For four days, a fine, thick rain had been descending persistently from
the low, gray-blanketed sky, and a wet mist rose from the sodden earth
to meet it. The soil reeked with dampness; it oozed from the walls of
the stone or stuccoed houses, dripped from the sloping roofs of rambling
porches, saturated one's clothes, and permeated one's blood. The
Kaskaskia River, pushed out of its banks by its swollen tributaries, had
overflowed all the bottoms, and banked the waters of the bayous up into
the hills. The village was surrounded by water on three sides, and from
the fort one could see nothing save the dreary waste of still, dull
water. Even the reeds, canes, and grasses which ordinarily fringed the
bayous, adding something of life and grace, were now submerged.
In all the village there was but one cheerful, wooing spot:--the room in
the late Commandant's house, made bright by the presence of Ellen, and
kept warm and cheery by the crackling logs piled high in the wide
fireplace. Here Ellen gave gracious welcome to officer and private,
priest and native, coureur de bois from Canada, trader from New Orleans,
and scout from the eastern settlements--whoever might chance our way, so
he deport himself gentlemanwise. And now, since the winter and the rains
had settled upon us, since the Indian deputations had ceased to trouble
us, and traders were rare, the town afforded the officers no other
diversion than a twice daily visit to Queen Eleanor's audience chamber.
Colonel Clark, Captains Bowman, Montgomery, Harrod and I, with Legere
and Dr. Lafonte occupied usually the inner circle around the fire, Ellen
throned in our midst. My quill falls from my hand and I lose myself in
the scenes which my memory recalls so vividly that almost I live them
over again. Ellen's graceful head, outlined by dark ringlets, rests
against the white bear skin which covers her chair; her slender hands
are crossed in her lap, and her arched feet, in their gay moccasins, are
half buried in the panther's skin thrown over her foot rest. The fire,
of seasoned logs three feet in length, lights the low-ceiled stone room
with a vivid glow and suffuses the atmosphere with a fragrant warmth.
This glow of the flames plays becomingly on Ellen's rich, soft coloring,
and even brings out the shadows made by the long lashes upon her cheeks.
Also it shows plainly the varied colors and markings of the wild skins
hung thick upon the wall, and the gay stripes in the heavy Indian mats
upon the floor.
Better still than the cheerful scene was the pleasant talk that filled
the room, the bright, earnest discussions which did more to keep us
keyed to our otherwise dreary task than all the promises that we could
make ourselves of future fortune and renown. Who can gauge the value of
woman's social tact and sympathy? In all ages they have been magnets
around which great thoughts and noble deeds have focused. Some of the
conversations held in the long, stone room at Kaskaskia seem to me to
have been worthy the most brilliant salons in Paris, or the most famous
of London coffee-houses. Ellen was never one of those chattering
women--though she could express herself pithily and gracefully when she
had anything to say--but she was the most inspiring listener I have ever
seen.
Colonel Clark was a bold and brilliant talker, though sometimes arrogant
and boastful. Legere, who had been bred and educated in Paris, had
culture, and a keen tongue. Bowman was a man of careful observation,
shrewd thinking, and close reasoning; and my own love of mental exercise
made me an ambitious aspirant in these conversational bouts, over which
Ellen presided with inspiring guidance.
The future of America was the subject we oftenest discussed, perhaps,
and the one upon which we diverged, too, most widely. Colonel Clark
favored the organization of thirteen free states, confederated as
loosely as possible. I was for a close federation with a strong central
government. All the delays and difficulties of our war were due to the
lack of a central authority, it seemed to me. And even after our
independence should be achieved we must fall to pieces, I argued, or
become the prey of European powers unless we sought strength in a firmly
cemented union.
"But Virginia," argued Clark, "had everything to lose, and nothing to
gain by union. With the Illinois territory added to her possessions she
would be the largest, richest, and strongest, of the States, and could
dominate the rest. No union would be agreed to by the other States which
did not provide for the territorial reduction of the Old Dominion--for
her relinquishment, doubtless, of all we had won for her, and that we
would never consent to. Why should Virginia voluntarily weaken herself
in order to strengthen a union which would control all her resources?"
To this Ellen responded, taking sides with me: "A course of unselfish
patriotism was the only course worthy of Virginia, and the only one
consistent with her admirable policy so far. The building of a free,
mighty, and glorious republic in America which might become a pattern
for future democracies was the object for which all true Virginians and
all enlightened patriots should be willing to sacrifice everything."
Legere agreed with Clark, Bowman with me, and our argument waxed
warm--always to be quieted or diverted by Ellen's skillful management.
One day, however, Clark was more arrogant than usual, and I more
vehement, so that at last we quarreled like school boys.
Ellen's sarcasm, as she rebuked us, seemed directed at me rather than at
Clark, and I left the room in an unseemly rage, being for several days
too sore, and too much ashamed of myself, to return.
