"Comrades," said Clark the next morning, just as we were falling into
line of march, "have you remembered the day? It is the fourth of July,
my men--the anniversary of our Declaration of Independence, the birthday
of our liberties--day propitious in the history of the United States of
America! Our guide tells me that we are but six leagues from Kaskaskia,
and I have already planned our attack. Bloodless victory awaits us--for
I can rely on each man of you to do only and all that is expected of
him. We will march within half a mile of the fort this morning, conceal
ourselves in the woods until dark, and, then, dividing into two
companies, we will rush into the town from opposite ends, shouting and
brandishing our knives.
"I am told that the minds of the French in this region have been filled
with terror of the bordermen by horrid tales of our ruthless cruelty; we
may as well take advantage of this impression to overawe them. Perhaps
we may prevent bloodshed by producing astonishment and terror in the
breasts of the garrison and citizens. We have no quarrel with the
French, but are concerned rather with winning them peaceably to our
side. After a night of fear--but you must remember, men, that we wish to
arouse apprehension alone, and that a single deed of violence or rapine
may ruin all--the reaction will be the greater, and our liberal terms of
amnesty the more gratefully accepted. As we lie in ambush this
afternoon, you will preserve the strictest silence, and not a man must
venture out of hiding till the command to advance be given. Carry out
this plan successfully, and Kaskaskia is ours to-morrow, and Virginia's
forever!"
Cheers rent the air, and the more enthusiastic waved their caps over
their heads, and shook each other's hands, as if victory were already
ours.
The town lay dark and silent under the stars, as our two bands circled
it, and simultaneously marched down the principal street from opposite
directions, yelling, and brandishing our unsheathed hunting knives, as
demon-wise as the worst of savages.
"The Long-Knives! The Long-Knives!" shouted the people upon the streets,
running from house to house to spread the alarm, while women and
children screamed, doors were slammed and barred within, and lights
extinguished everywhere. Gradually the pandemonium of shrieks, shouts,
and screams subsided into a hush of fearful expectation, during which
Givens and Saunders, each of whom could speak a little French, marched
captured citizens from door to door, before which they required them to
announce in loud tones that the general in command of the Long-Knives
had decreed that all citizens of Kaskaskia who should remain quietly
within their houses would be unmolested, but that all who ventured out
would be summarily dealt with.
M. Rocheblave, the commandant, was surprised in his bed-chamber, and
taken prisoner. His wife, a pretty, voluble Frenchwoman, went into
hysterics, and begged piteously for their lives in broken English, much
mixed with French words, and interpreted with expressive gestures.
Colonel Clark assured her, as best he could, that no harm would be done
them, and then bade me search the apartment for papers while he stood
guard in the doorway. Meantime the Commandant and Madame looked on, the
latter regaining her composure, and seating herself on a small trunk,
from which she watched my proceedings with smiling scorn. I searched
everywhere, upsetting furniture, and even ripping open the feather beds,
but few papers were found, and they of slight importance. The trunk
which Madame seemed to be guarding was, evidently, the receptacle for
the more important documents.
"Madame," I said, approaching her, and taking her gently by the arm, "I
must search this trunk also."
But she held her place firmly, and, in better English than she had yet
spoken, heaped reproaches upon me, saying that "no man worthy of the
name would invade the privacy of a woman's personal belongings." Then
she began to weep and to wail, and to entreat Clark piteously.
"Let her alone, McElroy," said Clark, at last; "we cannot use violence
to a woman," so we marched off with our prisoner, the Commandant, and
left the little Frenchwoman to destroy his papers at her leisure.
"I tell you, McElroy," said Clark, "I'd rather face a battalion, or
storm a battery, than to encounter another hysterical Frenchwoman."
During the night we took possession of the ungarrisoned fort--a disused
warehouse, which had served as fort since the burning of the old
one--and Colonel Clark issued strict commands that only the officers and
such soldiers as he should detail to guard the town from time to time,
must leave the fort until further orders. By this ruse the citizens were
deceived for weeks as to our real strength, their imagination readily
using such adroit hints as Colonel Clark threw out to magnify our force
into a strong army of invasion, and the squad left at Corn Island, into
large reinforcements, expected in a few days.
