THE HONORS OF WAR
Gaspard Roussillon was thoroughly acquainted with savage warfare, and
he knew all the pacific means so successfully and so long used by
French missionaries and traders to control savage character; but the
emergency now upon him was startling. It confused him. The fact that he
had taken a solemn oath of allegiance to the American government could
have been pushed aside lightly enough upon pressing occasion, but he
knew that certain confidential agents left in Vincennes by Governor
Abbott had, upon the arrival of Helm, gone to Detroit, and of course
they had carried thither a full report of all that happened in the
church of St. Xavier, when Father Gibault called the people together,
and at the fort, when the British flag was hauled down and la banniere
d'Alice Roussillon run up in its place. His expansive imagination did
full credit to itself in exaggerating the importance of his part in
handing the post over to the rebels. And what would Hamilton think of
this? Would he consider it treason? The question certainly bore a
tragic suggestion.
M. Roussillon lacked everything of being a coward, and treachery had no
rightful place in his nature. He was, however, so in the habit of
fighting windmills and making mountains of molehills that he could not
at first glance see any sudden presentment with a normal vision. He had
no love for Englishmen and he did like Americans, but he naturally
thought that Helm's talk of fighting Hamilton was, as his own would
have been in a like case, talk and nothing more. The fort could not
hold out an hour, he well knew. Then what? Ah, he but too well realized
the result.
Resistance would inflame the English soldiers and madden the Indians.
There would be a massacre, and the belts of savages would sag with
bloody scalps. He shrugged his shoulders and felt a chill creep up his
back.
The first thing M. Roussillon did was to see Father Beret and take
counsel of him; then he hurried home to dig a great pit under his
kitchen floor in which he buried many bales of fur and all his most
valuable things. He worked like a giant beaver all night long. Meantime
Father Beret went about over the town quietly notifying the inhabitants
to remain in their houses until after the fort should surrender, which
he was sure would happen the next day.
"You will be perfectly safe, my children," he said to them. "No harm
can come to you if you follow my directions."
Relying implicitly upon him, they scrupulously obeyed in every
particular.
He did not think it necessary to call at Roussillon place, having
already given M. Roussillon the best advice he could command.
Just at the earliest break of day, while yet the gloom of night
scarcely felt the sun's approach, a huge figure made haste along the
narrow streets in the northern part of the town. If any person had been
looking out through the little holes, called windows, in those silent
and rayless huts, it would have been easy to recognize M. Roussillon by
his stature and his gait, dimly outlined as he was. A thought, which
seemed to him an inspiration of genius, had taken possession of him and
was leading him, as if by the nose, straight away to Hamilton's lines.
He was freighted with eloquence for the ear of that commander, and as
he strode along facing the crisp morning air he was rehearsing under
his breath, emphasizing his periods in tragic whispers with sweeping
gestures and liberal facial contortions. So absorbed was he in his
oratorical soliloquy that he forgot due military precaution and ran
plump into the face of a savage picket guard who, without respect for
the great M. Roussillon's dignity, sprang up before him, grunted
cavernously, flourished a tomahawk and spoke in excellent and
exceedingly guttural Indian:
"Wah, surrender!"
It is probable that no man ever complied with a modest request in a
more docile spirit than did M. Roussillon upon that occasion. In fact
his promptness must have been admirable, for the savage grunted
approval and straightway conducted him to Hamilton's headquarters on a
batteau in the river.
The British commander, a hale man of sandy complexion and probably
under middle age, was in no very pleasant humor. Some of his orders had
been misunderstood by the chief of his Indian allies, so that a
premature exposure of his approach had been made to the enemy.
"Well, sir, who are you?" he gruffly demanded, when M. Roussillon
loomed before him.
"I am Gaspard Roussillon, the Mayor of Vincennes," was the lofty reply.
"I have come to announce to you officially that my people greet you
loyally and that my town is freely at your command." He felt as
important as if his statements had been true.