No loafing place was left me, now, save the large room in the barracks,
where the men were accustomed to assemble. On a certain afternoon it
became unbearable. The chimney smoked, the damp logs burned grudgingly,
the soldiers, who were now in the town, slept snoring on the floor,
wrapped in their blankets, or sprawled on the benches, and smoked strong
pipes. My heart ached with home longing; for but an hour with the dear
circle around the cheerful hearth, in the big room, I would at that
moment have resigned all the prospects of my life--save only my hope of
winning Ellen. I could stand it within no longer, and wrapping my cloak
around me, and pulling my bearskin cap over my ears, set out to walk to
the boat landing. It would afford me a moment's diversion to see how far
the water had risen since yesterday. Then the lower end of the wharf was
an inch under water.
Now it was completely submerged, and the ground all about it. If a boat
should chance to come to Kaskaskia it must seek precarious landing upon
a rock, which in dry weather, was half way up the low bluff on this side
of the river, below the town. I made my way to this rock, and stood
looking out on the formless waste of waters with a new sympathy for the
victims of the flood, and a sudden emotion of deep thankfulness for the
rock-ribbed mountains, rolling hills, upland meadows and well
restricted, gentle streams of our dear valley. He who would might come
west to dwell in the rich alluvial valley of the Mississippi, and her
tributaries--as for me, I wished no other heritage than one of the
fertile, smiling farms in the valley of Virginia.
As I gazed thus, my mind upon my own land rather than upon this
desolation, a moving speck appeared upon the waters, and rapidly
approached. Yes, it was a boat, one of those long, deep, swift boats
used by the coureurs, and the traders. The two men propelling it were
standing, evidently looking for the wharf. I called and signaled to them
to drift a little down stream, and land upon the rock; then I clambered
to its lower edge, and stood in readiness to help them. I had by this
time recognized Colonel Vigo and his servant. A month before they had
stopped with us on their way to the Illinois country, when Colonel Vigo
had offered to spy out for Colonel Clark the real condition of affairs
at Vincennes, and to send or to bring him word. His coming back so soon
foreboded ill news; he would hardly have returned at such inclement
season, but to warn us. We had hardly counted on such friendship from
him, though we knew that he wished well to the cause of America.
Moreover, he had seemed to conceive a strong friendship both for Colonel
Clark and myself.
Sardinian by birth, soldier of fortune by profession, Spanish officer by
rank won in Spanish wars, he was to me a most interesting character.
Bold, yet cautious, rash yet diplomatic, shrewd yet daring, accomplished
gentleman yet reckless adventurer, Indian by mode of life, but in manner
and preferred tongue French--he was a type of that age and that
civilization, which alone could have produced his like.
"Ah, McElroy," he called to me, as I gave him my hand to help him spring
ashore, speaking in what he called English tongue, but which was really
an impossible dialect, composed of a conglomerate of English, French,
Italian, Spanish and Indian words, so that I do not attempt to reproduce
it, but give only the substance of his utterances, "It is you then, and
where is the Colonel?"
"Visiting," I answered, rather curtly; "do you come from Vincennes?"
"So the Colonel is courting the fair Americaness, eh?--and you, mon ami,
sulk upon the rock! Is it that you have surrendered? I thought it not
possible for a stubborn Scotchman to own defeat--but this is no time for
banter. Yes, Captain McElroy, I come from Vincennes, and I have for the
Colonel important news. He must arouse himself from the idle pleasure of
paying court to beauty, and go back to the arduous work of a soldier
would he hold his footing on the Wabash."
Meantime we had reached the village, and were soon before the
Commandant's house. A panin summoned Clark for us, and together we
walked toward the fort, while Colonel Vigo told how Vincennes had
fallen, and outlined clearly the present state of affairs at that place.
The fort had been repaired and restocked, and was garrisoned by a force
of eighty mixed English and Canadians. The French inhabitants were
over-awed, and the Wabash Indians were in sympathy with the English. The
Miamis, who had recently made a pretended treaty with us, were really
agents of Hamilton, having been hired by him to kill or capture Clark,
and as many of his men as possible. Having been disappointed in their
anticipations of big scalp money, they were awaiting surlily a chance of
revenge. The French were, however, in heart, still loyal to us, and
Father Gibault--who had been all the time with Captain Helm, as also had
Scout Givens--was using all his diplomacy for us. It was due to his
insistence that Colonel Vigo was released, and allowed to leave the
town, even though he refused to swear that he would do nothing hostile
to the British cause.
Clark heard Colonel Vigo to the end, then asked two or three questions
as to General Hamilton's expectation of reenforcements, or apparent
apprehension lest he be attacked by the Americans. Colonel Vigo answered
that he seemed to anticipate neither the one nor the other, whereupon
Clark turned to his officers, now gathered about him, and said in the
tone of a man promulgating some joyful news.
"Men, we march at once to Vincennes! We are too near success to yield to
the first reverse. Have the drum beat for roll call, McElroy!"
