crossed the river to the village where I had been so kindly received + many years ago—to St. Louis. The place was little changed. The wind + was stilled, the blue wood smoke curled lazily from the wide stone + chimneys of the houses nestling against the hill. The afterglow was fading + into night; lights twinkled in the windows. Followed by our servants we + climbed the bank, Hélène and I, and walked the quiet streets + bordered by palings. The evening was chill. We passed a bright cabaret + from which came the sound of many voices; in the blacksmith's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_595" id="Page_595">595</a></span> + shop another group was gathered, and we saw faces eager in the red light. + They were talking of the Cession. + </p> + <p> + We passed that place where Nick had stopped Suzanne in the cart, and + laughed at the remembrance. We came to Monsieur Gratiot's, for he had + bidden us to stay with him. And with Madame he gave us a welcome to warm + our hearts after our journey. + </p> + <p> + “David,” he said, “I have seen many strange things happen in my + life, but the strangest of all is that Clark's drummer boy should have + married a Vicomtesse of the old régime.” + </p> + <p> + And she was ever Madame la Vicomtesse to our good friends in St. Louis, + for she was a woman to whom a title came as by nature's right. + </p> + <p> + “And you are about to behold another strange thing, David,” Monsieur + Gratiot continued. “To-day you are on French territory.” + </p> + <p> + “French territory!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “To-day Upper Louisiana is French,” he answered. “To-morrow it will + be American forever. This morning Captain Stoddard of the United States + Army, empowered to act as a Commissioner of the French Republic, arrived + with Captain Lewis and a guard of American troops. Today, at noon, the + flag of Spain was lowered from the staff at the headquarters. To-night a + guard of honor watches with the French Tricolor, and we are French for the + last time. To-morrow we shall be Americans.” + </p> + <p> + I saw that simple ceremony. The little company of soldiers was drawn up + before the low stone headquarters, the villagers with heads uncovered + gathered round about. I saw the Stars and Stripes rising, the Tricolor + setting. They met midway on the staff, hung together for a space, and a + salute to the two nations echoed among the hills across the waters of the + great River that rolled impassive by. + </p> + + <p> + <a name="Afterword" id="Afterword"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div class="chapterhead"> + <br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_596" id="Page_596">596</a></span> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <a href="#TOC_003">AFTERWORD</a> + </h2> + <p> + <span class="smcap">This</span> book has been named “The Crossing” + because I have tried to express in it the beginnings of that great + movement across the mountains which swept resistless over the Continent + until at last it saw the Pacific itself. The Crossing was the first + instinctive reaching out of an infant nation which was one day to become + a giant. No annals in the world's history are more wonderful than the + story of the conquest of Kentucky and Tennessee by the pioneers. + </p> + <p> + This name, “The Crossing,” is likewise typical in another sense. The + political faith of our forefathers, of which the Constitution is the + creed, was made to fit a more or less homogeneous body of people who + proved that they knew the meaning of the word “Liberty.” By Liberty, + our forefathers meant the Duty as well as the Right of man to govern himself. + The Constitution amply attests the greatness of its authors, but it was a + compromise. It was an attempt to satisfy thirteen colonies, each of which + clung tenaciously to its identity. It suited the eighteenth-century + conditions of a little English-speaking confederacy along the seaboard, + far removed from the world's strife and jealousy. It scarcely contemplated + that the harassed millions of Europe would flock to its fold, and it did + not foresee that, in less than a hundred years, its own citizens would + sweep across the three thousand miles of forest and plain and mountain to + the Western Ocean, absorb French and Spanish Louisiana, Spanish Texas, + Mexico, and California, fill this land with broad farmsteads and populous + cities, cover it with a network of railroads. + </p> + <p> + Would the Constitution, made to meet the needs of the little confederacy + of the seaboard, stretch over a Continent and an Empire? + </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_597" id="Page_597">597</a></span> + We are fighting out that question