CONCLUSION
“Napoleon has come! _Napoleon est ici! Vive Napoleon!_”
For a time the simple French habitants were mute with astonishment. Then
an answering shout rose: “_Vive Napoleon! Vive la France!_” It was like
putting a match to fireworks. An indescribable excitement ensued. The
settlers crowded the river bank. Trappers fired their guns in the air.
And now from all the more distant houses, from the fort and from the
watch-tower, many others—traders, soldiers, and even the governor and
his secretary—came hastening to the landing-place.
Within five minutes more than a thousand people collected, all vastly
astonished and overjoyed at the strange tidings.
A babel of eager questions now burst forth. Was it true? Where was the
mighty Frenchman? And who was worthy to entertain him? All looked to
Governor Delassus. With inward consternation the good governor bethought
himself as to his somewhat scanty accommodations. In short, the prank
was even more successful than the waggish Grimsby had anticipated.
Intent on securing the full dramatic effect of his joke at the proper
moment, the frivolous lieutenant had kept the bear out of sight, in the
horse stalls, till the boat drew in to the bank. Then hauling him
suddenly forth by his chain, he made him rear on his haunches in plain
sight of all and shouted, “_Voila Napoleon!_”
Lewis and Moses, from the deck above, also cried, “Here’s Napoleon!” and
burst into shouts of laughter.
A jest of this kind was quite in keeping with the rough humor of
frontiersmen, but with these French people it fell very flat. They
neither understood nor appreciated it; they were simply bewildered.
“_Un ours!_” (a bear!) they murmured, with glances of displeasure and
many shrugs of disgust.
“_Un ours!_” What did it all mean, and what in the world were these
Americans laughing at? Where was the joke? They failed to see anything
laughable. “_Un ours!_”
No one laughed, and at last the lieutenant tried to explain his joke.
“_Son nom est Napoleon!_” said he, pointing to the bear. “That is his
name! Napoleon! He has come to see you!” and Grimsby burst out in
another laugh.
Dismal silence continued to prevail ashore, except that several, still
shrugging with comical little grimaces, muttered that _Monsieur,
l’Americain_, appeared to be _un farceur_—a joker!
“Ah, well,” cried Grimsby, disgusted in turn by their lack of humor,
“you had better take a good look at him! It is the only Napoleon that
you will ever see come up the Mississippi! Your grand Napoleon has sold
you out to the United States. Within ten days your new American governor
will be here!”
At this juncture Capt. Meriwether Lewis, who had recently come there,
made his way down to the bank, and hailing Captain Royce, whom he had
previously met at Marietta, lent his aid to explain the matter to the
governor and others. Captain Lewis was at this time completing his
preparations for the famous Lewis and Clark expedition, which, under
direction of President Jefferson, set off from St. Louis on the 10th of
May following.
Lieutenant Grimsby had not seen the last of his joke, however. On
setting off from the _Milly Ayer_ the next morning, to lead Napoleon to
the governor’s house, at the northeast corner of Main and Walnut
Streets, he was stoned by some young loafers; and in his efforts to
catch one of them he lost hold of Napoleon.
The bear, alarmed by the stones, galloped up the street and turned in at
the open gate of one of the palisaded courtyards.
Immediately a great outcry ensued inside. Children and women screamed,
and presently a gun was fired. Napoleon was creating a terrible
commotion, and it was uncertain what damage to life or property he might
be doing. But Grimsby, being overmatched by his assailants, was unable
to go in pursuit of him. After a scuffle the lieutenant ran back to the
river bank and called on Moses, Lewis and Wistar Royce to return with
him.
The four set off together at a run, and on reaching the scene of the
skirmish, found that Grimsby’s assailants had beaten a retreat, and a
worse outcry than ever was issuing from within the courtyard of the
house where the pet bear had taken refuge. But now the cries were those
of pigs instead of human beings. The gate had swung to and latched, and
the palisades were too high to scale.
