During the months of August and September, Clark was kept busy receiving
the Indian deputations which came weekly to Kaskaskia to sue for peace
and alliance, with the famed Big-Knives and his warriors. Each visit was
an affair of state, and must be received with due ceremony. Did the
deputation consist only of the chief of some petty sub-tribe, and two or
three warriors, they must have audience at the fort with Colonel Clark
himself, surrounded by an armed body-guard; speeches, presents, and
wampum belts must be ceremoniously exchanged, and the peace pipe smoked
solemnly, after which Clark must tender them a feast.
Born to administer large affairs, Colonel Clark showed in his
pacification of the Northwest Indians, a remarkable shrewdness, and
knowledge of human nature. He used much the same tactics as those found
so successful in dealing with the French:--he over-awed them by
dauntlessness of spirit, and a show of far greater strength than he
really possessed. When the desired impression had been made upon them,
and they had offered alliance, he would adroitly win them to his
purposes by friendliness and flattery. He could meet them with a counter
stoicism and subtlety that confounded them, and sent them back to their
tribes to tell marvelous stories of the great white warrior chief, the
redoubtable Big-Knife, whose course of conquest had started at the
rising sun, and would be stopped only by the big river towards the sun's
lodge. One edict of Colonel Clark well serves to illustrate his
far-seeing wisdom, and the extent of his power. He forbade any soldier,
any citizen of Kaskaskia, or trader on the river, to sell or to give a
single gill of liquor to an Indian within so many miles of the town and
fort, under heavy penalties; and the few infringements of this rule were
severely punished. Ceremony, presents and feasting were dealt out
generously to the savages, but their expectations of fire-water were
invariably disappointed. Some of them went away sullen, but there was no
rioting in Kaskaskia, and no more bloody fights such as had been
customary between panins and Indians.
Between these and other duties, Colonel Clark found some leisure for
diversion, and sought it usually in the long room of the Commandant's
house, where Ellen held her court with a constantly increasing number of
subjects. Madame Rocheblave had left Kaskaskia soon after Ellen's
recovery, to visit friends in Detroit, while awaiting the release of M.
Rocheblave, who had been sent to Virginia with several other prisoners.
But Angelique had consented to accept services as Ellen's maid, and was
in constant attendance upon her.
Among Ellen's admirers the most indefatigable and determined were
Monsieur Legere, Colonel Clark, Thomas and I; and for each of us she had
a special course of treatment that kept us hovering between hope and
despair. Monsieur Legere's manner of attack was nightly to serenade
Ellen with voice and guitar, and daily to present her with passionate
love poems, hidden in bunches of gorgeous wild flowers, which he had
gathered at risk of limb and life from the most inaccessible spurs of
the bluff across the river. These offerings she would receive with just
enough appearance of pleasure, and expression of appreciation to prevent
that emotional youth from committing suicide. Thomas, she treated as she
would a brother, took him to mass with her, and alternately commanded,
scolded, and coaxed him. He alone failed to see that there was naught
but cousinly regard, and a degree of gratitude and pity in her heart for
him.
Colonel Clark sued, as he did everything else, masterfully. It was
plain, too, that this had a certain effect upon Ellen, who moreover,
could not fail to be attracted by his handsome person and winning
manners. That personal charm felt so strongly by men, even by savages
and foreigners must produce a more sure effect upon the feelings of the
woman whom he condescended to woo. Yet Ellen did not acknowledge his
power, but rather took pleasure in making him yield to her. There was
almost daily warfare of words between them. She would be starting to
vespers with Thomas perhaps, just as Clark would be mounting the porch
steps.
"You are not going this afternoon, Miss Ellen," in his firm tone of
command; "I want you to stay and talk to me."
"But I always go to vespers, Colonel Clark."
"Except when I come to see you."
"No matter who comes to see me."
"You need make exception in my case only; I have many duties, and can
not choose my hours of recreation; you can say your prayers all day, if
you wish."
"Vesper hour is sacred; I cannot profane it by staying away from service
to amuse even _you_, Colonel Clark. Moreover I am neither Frenchman,
Indian, nor soldier; I do not take orders from the Long-Knives," and she
would flash upon him a look of smiling defiance, and pass on.
