A PEACEFUL INTERVAL
While Clark was counseling and making treaties with the different Indian
tribes at Cahokia, he was also sending men on different missions
throughout the western country.
For the most important mission he chose Father Gibault and Dr. Laffont,
an influential citizen of Kaskaskia. They were to take a proclamation to
the French settlers at Vincennes, asking them to renounce their fidelity
to the British king, George III and swear allegiance to the Americans.
Since Father Gibault was well known and respected for his earlier good
works among the people there and Dr. Laffont was a most persuasive man,
the French settlers willingly took their oath of allegiance to the
Americans.
Both men returned to Colonel Clark with this good news long before his
negotiations with the Indians were completed. Then Clark dispatched
Captain Helm to take charge of Fort Sackville at Vincennes.
Now that the three French villages, Kaskaskia, Cahokia and Vincennes
were in American hands, about half of Clark’s volunteers returned to
their homes in Kentucky and Virginia. Those who stayed acted not only as
guards for the American headquarters, but reinforced the French
garrisons at Kaskaskia and Cahokia against possible Indian attack.
Jim didn’t know how to occupy his time, now that Colonel Clark didn’t
seem to need him. One evening he decided to ask the colonel about it. “I
have nothing to do here, Colonel Clark,” he began. “I could go back to
Kentucky to see what’s left of our farm. I wouldn’t be afraid to stay
there alone, sir, and I could start clearing more land.”
Colonel Clark fidgeted in his chair. “I know you aren’t afraid, Jim, but
I wouldn’t think of letting you go back alone. You’d be a perfect target
for Indians. They haven’t all signed treaties, remember. Even so, I
don’t trust these redskins too far. Now if your parents——”
“But, sir,” Jim interrupted, “I don’t know if my parents——”
“I know, lad. It’ll be time enough for you to go back to your farm when
we locate your father and mother. I have asked every man who has gone
out from here to be on the lookout for the Hudsons. They are to ask in
every settlement if any one has seen or heard of them. It’s a slow sort
of grapevine method, I know, but word gets around that way. We’ll find
them, Jim, some day.”
Jim’s blue eyes misted with tears. “Oh, Colonel Clark, you think of
everything. No wonder you’re such a good military leader.”
“You can stay on at headquarters with me, Jim. That will give you a roof
over your head and three meals a day.” He stared at Jim for a moment and
then grinned. “I’ll have to find a buckskin outfit for you too, lad.
Even if you are Jim Long-Knife, that ragged blue outfit you’re wearing
must be replaced.”
Jim laughed. “These are the clothes the Potawatomis gave me. I have no
others. The Shawnees took the ones my mother was taking to Harrodsburg.”
“And you’ll need some work to do, Jim, to keep you out of mischief.”
“I can get a job, I’m sure. Willie told me he could get work for me with
Monsieur Gabriel Cerré, the wealthy merchant here. Willie works for
him.”
Colonel Clark frowned. “Willie? Who’s Willie?”
Jim seemed surprised. “Willie Watson, sir. The boy we found in the boat
the night we took Kaskaskia.”
Clark nodded. “To be sure. I remember you told me about him, but I
didn’t notice him that night. What does he do for Monsieur Cerré?”
“He sorts fur pelts and counts them. I saw him yesterday and he has
already started the fall work.”
“It sounds like a good job, Jim. Ask Willie to take you to see Monsieur
Cerré.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll go over now and see Willie.”
Jim started over to the fur depot to find Willie, but on the way he saw
him coming. “Oh, Willie.”
“Hello, Jim. Still running errands for Colonel Clark?”
“No. I guess my work with him is over. I was just coming to see if you
could get me a job with Monsieur Cerré.”
Willie smiled. “Sure. Just today the men were saying they needed another
boy to sort pelts this fall.”
“Can we go tomorrow?”
Willie shook his head. “There isn’t going to be any work tomorrow. The
men have to wait for some supplies coming up from New Orleans. I’ll be
glad to take you as soon as the depot opens again. I’ve just been
talking to Father Gibault about getting the beeswax and honey from that
bee tree I marked for him.”
“Haven’t you been across the river since that night?”
“No. You see Father Gibault thought it would be easier to get later in
the fall. But since there’s no work tomorrow he said I might go after
it, if I could get someone to help me. Would you like to go along with
me?”
Jim’s eyes sparkled. “Sure, if Colonel Clark says I may.”
“Come over about ten o’clock then. We can’t go too early as we have to
wait until most of the bees are out of the hive.”
“I’ll be there, Willie.”
“Be sure to wear your moccasins—” Willie looked doubtfully at Jim’s
thin, worn clothes, “and you’d better get some buckskin clothes to wear.
Bees can’t sting through buckskin.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.”
Colonel Clark said Jim might go after the honey, but added he couldn’t
go unless they found some buckskin clothes for him to wear. He hunted
through some of the supplies at headquarters and found a buckskin
outfit.
When Jim arrived at Willie’s house, Willie was ready and waiting for
him. He handed Jim one large wooden bucket and carried another himself.