"Humph, that's it, is it? Well, Mr. Mayor, you have my congratulations,
but I should prefer seeing the military commander and accepting his
surrender. What account can you give me of the American forces, their
numbers and condition?"
M. Roussillon winced, inwardly at least, under Hamilton's very
undeferential air and style of address. It piqued him cruelly to be
treated as a person without the slightest claim to respect. He somehow
forgot the rolling and rhythmical eloquence prepared for the occasion.
"The American commander naturally would not confide in me, Monsieur le
Gouverneur, not at all; we are not very friendly; he ousted me from
office, he offended me--" he was coughing and stammering.
"Oh, the devil! what do I care? Answer my question, sir," Hamilton
gruffly interrupted. "Tell me the number of American troops at the
fort, sir."
"I don't know exactly. I have not had admittance to the fort. I might
be deceived as to numbers; but they're strong, I believe, Monsieur le
Gouverneur, at least they make a great show and much noise."
Hamilton eyed the huge bulk before him for a moment, then turning to a
subaltern said:
"Place this fellow under guard and see that he doesn't get away. Send
word immediately to Captain Farnsworth that I wish to see him at once."
The interview thereupon closed abruptly. Hamilton's emissaries had
given him a detailed account of M. Roussillon's share in submitting
Vincennes to rebel dominion, and he was not in the least inclined
toward treating him graciously.
"I would suggest to you, Monsieur le Gouverneur, that my official
position demands--" M. Roussillon began; but he was fastened upon by
two guards, who roughly hustled him aft and bound him so rigidly that
he could scarcely move finger or toe.
Hamilton smiled coldly and turned to give some orders to a stalwart,
ruddy young officer who in a canoe had just rowed alongside the batteau.
"Captain Farnsworth," he said, acknowledging the military salute, "you
will take fifty men and make everything ready for a reconnaissance in
the direction of the fort. We will move down the river immediately and
choose a place to land. Move lively, we have no time to lose."
In the meantime Beverley slipped away from the fort and made a hurried
call upon Alice at Roussillon place. There was not much they could say
to each other during the few moments at command. Alice showed very
little excitement; her past experience had fortified her against the
alarms of frontier life; but she understood and perfectly appreciated
the situation.
"What are you going to do?" Beverley demanded in sheer despair. He was
not able to see any gleam of hope out of the blackness which had fallen
around him and into his soul.
"What shall you do?" he repeated.
"Take the chances of war," she said, smiling gravely. "It will all come
out well, no doubt."
"I hope so, but--but I fear not."
His face was gray with trouble. "Helm is determined to fight, and that
means--"
"Good!" she interrupted with spirit. "I am so glad of that. I wish I
could go to help him! If I were a man I'd love to fight! I think it's
just delightful."
"But it is reckless bravado; it is worse than foolishness," said
Beverley, not feeling her mood. "What can two or three men do against
an army?"
"Fight and die like men," she replied, her whole countenance lighting
up. "Be heroic!"
"We will do that, of course; we--I do not fear death; but you--you--"
His voice choked him.
A gun shot rang out clear in the distance, and he did not finish
speaking.
"That's probably the beginning," he added in a moment, extending both
hands to her. "Good bye. I must hurry to the fort. Good bye."
She drew a quick breath and turned so white that her look struck him
like a sudden and hard blow. He stood for a second, his arms at full
reach, then:
"My God, Alice, I cannot, cannot leave you!" he cried, his voice again
breaking huskily.
She made a little movement, as if to take hold of his hands: but in an
instant she stepped back a pace and said:
"Don't fear about me. I can take care of myself. I'm all right. You'd
better return to the fort as quickly as you can. It is your country,
your flag, not me, that you must think of now."
She folded her arms and stood boldly erect.
Never before, in all his life, had he felt such a rebuke. He gave her a
straight, strong look in the eyes.
"You are right, Alice." he cried, and rushed from the house to the fort.
She held her rigid attitude for a little while after she heard him shut
the front gate of the yard so forcibly that it broke in pieces, then
she flung her arms wide, as if to clasp something, and ran to the door;
but Beverley was out of sight. She turned and dropped into a chair.