"You are as cruel as fair, Miss Ellen," in hurt, gentle tones; "you
cannot guess how weary, and heart-hungry I am, or you would be more
merciful. Are you not the one bit of home, and comfort, and cheer we
soldiers have in this wilderness? Now, after a day of toil, with the
prospect of an hour of delight with you as my only recompense, you leave
me thus without a word of regret."
"I must to vespers, Colonel Clark, but I shall hasten back; you can wait
here for me."
And Clark would wait impatiently, Ellen returning promptly, as she had
promised, to put forth for him, during the rest of the evening, the
utmost of her powers of fascination.
Her treatment of me was less flattering, I thought, than that she
accorded any of the others. I was no more her best friend, her openly
favored comrade. On the contrary, she treated me with alternate
indifference, haughtiness and patronage; she would seem to seek
occasions of difference, and then, when I was lashed into answering her,
would flaunt me angrily, or mock me with sarcasms. Afterwards she would
repent her rudeness, and beg my pardon with the sweetest humility and
gentleness. But this playing hot and cold on her part kept me in a sort
of inward fever, and made me what I had never been in my life before,
irritable and quarrelsome. To the men under me, I was peremptory; I was
testy with Thomas, and often almost rude with Clark. In truth I was half
frenzied with jealousy. A score of times in the day, I would compare
myself with Clark--set my appearance and qualities over against his, and
cast up the balance between us; but, with all my leaning to my own side,
I could not blind myself that neither in manner, person, nor gifts could
I rival him. There could be little doubt as to which one of us Ellen
would choose when a final choice was forced upon her.
The wild grape vintage was a customary festival with the Kaskaskians.
The woods along the river were wreathed with the vines, which looped
from branch to branch, or from tree to tree, and even the berry thickets
had become trellises to support their luxuriant meanderings. These wild
grapes made a rich, delicious wine, much prized by the people as a
beverage, and by the priests as an antidote to the far less innocent
fire water, peddled by the traders, in boat loads, up and down the
river. Colonel Clark not only consented to the celebration of this one
of their frequent holidays, but agreed that the soldiers might take part
on condition that no liquors be dispensed.
All assisted in the morning's work of gathering the grapes, and piling
them in the caleches, or two-wheeled carts, to be hauled to the wine
vats, then the afternoon was given up to pleasure and feasting. Games
were interspersed with trials of strength and skill, upon the public
square of the village; shooting at a mark, hurling the tomahawk,
wrestling and racing were the chief contests, which were participated in
by Frenchmen and soldiers on equal terms. Colonel Clark, Captain
Montgomery, and myself were the chosen judges, and we were careful to
distribute the prizes equally, with no very strict regard to merit.
The free half-breeds and the panins, with a few straggling Indians, had
also their games apart, presided over by three of our men from the fort,
who acted as judges. The supper was provided by Colonel Clark, and
besides the usual pancakes and maple syrup, served at nearly all their
feasts, there were maize cakes, barbecued venison, corn parched, ground
and sweetened, wild duck and plover eggs boiled and roasted, melons,
pawpaws, mulberries and sangaree. This supper was served by the cheery
matrons of Kaskaskia, from caleches backed in a circle around a part of
the green. Later, smiling maidens bedecked with flowers, came out of the
low eaved houses, and with the youths and gayer soldiers fell a dancing
on the green to the sound of banjo and guitar, in the light of a bright
full moon, beneath a star-studded dome of clearest azure. It was a
picture of simple Arcadian happiness, which needed only the
embellishments of nature to beautify it, only the impulses of nature to
stimulate it.
Ellen had been named "Queen of the Festa" by Clark, and the day seemed
diverted into an occasion to honor her. It was she who pressed with
dainty fingers the juice from the first bunch of grapes, ere they were
put into vats for trampling; she who presented the prizes to the
victors, or crowned them gracefully with the laurel wreaths. And when
the music sounded, Clark led her forth to tread a stately measure alone
with him upon the green, ere the general dancing began. I did not know
before that either of them could dance--for never had I seen such sport
until Nelly Buford had shown me the latest steps at Colonel Morgan's.