to-day. But The Crossing was in Daniel + Boone's time, in George Rogers Clark's. Would the Constitution stand the + strain? And will it stand the strain now that the once remote haven of the + oppressed has become a world-power? + </p> + <p> + It was a difficult task in a novel to gather the elements necessary to + picture this movement: the territory was vast, the types bewildering. The + lonely mountain cabin; the seigniorial life of the tide-water; the + foothills and mountains which the Scotch-Irish have marked for their own + to this day; the Wilderness Trail; the wonderland of Kentucky, and the + cruel fighting in the border forts there against the most relentless of + foes; George Rogers Clark and his momentous campaign which gave to the + Republic Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois; the transition period—the + coming of the settler after the pioneer; Louisiana, St. Louis, and New + Orleans,—to cover this ground, to picture the passions and politics + of the time, to bring the counter influence of the French Revolution as + near as possible to reality, has been a three years' task. The + autobiography of David Ritchie is as near as I can get to its solution, + and I have a great sense of its incompleteness. + </p> + <p> + I had hoped when I planned the series to bring down this novel through the + stirring period which ended, by a chance, when a <i>steamboat</i> brought + supplies to Jackson's army in New Orleans—the beginning of the era + of steam commerce on our Western waters. This work will have to be + reserved for a future time. + </p> + <p> + I have tried to give a true history of Clark's campaign as seen by an + eyewitness, trammelled as little as possible by romance. Elsewhere, as I + look back through these pages, I feel as though the soil had only been + scraped. What principality in the world has the story to rival that of + John Sevier and the State of Franklin? I have tried to tell the truth as I + went along. General Jackson was a boy at the Waxhaws and dug his toes in + the red mud. He was a man at Jonesboro, and tradition says that he fought + with a fence-rail. Sevier was captured as narrated. Monsieur Gratiot, + Monsieur Vigo, and Father Gibault lost the money + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_598" id="Page_598">598</a></span> + which they gave to Clark + and their country. Monsieur Vigo actually travelled in the state which + Davy describes when he went down the river with him. Monsieur Gratiot and + Colonel Auguste Chouteau and Madame Chouteau are names so well known in + St. Louis that it is superfluous to say that such persons existed and were + the foremost citizens of the community. + </p> + <p> + Among the many to whom my apologies and thanks are due is Mr. Pierre + Chouteau of St. Louis, whose unremitting labors have preserved and + perpetuated the history and traditions of the country of his ancestors. I + would that I had been better able to picture the character, the courage, + the ability, and patriotism of the French who settled Louisiana. The + Republic owes them much, and their descendants are to-day among the + stanchest preservers of her ideals. + </p> + <p> + WINSTON CHURCHILL. <br /> + <span style="font-style:italic">Boston, April 18, 1904</span></p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="chapterhead"> +<a name="Transcriber_Notes" id="Transcriber_Notes"></a> +<h2>Transcriber Notes</h2> +</div> + +<p class="letter1"> +Welcome to the <span class="smcap">Project Gutenberg</span> edition of +<i>The Crossing</i> by Winston Churchill. We have used the original +publication of this book, the 1904 MacMillan edition, as the source +for our transcription. On a few occasions changes were made to +correct obvious errors. +<br /><br /> +Differences between the text and e-book are explained here. A few items +that may be errors are listed below, but we did not correct +an error unless it was an obvious one. Sometimes, a word had been hyphenated +in the book to split across two lines for even spacing, thus forcing the +transcriber to make a choice. Some of those decisions are listed below. +<br /><br /></p> +<p class="letter1"> +<a href="#Page_54">Page 54</a>: Changed a double quote nested inside of +a double quote to use single quotes. “Behold, I ... affliction.” +became ‘Behold, I ... affliction.’ +<br /> +<a href="#Page_82">Page 82</a>: Journeycakes is spelled without a hyphen here, +but the journey-cakes of <a href="#Page_94-T1">Page 94</a> and +<a href="#Page_95-T1">Page 95</a> had a hyphen. There were four occurrences +of “journey-cake” and “journey-cakes” and no +other occurrences of the word spelled without a hyphen. The inconsistency was +retained.