All night guards patrolled the streets. The inhabitants, however, obeyed
orders strictly, and did not venture forth next morning until permission
was given them, with the information that the fort and the town were in
our possession, and M. Rocheblave a prisoner.
Their distressed faces presented a strong contrast to the cheerful scene
which greeted our eyes with the beaming sunlight of the morning.
Kaskaskia, situated on the right bank of the Kaskaskia or the Okan
River, six miles above its confluence with the Mississippi, was then a
village of two hundred and fifty houses, situated on a beautiful and
rolling peninsula. The velvet verdure of the plain, dotted with little
groves of pecan, maple, ash, and button-wood, the glassy surface of the
idle river, the lofty hill opposite, with its stately forest, the air
scented with the fragrance of its wild flowers, the little springs
gushing from its sides in sparkling beauty, all reposing in the lap of
nature, with their virgin freshness yet upon them--there was a landscape
to charm her most capricious lover. We gazed enchanted on the fair
picture and felt that we had reached a Canaan, rich reward for all we
had dared and endured.
Presently came the priest to Colonel Clark, asking that the people be
allowed to assemble once more in the church to say to each other a last
farewell before leaving their homes, and separating forever. "Theirs,"
he said, "was the fortune of war, and they made no murmur--since an all
wise God had willed it so. Nor could they complain of their conquerors,
who so far had treated them with unexampled consideration. They had but
one other favor to ask--that the men might not be separated from their
wives and their little ones."
Doubtless all the night through the woeful fate of the hapless Acadians
had been present to the anxious minds of the people, who were expecting
for themselves, as the best to be hoped, a similar fate.
When the priest's words had been translated to Colonel Clark by
Saunders, he answered with a winning smile, and a convincing air of
friendliness:
"Monsieur Gibault, we have nothing whatever against your religion, nor
against the citizens of Kaskaskia. Assemble your people in church when
and for what purpose you will; worship God freely, as your consciences
dictate. It is to win freedom of belief and personal liberty for all the
inhabitants of this broad continent we have taken up our arms. But we
came not to fight against the French; our quarrel is against King George
of England. And why should the citizens of Kaskaskia, for the sake of
being loyal to a power which has but lately subdued them, desert their
comfortable homes, and wander forth again into the wilderness? Why
should they not make peace, and live in harmony with the allies of their
father land? Have they not heard the great news--that France and America
have formed a close alliance--that a French fleet and a French army are
on their way to help us fight the armies who have invaded us because we
would not submit to tyranny and injustice? Does not this alliance
absolve the citizens of Kaskaskia from all allegiance to England? Is not
blood thicker than treaties forced upon a people at the point of the
sword?
"No! M. Gibault, there is no necessity for your flock to bid each other
farewell, and scatter into the wilderness to fall prey to wild beast and
cruel savage! Remain peacefully in your homes! swear allegiance to
Virginia! conclude with us the same alliance that France has lately
entered into with the United States of America, and not a drop of blood
need be shed, not a man, woman, or child need leave his home, nor resign
either his religion, nor a franc's worth of his lawful property! We will
pledge ourselves to secure your safety, and to maintain you in the
enjoyment of all the rights and privileges of American citizens!"
The gentle face of the priest passed from distressful entreaty, through
all the varying expressions of surprise, doubt, conviction, relief, and
rapture, as Colonel Clark's speech, phrase by phrase, was interpreted to
him. He poured out fervid and voluble thanks, called down Heaven's
blessing upon such merciful conquerors, and repaired quickly to the
church to spread the glad news among his flock.
Never have I witnessed a more affecting scene than the one which
followed. The child-like Kaskaskians passed in an instant from despair
to joy, from fear and horror of us, to enthusiastic admiration and
affection. We were their allies, their brothers, not only would they
share all they had with us, but they would assist us against our common
enemy.