Jean came to her out of the next room. His queer little face was pale
and pinched; but his jaw was set with the expression of one who has
known danger and can meet it somehow.
"Are they going to scalp us?" he half whispered presently, with a
shuddering lift of his distorted shoulders.
Her face was buried in her hands and she did not answer. Childlike he
turned from one question to another inconsequently.
"Where did Papa Roussillon go to?" he next inquired. "Is he going to
fight?"
She shook her head.
"They'll tear down the fort, won't they?"
If she heard him she did not make any sign.
"They'll kill the Captain and Lieutenant and get the fine flag that you
set so high on the fort, won't they, Alice?"
She lifted her head and gave the cowering hunchback such a stare that
he shut his eyes and put up a hand, as if afraid of her. Then she
impulsively took his little misshapen form in her arms and hugged it
passionately. Her bright hair fell all over him, almost hiding him.
Madame Roussillon was lying on a bed in an adjoining room moaning
diligently, at intervals handling her rosary and repeating a prayer.
The whole town was silent outside.
"Why don't you go get the pretty flag down and hide it before they
come?" Jean murmured from within the silken meshes of Alice's hair.
In his small mind the gaudy banner was the most beautiful of all
things. Every day since it was set up he had gone to gaze at it as it
fluttered against the sky. The men had frequently said in his presence
that the enemy would take it down if they captured the fort.
Alice heard his inquisitive voice; but it seemed to come from far off;
his words were a part of the strange, wild swirl in her bosom.
Beverley's look, as he turned and left her, now shook every chord of
her being. He had gone to his death at her command. How strong and true
and brave he was! In her imagination she saw the flag above him, saw
him die like a panther at bay, saw the gay rag snatched down and torn
to shreds by savage hands. It was the tragedy of a single moment,
enacted in a flashlight of anticipation.
She released Jean so suddenly that he fell to the floor. She remembered
what she had said to Beverley on the night of the dance when they were
standing under the flag.
"You made it and set it up," he lightly remarked; "you must see that no
enemy ever gets possession of it, especially the English."
"I'll take it down and hide it when there's danger of that," she said
in the same spirit.
And now she stood there looking at Jean, without seeing him, and
repeated the words under her breath.
"I'll take it down and hide it. They shan't have it."
Madame Roussillon began to call from the other room in a loud,
complaining voice; but Alice gave no heed to her querulous demands.
"Stay here, Jean, and take care of Mama Roussillon," she presently said
to the hunchback. "I am going out; I'll be back soon; don't you dare
leave the house while I'm gone; do you hear?"
She did not wait for his answer; but snatching a hood-like fur cap from
a peg on the wall, she put it on and hastily left the house.
Down at the fort Helm and Beverley were making ready to resist
Hamilton's attack, which they knew would not be long deferred. The two
heavily charged cannon were planted so as to cover the space in front
of the gate, and some loaded muskets were ranged near by ready for use.
"We'll give them one hell of a blast," growled the Captain, "before
they overpower us."
Beverley made no response in words; but he was preparing a bit of
tinder on the end of a stick with which to fire the cannon. Not far
away a little heap of logs was burning in the fort's area.
The British officer, already mentioned as at the head of the line
advancing diagonally from the river's bank, halted his men at a
distance of three hundred yards from the fort, and seemed to be taking
a deliberately careful survey of what was before him.
"Let 'em come a little nearer, Lieutenant," said Helm, his jaw setting
itself like a lion's. "When we shoot we want to hit."
He stooped and squinted along his gun.
"When they get to that weedy spot out yonder," he added, "just opposite
the little rise in the river bank, we'll turn loose on 'em."
Beverley had arranged his primitive match to suit his fancy, and for
probably the twentieth time looked critically to the powder in the
beveled touch-hole of his old cannon. He and Helm were facing the
enemy, with their backs to the main area of the stockade, when a well
known voice attracted their attention to the rear.