But Ellen was a daily astonishment, and Clark had learned much in his
adventurous life.
When they had thus inaugurated the evening's gayety as also they had
presided over the day's festivities, Ellen and Clark wandered through
the village together, in the moonlight, she leaning on his arm, and he
bending over her like an accepted lover. Half an hour later I saw them
seated side by side on the steps, under the nave of the church, absorbed
in each other, and entirely unconscious of me, as I passed them on the
opposite side of the street. Ellen was all in white, save for a black
lace scarf she wore Spanish fashion, about her head, and shoulders, and
in the moonlight she was a radiant vision of girlish loveliness--as
Clark by her side was a picture of handsome young manhood. "They would
be well mated," I thought with a sigh as I passed on, homesick and
heartsick. In the darkness of the deserted barracks, I sought my
soldier's couch, and lay a long time awake, thinking longingly of home
and loved ones and wrestling with the demon of jealousy which threatened
to master me.
A deep sigh aroused me after awhile, from the half dream into which I
had slipped, and I heard Thomas' voice, praying in low tones. Poor
Thomas. He was even more unhappy than I, for he had deserted home,
parents, and religion for his idol, who but treated him with cousinly
kindness. Yet I rejoiced, though I pitied him; there was hope for
Thomas, since his sorrow and disappointment but drove him back to God,
and his prayers.
* * * * *
Colonel Clark sent for me next morning, and began, in his most
peremptory manner to announce that he desired me to make ready to start
to Virginia immediately, to deliver certain dispatches to the Governor
and the Assembly. He wished his appointments confirmed, and the
conquered territory of the Northwest formally annexed to Virginia. Also,
he must have money, supplies, and reenforcements for a prompt advance on
Detroit, and later on, Quebec. All Canada might be taken, with the aid
of our French and Indian allies, had we but a nucleus of American
soldiers, and sufficient means to forward the enterprise. I must not
only deliver his request to that effect, but urge the members of the
Assembly, publicly and privately, as I had opportunity, to support the
project, and to vote money and men for it.
When he had said all this, without asking my opinion, I stopped him by
suggesting that perhaps I could not be earnest and eloquent enough in a
cause my reason and judgment did not sanction; that I had once helped to
storm Quebec, and knew the almost insurmountable difficulties of the
attempt without a large army and plenty of cannon; that I did not
believe our allies would be of any value in such an enterprise, and that
in my opinion we would only be risking what we had secured, or
abandoning it more probably, for a success dependent upon a hundred
unlikely chances.
Colonel Clark had gazed at me haughtily as I spoke--a manner the more
nettling because of his previous friendliness and comradeship with
me--and now he reprimanded me sharply for having forgotten my position
as a subordinate, whose business it was to obey, not to advise, and then
added:
"Can you start, sir, to Virginia to-morrow, with my dispatches and
commands?"
"No, Colonel Clark," I answered with a haughtiness that matched his own:
"I remain in Kaskaskia till it is my pleasure to leave; my term of
enlistment expires next week, after which I am no longer under orders.
Confine me if you please, in the guardhouse, while I am still in your
service, but I shall not go to Virginia on this errand."
"And I know your reason for this act of disrespect and disobedience,
sir. You are jealous of my suit to Ellen O'Neil."
"As my cousin's lawful protector, I stay by her side until she is safely
placed with the guardian she shall choose upon reaching her legal
majority."
"Your jealousy has been made evident before, Captain McElroy, but know
this, I recognize not your right to interfere with me in any way, nor to
dictate to Miss O'Neil upon any subject. I shall warn her, sir, and
watch you," and Clark had grown so angry that he talked now half random
foolishness, and glared at me savagely.
No less angry, I replied, "And I shall watch you, Colonel Clark. A man
who can take advantage of his position of authority to send his rival
across the continent with dispatches that a common courier might as well
carry is capable of taking other and less honorable advantages,
perhaps."