An hour later, when the first outburst of joy had somewhat subsided,
Father Gibault called his flock to assemble again in the church, that
they might offer to God a solemn thanksgiving for this great
deliverance. Colonel Clark and I, with two others of the officers,
attended this service and gave respectful attention. In a far corner of
the dim little chapel I recognized the slim form of young Givens bowed
in worship. Again I fell to puzzling over the lad--some mystery
attended, evidently, his presence among us. Could he be a Catholic? yet
Catholics were as rare as Jews in our part of the State; Ellen had been
the single one in our county as far as I knew. There was no solving the
mystery, unless Givens chose to disclose what he knew, and that he was
little likely to do, without good reason. Well, mysteries were not rare
in the New World, and we were little accustomed to concern ourselves
about them beyond idle speculation.
When the religious ceremonies were over, Father Gibault announced that
the rest of the day would be celebrated as a fete day, and asked that
the panins, or slaves, should be given holiday. Festoons of flowers were
quickly woven, and hung from house to house; maidens and youths danced
upon the green; flutes, violins, fife, and drum filled the air with
music; and later a supper of pan cakes and maple syrup was served to all
by soft-voiced, bright-eyed Frenchwomen. Dancing, feasting and rejoicing
were kept up in many of the houses until midnight. Intoxicating drinks
had flowed so freely, meantime, that there was much disorder on the
streets, and several fights among the panins, who mingled with their
masters in a familiar manner, strange to us. To their brawls, however,
we paid no attention, since only friendly demonstrations were made us,
and no one ventured near the fort, in which the men were kept with some
difficulty.
To Colonel Bowman's company fell the lot of marching up the river to
take possession of the town and fort of Cahokia. Several of the citizens
of Kaskaskia had volunteered to go with us, and, entering the town
before us, easily persuaded the inhabitants to transfer their allegiance
from Great Britain to Virginia. As in Kaskaskia, the news of the French
alliance was all that was needed to incline to a bloodless surrender.
Chosen by Captain Bowman to carry the news of our easy success to
Colonel Clark, and ask for further instructions, I was again in
Kaskaskia within the week. My interview over with Colonel Clark--who
took my news with rather disappointing calmness--I found Givens waiting
for me, his anxious face and air of mystery giving me a sharp surprise.
He led me aside, and asked abruptly,
"You hed er cousin by ther name uv Ellen O'Niel?"
"Yes," I answered, still more surprised.
"She's yander in the fort, en lyin' low. What'll we do erbout et?"
"Here, in Kaskaskia? It is not to be believed."
"All ther same, Capt'n, et's so. John Givens es Ellen O'Niel, dressed en
boy's clothes. Howsomever she's down with ther swamp fever now, en must
hev woman's nussin' en' priest's docterin' es soon es it's ter be got
fur 'er. It's yer es must tell Colonel Clark, en' have 'er moved frum
ther fort at onct."
"How came she with you, Givens? And why did you let her come all this
way from her friends--and dressed, too, in men's clothes?" I questioned
angrily.
"'Tain't no time fur explanations now, Capt'n. Ther gal needs tendin'
ter, right away," and he stalked on in front of me with imperturbable
manner, but anxious countenance.
It took few words to explain so much as was necessary to Colonel Clark,
and not many more to enlist the sympathies of Madame Rocheblave. We soon
had the poor child,--yet in her rifleman's garb, but too far gone in the
stupor of her disease to know anything--removed to the Commandant's
house, and left her in the care of Madame, and a fresh faced girl whom
Madame called Angelique, and recommended as an excellent nurse. Then we
went to see Dr. Lafonte, the village doctor, and Father Gibault, who was
reputed to be skilled in herbs and roots, and especially successful in
treating fevers.