"Any room for a feller o' my size in this here crowded place?" it
demanded in a cracked but cheerful tenor. "I'm kind o' outen breath a
runnin' to git here."
They turned about. It was Oncle Jazon with his long rifle on his
shoulder and wearing a very important air. He spoke in English, using
the backwoods lingo with the ease of long practice.
"As I's a comin' in f'om a huntin' I tuck notice 'at somepin' was up. I
see a lot o' boats on the river an' some fellers wi' guns a scootin'
around, so I jes' slipped by 'em all an' come in the back way. They's
plenty of 'em, I tell you what! I can't shoot much, but I tuck one
chance at a buck Indian out yander and jes' happened to hit 'im in the
lef' eye. He was one of the gang 'at scalped me down yander in
Kaintuck."
The greasy old sinner looked as if he had not been washed since he was
born. He glanced about with furtive, shifty eyes, grimaced and winked,
after the manner of an animal just waking from a lazy nap.
"Where's the rest o' the fighters?" he demanded quizzically, lolling
out his tongue and peeping past Helm so as to get a glimpse of the
English line. "Where's yer garrison? Have they all gone to breakfas'?"
The last question set Helm off again cursing and swearing in the most
melodramatic rage.
Oncle Jazon turned to Beverley and said in rapid French: "Surely the
man's not going to fight those fellows yonder?"
Beverley nodded rather gloomily.
"Well," added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and taking
another glance through the gate, "I can't shoot wo'th a cent, bein'
sort o' nervous like; but I'll stan' by ye awhile, jes' for luck. I
might accidentally hit one of 'em."
When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches him
like an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in another. A rush
of admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel like hugging him.
Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and, with a
file of men, separated himself from the line, now stationary, and
approached the stockade. At a hundred yards he halted the file and came
on alone, waving the white clout. He boldly advanced to within easy
speaking distance and shouted:
"I demand the surrender of this fort."
"Well, you'll not get it, young man," roared Helm, his profanity well
mixed in with the words, "not while there's a man of us left!"
"Ye'd better use sof' soap on 'im, Cap'n," said Oncle Jazon in English,
"cussin' won't do no good." While he spoke he rubbed the doughty
Captain's arm and then patted it gently.
Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew that
Oncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was not yet
ready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper called "soft
soap."
"Are you the British commander?" he demanded.
"No," said the officer, "but I speak for him."
"Not to me by a damned sight, sir. Tell your commander that I will hear
what he has to say from his own mouth. No understrapper will be
recognized by me."
That ended the conference. The young officer, evidently indignant,
strode back to his line, and an hour later Hamilton himself demanded
the unconditional surrender of the fort and garrison.
"Fight for it," Helm stormed forth. "We are soldiers."
Hamilton held a confab with his officers, while his forces, under cover
of the town's cabins, were deploying so as to form a half circle about
the stockade. Some artillery appeared and was planted directly opposite
the gate, not three hundred yards distant. One blast of that battery
would, as Helm well knew, level a large part of the stockade.
"S'posin' I hev' a cannon, too, seein' it's the fashion," said Oncle
Jazon. "I can't shoot much, but I might skeer 'em. This little one'll
do me."
He set his rifle against the wall and with Beverley's help rolled one
of the swivels alongside the guns already in position.
In a few minutes Hamilton returned under the white flag and shouted:
"Upon what terms will you surrender?"
"All the honors of war," Helm firmly replied. "It's that or fight, and
I don't care a damn which!"
Hamilton half turned away, as if done with the parley, then facing the
fort again, said:
"Very well, sir, haul down your flag."
Helm was dumfounded at this prompt acceptance of his terms. Indeed the
incident is unique in history.
As Hamilton spoke he very naturally glanced up to where la banniere
d'Alice Roussillon waved brilliantly. Someone stood beside it on the
dilapidated roof of the old blockhouse, and was already taking it from
its place. His aid, Captain Farnsworth, saw this, and the vision made
his heart draw in a strong, hot flood It was a girl in short skirts and
moccasins, with a fur hood on her head, her face, thrillingly
beautiful, set around with fluffs of wind-blown brown-gold hair.