"No man dare insult me, McElroy, without knowing that he must apologize
or fight. Take your choice; I am no longer your superior officer," and
he threw aside his epauleted coat, and plumed hat, and drawing his
sword, stood before me, pallid and rigid with anger.
"Sir," I answered, fully as furious as he, "you have so lorded it over
Frenchmen, panins and Indians, that you seem to have forgotten the
respect due a comrade--your equal in all save military rank. Your
challenge, Colonel Clark, I accept with pleasure!" I bowed to him, drew
my sword and stood at guard.
Neither of us were practiced swordsmen, but both were lithe, active, and
possessed of trained eyes, and arms. We fought with small science, yet
with some skill, and in deadly earnest. Without doubt one or the other
of us would have been killed or badly wounded, had not a startling
interruption paralyzed the arm of each, just when both were wrought up
to the killing frenzy. I was fighting desperately and so was Clark,
when, suddenly, Ellen's voice rang above the clash of our swords, and
the panting emission of our breath:
"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" she called sharply, and each lowered his
weapon and turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her eyes
glowing, her face quite pale, and Father Gibault stood behind her,
looking more perturbed than I had ever seen him.
[Illustration: "COUSIN DONALD! COLONEL CLARK!" SHE CALLED SHARPLY.]
"I know not whose the fault," she added scornfully, "but each is less
the knight and patriot, in my esteem, for this rash deed. You would kill
each other and bring destruction upon your patriotic enterprise, and
death to these men, whose lives are in your keeping? Bah! Men are
children; their passions rule them! Father Gibault, will you stay with
Colonel Clark and soothe his anger? You have hurt me grievously, Colonel
Clark, and I thought you my friend--" and now was heard the break in
Ellen's voice which tugged always at one's heartstrings.
"Forgive me, Miss Ellen!" stammered Clark; "I have no quarrel with your
cousin; it was, as you say, foolish anger and rashness. But in justice I
must confess that I forced this fight upon McElroy," and my generous
comrade looked frankly at me.
"Nor have I just grounds of quarrel with you, Colonel Clark," I
responded. "I was disrespectful in my words and manner. Will you accept
my apology?" and I held out my hand.
Clark took and shook it warmly, while Ellen smiled upon us, and Father
Gibault blessed us with low spoken benediction.
"Come with me, Cousin Donald!" commanded Ellen; "I have something I
would say to you."
We walked together toward the town, for some time in silence, then Ellen
said, blushing as she spoke:
"Father Gibault tells me that you and Colonel Clark quarreled about me,
Cousin Donald. It was not kind, nor respectful, and it was very foolish,
if jealousy prompted you, for I shall never marry."
"Never marry, Ellen, and why?" I asked in great astonishment.
"Did not I tell you, Cousin, that I had set before myself a high and
holy purpose? I have sworn a vow of consecration. As soon as I have
reached my majority, I shall take the veil, and pass the remainder of my
life in prayer, and God's holy service. Will you tell Colonel Clark this
for me? And neither of you, I beg, will ever again couple me, even in
your thoughts with love and marriage. I shall be the bride of the
Church, I trust, but never the bride of mortal. God saved me from an
awful fate in answer to my vow of consecration. To choose a life of
worldly pleasure would be in me dishonesty in its worst form. Help me to
keep my vow, Cousin Donald; make me strong to do the right."
The touching appeal of her voice and manner as she spoke thus, it is not
possible to describe. She seemed to throw herself upon my strength, to
implore me to help her to sacrifice herself. I saw how strongly she felt
all she said, how impossible it would be to make her see now the folly
of her purpose, and the illogic of her thoughts. She wanted my sympathy
and encouragement--yet how could I give it to her, at risk of forfeiting
my happiness, and possibly hers! Yet I could not fail her.
"Dear Ellen," I said, with all the deep tenderness of my heart for her
trembling in my words, "whatever you finally conclude is your duty, that
I shall help you to do, with all the sympathy and courage I can give
you. But take no step rashly, nor without consulting Father Gibault. Our
heavenly Father has, I truly believe, guided you thus far; let us look
to Him for further guidance."