After some delay Grimsby and his friends forced the gate,—for the case
seemed urgent,—and found an odd state of affairs prevailing within. In
one corner of the yard was a sow with a large litter of young pigs. To
these Napoleon was paying assiduous attentions. But for each one that he
seized he was forced to fight a pitched battle with the sow, which, in
defense of her young, attacked him with great intrepidity, squealing and
clacking her jaws in a most ferocious manner. With a stroke of his paw
the bear was able to prostrate the sow, but immediately she was on her
feet again, quite as fierce as before.
There was such an uproar that the rescue party did not at first notice
what had become of the people of the house till they heard them calling
out from the roof.
The man, a French trader, had a gun, the flint-lock of which he was
endeavoring to put in order. He had fired once, but had failed to do the
bear much injury. The trader’s wife, children and two or three female
servants were behind him on the roof, and they all besought the arksmen
to drive out the bear and save their poor pigs.
Grimsby and Moses laid hold of the chain and tried to pull Napoleon
away, but he had become excited in the affray with the sow. He was
bleeding from several slight wounds; and, moreover, had had a taste of
young pork. He turned upon his masters so savagely that they were
obliged to let him go, but they finally succeeded in driving him out of
the enclosure.
Attracted by the clamor, a considerable crowd had collected in the
street outside the gate, and when the bear rushed forth another hubbub
rose. Napoleon ran up Market Street, however, which was then a mere
country lane, and escaped through the broken gate of the stockade which
enclosed the hamlet.
Outside the stockade there were clearings, fifty or sixty acres in
extent, where the people raised wheat, corn and vegetables. It was while
cultivating these crops a few years before that the settlers were
surprised by the savages from the British post at Michilimackinac during
the American Revolution. Across this cleared tract Napoleon was now
escaping. On reaching the gateway of the stockade, Lewis caught sight of
his shaggy black coat as he bounded over the charred logs that still
encumbered the fields.
They all gave chase after him, for Grimsby was very desirous of
presenting him to Major Stoddard; but the bear ran fast and reached the
woods. For the time being, at least, he appeared to have had more than
enough of civilization and its dubious luxuries—including young pigs
with savage mothers. Lewis and Moses called after him in most endearing
accents, but he still ran on. They could hear his long chain jingle as
it dragged over logs; and now and then they sighted him, but could not
overtake him.
Thinking, however, that he would stop after awhile, they followed on for
several miles, through what was then a virgin forest of chestnut, walnut
and sycamore.
At last they crossed a creek and saw the bear ascending a hill. Near the
top of this hill they came upon him, hung up hard and fast by his chain,
the ring in the end of which had caught between two fallen tree trunks.
He was panting hard, and appeared to have had all the exercise he
desired. He licked Moses’ hand when the boy patted his head, and went
back with them in a very docile frame of mind to the governor’s house.
The arksmen were far too desirous of reaching home to dally longer than
was necessary in St. Louis. Having landed his passenger according to
agreement, and disposed of his venture in coffee and sugar, Captain
Royce lost no time in returning down the river. He was not sorry to part
company with the waggish Grimsby, whose propensity for practical joking
rendered companionship with him both embarrassing and unsafe.
Having now the river current in aid of the paddle-gear, they reached the
confluence with the Ohio in a little more than two days. After what had
taken place there a week or more before, they judged it prudent to go
past “Cairo” during the small hours of the night. Beyond doubt this was
a wise precaution. It was learned subsequently that the population of
the old “broadhorn” was watching the river for them. Practical jokes
have an unpleasant habit of coming home to roost.
On March 19th they “cordelled” up Letart’s “Falls,” the scene of their
encounter with the Shawnees, and a little before sunset, three days
later—just a year and two days from the time when they had started—the
_Milly Ayer_ rounded the bend below Fish Creek, and came in sight of
home.
As the familiar hillocks and clearings came into view, Lewis, Moses and
Wistar waxed wild with excitement and delight. They danced and whooped;
Moses actually stood on his head, and Marion Royce felt his own heart
beating hard and fast. But he was pondering gravely on all that might
have happened during their long absence, and on the evil tidings that he
must bear to the mother of Louis Gist and the wife of John Cutler.