Farnsworth was too young to be critical and too old to let his eyes
deceive him. Every detail of the fine sketch, with its steel-blue
background of sky, flashed into his mind, sharp-cut as a cameo.
Involuntarily he took off his hat.
Alice had come in by way of the postern. She mounted to the roof
unobserved, and made her way to the flag, just at the moment when Helm,
glad at heart to accept the easiest way out of a tight place, asked
Oncle Jazon to lower it.
Beverley was thinking of Alice, and when he looked up he could scarcely
realize that he saw her; but the whole situation was plain the instant
she snatched the staff from its place; for he, too, recollected what
she had said at the river house. The memory and the present scene
blended perfectly during the fleeting instant that she was visible. He
saw that Alice was smiling somewhat as in her most mischievous moods,
and when she jerked the staff from its fastening she lifted it high and
waved it once, twice, thrice defiantly toward the British lines, then
fled down the ragged roof-slope with it and disappeared. The vision
remained in Beverley's eyes forever afterward. The English troops,
thinking that the flag was taken down in token of surrender, broke into
a wild tumult of shouting.
Oncle Jazon intuitively understood just what Alice was doing, for he
knew her nature and could read her face. His blood effervesced in an
instant.
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!" he
screamed, waving his disreputable cap round his scalpless head. "Hurrah
for George Washington! Hurrah for Alice Roussillon's flag!"
It was all over soon. Helm surrendered himself and Beverley with full
honors. As for Oncle Jazon, he disappeared at the critical moment. It
was not just to his mind to be a prisoner of war, especially under
existing conditions; for Hamilton's Indian allies had some old warpath
scores to settle with him dating back to the days when he and Simon
Kenton were comrades in Kentucky.
When Alice snatched the banner and descended with it to the ground, she
ran swiftly out through the postern, as she had once before done, and
sped along under cover of the low bluff or swell, which, terrace-like,
bounded the flat "bottom" lands southward of the stockade. She kept on
until she reached a point opposite Father Beret's hut, to which she
then ran, the flag streaming bravely behind her in the wind, her heart
beating time to her steps.
It was plainly a great surprise to Father Beret, who looked up from his
prayer when she rushed in, making a startling clatter, the loose
puncheons shaking together under her reckless feet.
"Oh, Father, here it is! Hide it, hide it, quick!"
She thrust the flag toward him.
"They shall not have it! They shall never have it!"
He opened wide his shrewd, kindly eyes; but did not fairly comprehend
her meaning.
She was panting, half laughing, half crying. Her hair, wildly
disheveled, hung in glorious masses over her shoulders. Her face beamed
triumphantly.
"They are taking the fort," she breathlessly added, again urging the
flag upon him, "they're going in, but I got this and ran away with it.
Hide it, Father, hide it, quick, quick, before they come!"
The daring light in her eyes, the witching play of her dimples, the
madcap air intensified by her attitude and the excitement of the
violent exercise just ended--something compounded of all these and
more--affected the good priest strangely. Involuntarily he crossed
himself, as if against a dangerous charm.
"Mon Dieu, Father Beret," she exclaimed with impatience, "haven't you a
grain of sense left? Take this flag and hide it, I tell you! Don't stay
there gazing and blinking. Here, quick! They saw me take it, they may
be following me. Hurry, hide it somewhere!"
He comprehended now, rising from his knees with a queer smile
broadening on his face. She put the banner into his hands and gave him
a gentle push.
"Hide it, I tell you, hide it, you dear old goose!"
Without sneaking he turned the staff over and over in his hand, until
the flag was closely wrapped around it, then stooping he lifted a
puncheon and with it covered the gay roll from sight.
Alice caught him in her arms and kissed him vigorously on the cheek.
Her warm lips made the spot tingle.
"Don't you dare to let any person have it! It's the flag of George
Washington."
She gave him a strong squeeze.
He pushed her from him with both hands and hastily crossed himself; but
his eyes were laughing.