When both had come, while we waited for their verdict, Givens sat down
beside me on the steps of the house and told me the following story:
"Twuz one bitter cold en' snowy evenin', las' winter, as I wuz out on
ther mountin', huntin'. I seed a dark heap 'long side er ther parth, en'
thort 'twuz er wild beast uv sum descripshun. When I got closter I heerd
er human moan, en' seed it wuz er woman, hurt, en' harf froze. I toted
'er home on my shoulder, laid 'er on my bed, en' rubbed sum life inter
'er. Fur days she did'n' know nothin'; then, when she did 'pear ter
notice sum, she lay ther', too weak ter speak, en' lookin' more like er
ghost than like er woman. When she could talk she 'peared not ter wan'
ter, en' specully not ter keer ter talk erbout herself. I didn't ask 'er
no questions, en' one day I tole 'er I'd call 'er Mary ef she'd es
lieve--thet having been ther name of my own leetle gal, es ther redskin
devils killed, en' her eyes somehow remindin' me uv ther chile's. She
'greed ter thet, en' got more friendly.
"One day she axed me if I could give her some paper en' er quill. I guv
'em ter 'er, made 'er sum poke-berry ink, en' she writ' er letter; thin
I tramped ter Charlottsville ter post et fur er. She waited en' waited,
en' twiset I went ter town ter git ther answer, afore it cum. When et
did cum, et sot her ter cryin', en' took all ther red out'n her cheeks
ergin--fur by this time she wuz well en' strong, doin' all my cookin'
en' mendin', and makin' cheerful company fur me evenin's. She said 'twuz
her own letter cum back frum ther postman, who had writ on et thet ther
people et wuz sont ter didn't live in Baltimore no longer. She didn't
hev no whar, now, ter go, she said, crying pitiful. She could stay with
me es long es she'd er mind ter, I tole her, en' I'd be glad to hev her
fur my own chile--sence the red-skinned devils hedn't left me none. Thet
seemed ter cumfort her some, but you cum er few days arter thet, en' she
heerd me tell yer I'd like ter go with Clark. You wuz no sooner gone
then she declared she wuz goin' off so es not to be er hinderunce ter
me, nur my plans. Ter thet I wouldn't ergree nohow, spechully arter she
hed tole me er leetle 'bout how she happened ter be on ther mountin thet
evenin'--though she never did tell me her name, nur ther name uv her kin
folks.
"We talked mos' all thet night; she argified, en' I argified; et las we
cum ter this ergreement:--she wuz ter go with me ter Kaintucky es my
foster-son, en' we'd settle out ther, when she'd put on her gal clothes
ergin, en' be my daughter fur good en' all.
"I went ter Charlottesville, got er rifleman's uniform fur 'er, en' she
put it right on ter practice wearin' it, en' lookin' natural en it.
Every day she went huntin' with me ter practice shootin', en' I tuk ter
callin' her John. By ther time we started, 'twas all es nat'ral as if
'twere so, en' everything went smooth tel you en' Mr. Mitchell come. She
wuz skeered fur fear you'd fine 'er out, en' staid most er the time at
the settlement. 'Twuz my intention to leave er ther, even ef I went on
with Clark, but she wuz mad fur adventure by thet time, en' would cum'
on. The reason I let 'er wuz becus' uv yer two bein' her kin, in case
'twuz needful ter mek known she wuz er woman. Her being in 'tother
company kept you frum seein' 'er much, en' nights I allus slept nigh 'er
es you know. She's been awful sick now fur twenty-four hours, en' both
uv yer gone. Et's been er terrable responserbility frum fust ter
last--es fatherly as I feel ter ther poor gal," and Givens mopped the
sweat from his brow, and drew a long, deep sigh of intense relief.
"Will she recover?" I asked eagerly of Dr. Lafonte, who just then opened
the front door softly. To translate my question was beyond Givens'
strictly limited French, but somehow Dr. Lafonte understood, and replied
in his own tongue.
I gazed at him hopelessly, for then I could not understand a single word
of the French language. Father Gibault, gliding behind the little
doctor, smiled at my bewilderment and translated for me with many shrugs
and gestures.
"He would say, Monsieur, that Mademoiselle ees very seek--boot she ees
young and strong, eef le bon Dieu ees weeling she weel make recovery. I,
Monsieur, have plenty Peruvian bark, et ees la grande medicine;
Mademoiselle weel make recovery, I theenk, Monsieur," and he gave me a
benign and reassuring smile.