“We’ll put the honey and wax in these buckets,” Willie explained. Then
he picked up a gaily colored cloth bundle.
The two boys put out in one of Father Gibault’s boats and soon crossed
the Kaskaskia River, landing near the house which Clark had surrounded
the night he made his march on Kaskaskia.
Willie moored the boat to a tree along the bank. Then they started out
to find the tree Willie had marked with Father Gibault’s initials. They
wandered quite a way before Willie suddenly cried, “See, Jim, there it
is!” He pointed to a tree with a large fork high above the ground.
Jim also saw the initials F. G. on the trunk; these Willie had carved
the day the Long-Knives had found him in the boat. “Why did you put
Father Gibault’s initials there, Willie?”
“Why, to show the honey belonged to Father Gibault. No one will steal
honey from a marked tree,” Willie explained as he untied his cloth
bundle. Out tumbled two blue _capots_ or cloaks with hoods, two small
scarfs and two pairs of mittens. Then he took out a long, sharp knife
from the pocket of one of the _capots_. “Now we’ll get dressed to tackle
the bees.”
Jim picked up the larger _capot_ and tried it on. “I can’t wear this,
Willie. It’s too small.”
Willie had already put on his _capot_ and adjusted its hood over his
head. “You can’t? Say, you’re bigger than I thought. That’s my mother’s
_capot_, but I guess you need a man-sized one. Just put the hood over
your head and let the cloak fly,” he suggested as he tied a scarf over
his face.
Jim looked at the _capot_ dubiously. “Why are we wearing all this stuff
anyway, Willie?”
“To keep the bees from stinging us, of course.”
“We’ll smother, Willie, and we can’t see with the scarfs over our
faces.”
Willie nodded. “That’s right. I’m a stupid ox not to think of that.
Well, I’ll fix it.” He picked up the knife and cut two slits in each
scarf. “Now we have peepholes. Put one on, and the mittens too, Jim. If
the bees are in a bad mood, they can’t sting us through the buckskin and
these winter clothes.”
Jim put them on and then asked, “Now what do we do?”
“I’ll climb up and start cutting the honey and wax away. It’s up there
in a deep hole in the fork of the tree. You put your bucket at the base
of the tree and I’ll try to drop the honey and wax into it. This is a
beautiful day, so maybe most of the bees will be gone from their hive.”
Jim watched as Willie climbed the tree. What a ridiculous sight he was,
with the blue _capot_ flapping against his skinny legs.
Willie thrust the long knife into the hole and began turning it slowly
around and around. Only a few bees emerged and buzzed around his blue
hood.
“Fix the bucket, Jim,” Willie called as the honey began oozing down the
tree.
Jim put his bucket under the tree and began slapping at a few bees that
were buzzing all around him.
“Don’t fight them, Jim. It makes them angry. Just let them buzz and I
don’t think they’ll sting you.”
Soon Willie had rolled out so much honey and beeswax that his bucket
would not hold it all. When both buckets were filled, Willie came down
from the tree. “Now you carry one and I’ll carry the other.”
Quite a bit of honey had trickled down the tree, so the bees stayed
behind, instead of following Willie and Jim.
As the boys walked back through the woods, Willie looked admiringly at
Jim. “I didn’t realize you’re so much larger than I am,” Willie said.
“Why, you’re as tall as lots of men. How old are you?”
Jim smiled. “I guess I grew a lot while I was with the Potawatomis. I’m
thir—why, Willie, I’m fourteen now. I forgot all about my birthday this
year. But no wonder, I was fourteen the day after we captured Kaskaskia
the fifth of July.”
Willie stood as tall as he could. “Why, I’m almost as old as you, Jim.
I’ll be fourteen the second of January.”
Jim was almost a head taller than Willie. He looked down at the younger
boy and smiled. “You will? I thought you were about twelve.”
“I may be short, but I can do lots of things that men can’t do,” Willie
replied.
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Jim agreed.
Father Gibault was delighted with the amount of honey and wax that the
boys brought back, and gave half the honey to Jim for Colonel Clark and
his men. When Willie told him Jim would like to work alongside of him,
Father Gibault said he would put in a good word for him to Monsieur
Cerré.
A few days later Jim went with Willie to the fur depot to see Monsieur
Cerré. The merchant put him to work with Willie, sorting and counting
the pelts which Indians and French _voyageurs_ had brought into
Kaskaskia during the fall and winter.
Jim and Willie became the best of friends, spending many long evenings
together either at Willie’s house or at Colonel Clark’s headquarters.
Jim taught him to play his drum; Willie was such an apt pupil and so
filled with rhythm that he soon played as well as Jim. In return Willie
taught Jim all the gay lilting French songs he knew.
Jim enjoyed living in Kaskaskia; if his parents had been with him, he
would have willingly spent the rest of his life among the French. They
were a gay light-hearted people, always ready to stop work and have fun.