When all the men, and many of the villagers, were assembled on the
parade ground before the fort, Clark clambered upon the body of a
caleche and made them one of his stirring speeches, recalling the
treachery of General Hamilton and the successful stratagem of Captain
Helm.
At its conclusion, loud cheers rang forth, and the men crowded about the
caleche.
"Right, Colonel," called one of the men, "we must thrash this
'hair-buyer' General; he has been needing a lesson for some time."
"We'll thrash him, Colonel, never doubt it!" called another.
"If the Kaskaskians wish to help us--if they have found us true allies
and kind friends, we promise them full recognition and reward with our
regular soldiers," added Clark. "Wish any of you to enlist with us?"
"I! I! I!" came from a dozen throats, in chorus.
"Legere shall captain you, if as many as twenty-five enlist," added
Clark. "Will you take down their names, Legere, and organize your
company?" turning to that Frenchman, who accepted both the honor and the
task with enthusiasm.
The commons now presented a lively and almost a cheerful scene; the men
gathered in groups here and there, talking excitedly; drums were
beating, and the villagers chattering and gesticulating. Suddenly, too,
the western sun broke through environing mist and cloud, and poured over
the scene a crimson glow, which might have been a word of promise spoken
from Heaven, so much it cheered them.
"McElroy," said Clark in my ear, "I would like a word apart with you,
please"; then as we walked off together: "It is time this rivalry
between us were somehow put an end to; there are too few of us pledged
to this dangerous enterprise to risk personal bitterness, especially
among the officers, who should be in entire accord. You love your
cousin, Ellen O'Neil, and so do I. You wish to marry her, so do I. Which
one of us she prefers I defy angel, devil, or man to determine. But she
must decide between us, and quickly. If it is you she loves, she must
say so, and I will resign all claim, and cease to trouble either of you.
If it is I, can you agree to do the same?"
"Yes," I answered a little reluctantly. "If she loves you, Colonel
Clark, I promise to withdraw my suit. Only as her cousin and present
guardian, I would have a right, I think, to exact one promise of you,
and that is that you will forswear a single habit, and promise to settle
down when this war is over. Can a man who loves adventure, as you do,
resign it for the love of a woman--Colonel Clark--to say nothing of that
other passion which sometimes overmasters you?"
Clark's face darkened and flushed, but with an effort he controlled
himself. "As her kinsman, McElroy, you doubtless have a right to speak
thus to me. You refer to my love for strong drink, and speak of my
passion for adventure. The one I could easily resign for Ellen's sake;
the other--'tis embedded in my nature, yet even adventure, methinks,
might be well exchanged for the love of such a woman; for domestic joys
with her to share them; for friends, home and children. Yes, McElroy, I
can imagine myself a quiet, respectable, church-going citizen--and yet
content."
"Then the decision rests with Ellen alone. Should she choose you, I
promise to give my sanction to her choice. But I fear there is small
hope for either of us. Have you not heard her say that she intends to
take the veil, to be a nun?"
"Yes, but I have never believed that she meant it in her heart of
hearts, though she has deceived herself into thinking she does, by
telling herself that it is her holy duty."
"She does not seem to me called to the vocation of a nun." I was smiling
at the mere thought of the brilliant Ellen in a nunnery.
"Surely she is not, McElroy; could she be happy, think you, shut out
from a world which interests her so fully? Your quiet valley, with its
dull routine of duty and religion made her rebellious, then how would
she endure life in a convent? No, she greatly misunderstands herself. I
should rather, by far, see her your wife, McElroy, than to know that all
her brilliancy and charms were hidden behind the chill walls of a
convent."
"And I would far rather see her your wife than a nun."
"Then let us pledge mutual aid, thus far--that we will both use all the
influence we may have with her to keep her from a convent. Shall we go
now to see her, and bid her choose between us?"
"It does not seem to me to be the wisest course. Suppose she should
absolutely refuse both of us? or even in case we can persuade her that
she is not called to a convent life, and can induce her to make choice,
suppose one of us should be killed in this attack upon Vincennes, and he
the one she had chosen? Might she not afterwards feel it disloyal to the
memory of that one to listen to the addresses of the other, and so be
more than ever disposed to think herself set apart to virgin
consecration? Let us leave the matter undecided until one or both of us
return from Vincennes. I can trust you to take no less interest in my
safety on that account, and you, I think, can likewise trust me. Should
I fall, my rights in Ellen, such as they are, become yours. Should you
be killed, I inherit your claim to her. Meantime both are pledged to use
our utmost endeavors to keep her out of a convent--even though to do so,
we must help the other to win her."
"Shrewdly said, McElroy," replied the Colonel, with a hearty laugh. "It
is a true Scotch-Irishman's bargain you propose--many chances to win,
few to lose. Your hand on it. Once more we are good friends, and loyal
comrades, pledged together and twice over to two noble causes: one--the
independence of the United States of America and the saving of the world
for democracy, and the other--to preserve to the world the beauty, the
wit, and the spirit of Ellen O'Neil."