<br /> +<a href="#Page_147-T1">Page 147</a>: The repeating “at all at all” +looks like a typo, but Churchill also used “at all, at all” on +<a href="#Page_222">Page 222</a>. No changes were made.<br /> +<a href="#Page_150">Page 150</a>: grog-shop was hyphenated between +two lines, so could be transcribed as “grog-shop” or +“grogshop”. With no other examples in the novel, we went with +the latter usage— no hyphen.<br /> +<a href="#Page_152">Page 152</a>: The word “three-score,” split +across two lines with a hyphen, could be transcribed as “threescore” +or “three-score.” Two lines after that word, a sentence began +“Threescore years!” The word was hyphenated for spacing and not +transcribed with a hyphen.<br /> +<a href="#Page_310-T1">Page 310</a>: Add quotation-mark after Mr. Temple: +"Good-by, Mr. Temple,<strong>"</strong> she said…<br /> +<a href="#Page_317-T1">Page 317</a>: Hell-fire was split between +two lines for spacing purposes. The decision to retain the hyphen in the +transcription is traced to a prior use of the word in this novel. +On <a href="#Page_40-T1">Page 40</a>, hell-fire was spelled with a hyphen, +and the word was in the middle of a line.<br /> +On <a href="#Page_321">Page 321</a> and Page 322, changed double quotes +nested inside of double quotes to single quotes. For example, +“Ay, ay!” became ‘Ay, ay!’<br /> +<a href="#Page_338-T1">Page 338</a>: Place period after all the +tribes.<br /> +<a href="#Page_375">Page 375</a>: Remove comma after tinkle of a +guitar.<br /> +<a href="#Page_385-T1">Page 385</a>: Was Mounsier de Saint-Gré at home? +This question should end in a question mark but the author put a +period there—and so did we.<br /> +<a href="#Page_426-T1">Page 426</a>: Ignored hyphen in black forest-swamp. +In print, the hyphen occurred at the end of a line. However, +the novel writes “forest swamp” on <a href="#Page_51">Page 51</a> +and “forest swamps” on <a href="#Page_216-T1">Page 216</a>—and +never uses “forest-swamp.” This inconsistency was assumed to be +a publisher's mistake in typesetting.<br /> +<a href="#Page_448-T1">Page 448</a>: “fianancier” may be dialect, +but in other quotes of characters it is spelled “financier.” See +<a href="#Page_192">Page 192</a>, +<a href="#Page_250-T1">Page 250</a>, and +<a href="#Page_283-T1">Page 283</a>. No change was made. <br /> +<a href="#Page_494-T1">Page 494</a>: The verse following Caroline is +printed to sheet music in the book. <br /> +<a href="#Page_588-T1">Page 588</a>: The preposition “to” is +missing from the following phrase: “she drew the ivory from her gown +and gave it me.” “Gave it to me” sounds better. +Nevertheless, the sentence was written without the to, and it remains as the +author wrote it in the e-book. +<br /><br /> +Some inconsistencies were highlighted above, but there also were instances +where <i>New Orléans</i> was given an acute accent, but more often so, it +was not. The same occurred with <i>Miró</i>. Another inconsistency +was the author italicizing <i>banquette</i> and <i>piastre</i> as part of his +rule of italicizing foreign words, but failing to do so all the time. We +retained these inconsistencies in transcribing the book. <br /> <br /> +There were some cases where it was difficult to distinguish whether there was +or was not a space before 'll. The contraction 'll was not spaced for common +contractions, such as I'll, he'll, they'll. However, there was a space for +“Breed 'll”, “what 'll”, “M'lisse 'll”, and +other uncommon contractions formed with 'll. Sometimes, with line compression +to justify the text, it is difficult to tell whether there should, or should +not, be a space between the two parts of the uncommon contraction. In those +cases where it was difficult to tell, we applied the convention as stated +above.<br /><br /> +Two confusing passages to transcribe are Davy's narration on +<a href="#Page_284">Page 284</a> and Page 285 and Hélène's +narration on <a href="#Page_583">Page 583</a>. Other paragraphs contain +quotes embedded within quotes. We changed double quotes nested inside +of double quotes to single quotes because our error-checking utilities flag +the second double quote as an error. <br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<div class="boilerplate"> +<p class="bold"> +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROSSING *** +</p> +<p> +***** This file should be named 388-h.htm or 388-h.zip ***** +</p> + +<p> +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<span class="neat-left-margin"> + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/388/</span> +</p> + +<p> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions +will be renamed. +</p> +<br /> +<p> +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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