Not one word from home had reached them in all that time; but he
supposed that Corson and MacAfee had arrived long ago, bearing his
message that the horse-boat was on her way.
In point of fact, however, no news had come to the home people since
that black day in early June, when Gist had found his way back and
reported the capture of the ark by the Indians.
Gist’s account had been doubted by many, and for a long time those
anxious little homesteads had waited and hoped that further tidings
would come. But when September and October passed and winter drew on,
even the most sanguine grew hopeless; and how disconsolately the spring
opened! For, not only had these pioneer families lost the fruits of two
years’ hard labor, but also their most efficient young men. There seemed
nothing left them with which to begin another year; not even heart and
courage to labor on.
In the Royce and Hoyt families there was mourning for both their sons;
and at the Ayer farmhouse grief more silent, perhaps, but even more
poignant, was felt. Milly was among those who had hoped bravely on till
midwinter. She and Molly Royce were the last to give up faith that
Marion, Lewis and Moses had somehow escaped and would yet come back.
But when March passed and no tidings came, despair fell on them, too,
and the despair of such hopeful young hearts is sad to witness. The
little settlement was in mourning none the less sincere that there was
no black crape or sable plume for outward symbols of it.
Yet one emblem of their grief these sad-faced women and girls were able
to contrive. They wove and fashioned little shoulder capes from homespun
linen, and dyed them black with an “ink” made by boiling the twigs of
the swamp-maple. Nine of these little black capes were worn that spring,
and one of those pathetic little tokens of pioneer sorrow is still in
existence, the property of a lineal descendant of Milly Ayer.
That afternoon Milly and Molly chanced to be coming from Mrs. Merrick’s
cabin, when, as they climbed the hillside, where a vista of the Ohio
opened to view, Molly saw the “keel” rounding the bend.
“There’s a boat coming, Milly,” she said, soberly enough; but Milly,
thinking of one that would never return, had hardly the heart to look.
Boats on the river were always objects of interest then, however, and
Molly presently turned.
“It’s a keel,” she said. “It must be a horse-boat, too, it comes so
fast.”
“A Pittsburgh keel, it is likely,” Milly replied, apathetically; “or,
maybe, Marietta.”
“Perhaps it is from New Orleans,” said Molly. “Oh, I wish we could hail
them and ask if they had ever heard anything.”
They had no real intention of doing so bold a thing, yet for some
moments they stood watching the approaching craft, which, to avoid the
more rapid current, had been keeping well over to the Virginia shore.
“It’s going to cross!” Molly exclaimed, at last. “It’s heading this way!
What a noise the paddles make!”—for the wind was southerly.
Sturdily the little keel stemmed the river current, making for the creek
mouth.
[Illustration:
“THEY ARE GOING TO CALL AT OUR LANDING!”]
“O Milly, I do believe they are going to call at our landing!” the
younger girl now exclaimed in excitement. “Yes, they are coming right
into our creek! Hear the horses’ feet clatter!”
“Perhaps they want to buy something—eggs, or milk, or potatoes,” said
Milly. “We have a few eggs. We will go out on the bluff above the
landing, and answer if they hail.”
There was a little belt of hickory and oak to pass through, and by the
time the two girls had come out on the bluff the keel of our returning
arksmen had entered the mouth of the creek, but was passing behind the
thick, tall fringe of sycamores that bordered the stream.
A moment later it emerged into the cleared space about the jetty, and
there stood Moses on top of the cabin roof. He had discovered them upon
the bluff, and was swinging his cap, shouting:
“There’s Milly! There’s Molly!”
Thereupon Marion and Wistar, who were forward with pike-poles, to fend
off, and Lewis, who was at the sweep aft, all looked up the bank and
joined in Moses’ joyous shouts.