The men played cards endlessly on the outdoor galleries until winter
winds drove them indoors. There were many church festivals to attend,
dances for the boys to watch and always excellent food. At Christmas
time there were many gay parties given for the French citizens and
Clark’s soldiers.
On New Year’s Day of 1779 came the best day of all. The whole village
turned out in its finest clothes to call at the homes of well-to-do
folk.
And what a colorful procession they made; the men wore silken hose and
bright silver shoe buckles, their richly trimmed coats open to show
their fancy, embroidered waistcoats; the women dressed in feathered
finery imported from France by way of New Orleans and the Mississippi
River. Ordinary French settlers wore buckskin trousers and long colored
cotton shirts belted in by colored bead sashes tied behind, and topped
by the familiar blue _capots_. Now and then there appeared in the crowd
a soldier in an ancient French uniform, or a _voyageur_ in his leather
ruffled shirt and brightly colored cap with bobbing tassel.
Jim found life good in Kaskaskia until one afternoon in late January. On
the twenty-ninth day of the month Jim came home from work and met a
well-dressed gentleman just leaving Colonel Clark’s headquarters. Jim
wondered who this man was.
As Jim walked into the house, George Rogers Clark was pacing the floor
and running his hand nervously through his shock of red hair. He didn’t
even see Jim come in, but continued to pace back and forth. Jim took off
his coat and hung it in the closet. Then he came back into the large
living room.
“Is something wrong, Colonel?”
Clark stopped and turned toward Jim. “Hello, Jim. I didn’t hear you come
in. Yes, I’ve just received some bad news.”
“From the gentleman who was leaving as I came into the house?”
“Oh, did you see him? That was Francis Vigo, a Spanish merchant from St.
Louis. I had asked him to see about Captain Helm’s supplies, since he
was going on a merchandising trip to Vincennes.”
“Yes, sir.” Jim waited, seeing Colonel Clark was quite upset.
“I’ve had no word from Captain Helm for a long time,” Clark continued.
“And that’s not like Helm, so I was a bit uneasy. Vigo told me that he
himself was captured and taken to Fort Sackville. There he was
confronted by Lieutenant Governor Hamilton. You see, Jim, Hamilton
captured Fort Sackville on the seventeenth of December and Captain Helm
is now his prisoner. The British are again in control of Fort Sackville
and Vincennes.”
Jim gasped. “Do you mean Hamilton from Detroit?”
“The very same. He took all of Vigo’s merchandise from him and wouldn’t
release him until Vigo promised not to return to Kaskaskia on his way
home to St. Louis.” Clark smiled wryly. “Vigo kept his promise too. He
went home to St. Louis, then came over here immediately to tell me about
Helm.”
Jim looked puzzled. “What does it mean for us now that Hamilton is in
Vincennes?”
“Vigo told me Hamilton plans to attack Kaskaskia as soon as the weather
permits, some time in the spring. He’s supposed to have an army of eight
hundred men, counting the Indians and his prisoners.”
“Eight hundred!” Jim gasped. There weren’t eight hundred people in the
two towns of Kaskaskia and Cahokia.
Colonel Clark resumed his pacing back and forth as though he had
forgotten Jim. After a time he stopped suddenly. “Attack at once, Jim.
That’s what we’ll do.” He brought his fist down hard in the palm of his
hand. “It’s our only chance. We’ll attack Hamilton now when he thinks
it’s impossible. But we’ll make it.”
Jim’s blue eyes sparkled reflecting Clark’s confidence. “Yes, sir. What
can I do to help you now?”
“Run to Father Gibault’s and ask him if he will come to my headquarters
at once. Then see if you can find Captain Charleville and tell him to
report to me immediately. But do not tell them or anyone else what I
have just told you. Do not even mention Vigo’s visit.”
“No, sir, I won’t.”
Colonel Clark then called one of his officers who had been asleep
upstairs. “You,” he nodded toward the man as soon as he appeared, “ride
to Cahokia tonight. Tell Captain McCarty to bring his company back from
Cahokia immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the officer.
Jim dashed out of the house toward Father Gibault’s, while Clark’s
officer mounted his horse and set off at a gallop for Cahokia.
Father Gibault and Captain Charleville returned to headquarters with Jim
almost immediately. George Rogers Clark told them the bad news of
Vincennes and what he had in mind to do.
Father Gibault looked grave for a few minutes and then said, “Colonel
Clark, I’m not a military man, but I think your plan of attack is good.
God willing, you will make it.”
Captain Charleville sat forward in his chair. “Colonel Clark, there
aren’t many of your Virginia volunteers here now, but I’m sure I can
raise a company among the villagers.”
Colonel Clark nodded. “We’ll have to have volunteers, Charleville. I
don’t have more than eighty men, including the men under Captain McCarty
at Cahokia. I’ve sent for him to return with them. We can’t do anything
more until morning, gentlemen. Thank you for responding so quickly.”
“I’ll have a full company raised before sunset tomorrow, sir,” Captain
Charleville promised.
[Illustration: uncaptioned]