"You ought to have seen me; I waved the flag at them--at the
English--and one young officer took off his hat to me! Oh, Father
Beret, it was like what is in a novel. They'll get the fort, but not
the banner! Not the banner! I've saved it, I've saved it!"
Her enthusiasm gave a splendor to her countenance, heightening its
riches of color and somehow adding to its natural girlish expression an
audacious sweetness. The triumphant success of her undertaking lent the
dignity of conscious power to her look, a dignity which always sits
well upon a young and somewhat immaturely beautiful face.
Father Beret could not resist her fervid eloquence, and he could not
run away from her or stop up his ears while she went on. So he had to
laugh when she said:
"Oh, if you had seen it all you would have enjoyed it. There was Oncle
Jazon squatting behind the little swivel, and there were Captain Helm
and Lieutenant Beverley holding their burning sticks over the big
cannon ready to shoot--all of them so intent that they didn't see
me--and yonder came the English officer and his army against the three.
When they got close to the gate the officer called out: 'Surrender!'
and then Captain Helm yelled back: 'Damned if I do! Come another step
and I'll blow you all to hell in a second!' I was mightily in hopes
that they'd come on; I wanted to see a cannon ball hit that English
commander right in the face; he looked so arrogant."
Father Beret shook his head and tried to look disapproving and solemn.
Meantime down at the fort Hamilton was demanding the flag. He had seen
Alice take it down, and supposed that it was lowered officially and
would be turned over to him. Now he wanted to handle it as the best
token of his bloodless but important victory.
"I didn't order the flag down until after I had accepted your terms,"
said Helm, "and when my man started to obey, we saw a young lady snatch
it and run away with it."
"Who was the girl?"
"I do not inform on women," said Helm.
Hamilton smiled grimly, with a vexed look in his eyes, then turned to
Captain Farnsworth and ordered him to bring up M. Roussillon, who, when
he appeared, still had his hands tied together.
"Tell me the name of the young woman who carried away the flag from the
fort. You saw her, you know every soul in this town. Who was it, sir?"
It was a hard question for M. Roussillon to answer. Although his
humiliating captivity had somewhat cowed him, still his love for Alice
made it impossible for him to give the information demanded by
Hamilton. He choked and stammered, but finally managed to say:
"I assure you that I don't know--I didn't look--I didn't see--It was
too far off for me to--I was some-what excited--I--"
"Take him away. Keep him securely bound," said Hamilton. "Confine him.
We'll see how long it will take to refresh his mind. We'll puncture the
big windbag."
While this curt scene was passing, the flag of Great Britain rose over
the fort to the lusty cheering of the victorious soldiers.
Hamilton treated Helm and Beverley with extreme courtesy. He was a
soldier, gruff, unscrupulous and cruel to a degree; but he could not
help admiring the daring behavior of these two officers who had wrung
from him the best terms of surrender. He gave them full liberty, on
parole of honor not to attempt escape or to aid in any way an enemy
against him while they were prisoners.
Nor was it long before Helm's genial and sociable disposition won the
Englishman's respect and confidence to such an extent that the two
became almost inseparable companions, playing cards, brewing toddies,
telling stories, and even shooting deer in the woods together, as if
they had always been the best of friends.
Hamilton did not permit his savage allies to enter the town, and he
immediately required the French inhabitants to swear allegiance to
Great Britain, which they did with apparent heartiness, all save M.
Roussillon, who was kept in close confinement and bound like a felon,
chafing lugubriously and wearing the air of a martyr. His prison was a
little log pen in one corner of the stockade, much open to the weather,
its gaping cracks giving him a dreary view of the frozen landscape
through which the Wabash flowed in a broad steel-gray current. Helm,
who really liked him, tried in vain to procure his release; but
Hamilton was inexorable on account of what he regarded as duplicity in
M. Roussillon's conduct.
"No, I'll let him reflect," he said; "there's nothing like a little
tyranny to break up a bad case of self-importance. He'll soon find out
that he has over-rated himself!"