So sudden was the transition from sorrow to joy, it is not strange that
instead of rushing down to the landing, the two girls, after a feeble
effort to answer, sat down, quite overcome, and burst into tears. When
Captain Royce and the others jumped ashore and ran up to where they
were, Milly and Molly were found smiling, indeed, but with such wet
cheeks that, noting the little black capes, Marion cried, “O Milly, who
is dead?”
And it is said that Milly’s faint little reply was, “Nobody,
Marion—except—except—you!”
We may be sure that these brave youths were not long convincing the
girls that they were still very much alive; and, not only Milly and
Molly, but all the rest of the little community. For just then Mrs.
Ayer, who had seen the keel heading in, came hastening to the landing.
The Hoyt boys’ father also made his appearance, and immediately the
glorious news was shouted from house to house.
The last to hear of the safe return of the arksmen was Uncle Amasa. He
had broken in the long months of grieving for the disappearance of
Jimmy, whom he believed dead, and he came in slowly, with as much
heaviness in his heart as he had of sympathy for those whom he was
coming to congratulate. But when he neared the group about the landing
he saw a figure that made his heart quicken. Jimmy saw him at the same
moment.
“I—I’ve seen pa,” Jimmy said in strange, inconsequent sort of haste. “He
sent his love to you.”
Old Uncle Amasa laid trembling hands on him, and wordlessly drew him
close.
Jimmy looked about at the familiar place, scarred with the fire where
the shed had stood. “The man that set it is killed,” he said. “He did it
to spite you, grandfather, for an old, old grudge. He broached the
barrels and then when he couldn’t drink any more he set fire to the shed
and rode away, and I found him.” He looked back at the old
man.—“Governor Claiborne of Mississippi sent his regards to you. He says
we’re cousins. He was right at the head of everything. You would have
liked that. I tell you, if you’d been at New Orleans, you’d have been
proud of the family.”
Marion came up and shook Uncle Amasa’s hand. “You would have been proud
right along,” he said, eagerly. “It was Jimmy that pulled us through.”
Uncle Amasa chuckled and patted Jimmy’s shoulder. “I kinder thought it
would do Jimmy right much good to go out into the world,” he said.
Master Hempstead now came up and shook Jimmy’s hand. “When we last met
did not Sir Balin smite Sir Lanceor until the blood flowed over his
hawberk? Zounds, son, I am glad that you’ve found that somebody else was
the incendiary.”
“I owe you an apology, sir,” said Jimmy with great respect. “I was too
hasty.”
“It’s a grand thing to be hasty,” murmured Uncle Amasa, rubbing the bald
side of his head where the Indians had scalped him.
“I guess the governor thought so when Jimmy saved him from the
assassin’s bullet,” laughed Marion. “It seems to be all a question of
being hasty in the right place. Don’t you think so, Jimmy?”
“I guess that’s it,” said Jimmy, happily.
Then began such a jubilee as this small settlement had never known
before. “Brush College” had another holiday, and Master Hempstead became
vastly exhilarated—wholly from joy, let us hope. No one, it is said,
slept at all that night,—unless a few infants,—and dawn surprised the
entire population at the capacious Royce cabin, still listening to the
story of that memorable voyage.
Otherwise, too, the arksmen had great news to tell. New Orleans was no
longer a Spanish possession, but an American city, where Western keels,
arks and barges could go without let or hindrance; and the Mississippi
was a free river from St. Louis to the Gulf.
It was then—along toward morning—that Master Hempstead waxed wondrously
eloquent, and made a great speech, still remembered, in which, with
prophetic vision, he predicted and portrayed the future glories of the
middle West.
So much remains to relate that I bring the narrative to a close most
reluctantly. The annals of the Royce and Ayer families have it that
Milly and Marion made the most remarkable wedding tour of those times,
journeying even to Philadelphia and to the new capital city of
Washington, where they attended one of President Jefferson’s very
democratic receptions. But those things belong to the annals of other
years. Our task was but to tell the story of the Ark of 1803.
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Transcriber’s note:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.