The Fourth of July is generally a hot day. The Fourth of July, 1778,
was a particularly hot day around the town of Kaskaskia, as it basked
in the sun on the banks of two rivers, the tin roofs of its quaint
old houses shining like mirrors. Kaskaskia, a hundred years ago, was
like Quebec to-day, a quaint, rambling town of steep, narrow streets,
nominally English, actually French in language and sentiment. Founded
two years before Philadelphia, it was at that time the emporium of
Indian trade, and far ahead of the infant St. Louis, eighty miles
further up.
What changes a century makes! To-day Kaskaskia is a decayed village,
and St. Louis a city of palaces.
On a rounded bluff opposite the town stood a handsome stone fort, with
rows of bright brass guns trained on the place, and that so closely as
to obviate the necessity of walls around the houses.
Kaskaskia was safe from the Indians for two reasons.
First, the fort frightened the thievish ones; second, the place was
full of trappers and traders who had intermarried with every tribe in
the West. This last point is the grand secret of the control which
the French have always exercised over the Indians. At the present day
it turns into friends and allies thousands of the same race in the
Hudson’s Bay Territories, that are relentless foes to white men in the
American Territories.
In Kaskaskia, on that sultry Fourth, a hundred years ago, trader and
Indian could be seen side by side in every shady place, smoking over
bargains in furs like old friends.
The blazing sun at last dipped behind the western prairies, and
a gentle breeze came sighing up the Mississippi, when Monsieur
Rocheblave, the French-English Governor, who was sitting by the open
window of the government house at the top of the hill, suddenly spoke
to his wife.
“Coralie, _ma chere_, I do believe I see Mademoiselle Roland, and that
she is coming hither. Yes, it is she indeed.”
Madame Rocheblave, who was lying on a sofa fanning herself languidly,
bleated out, with a whining, querulous tone:
“Rubie? What can the girl want? I declare I wish my cousin Roland had
done any thing in the world rather than leave that wild creature in the
way he did, half the time for me to take care of, the other half to
that ugly Indian they call the Grand Door of the Wabash. I wish he’d
keep her altogether. She has lost all the manner of society, and tells
the truth so quick and plain that she lacerates my feelings.”
M. Rocheblave had risen to look out of the window better.
“For all that, my angel,” he said, soothingly, “we must remember that
mademoiselle your cousin is a very important person. She represents
the union between us and the tribes, a link carefully forged by her
illustrious father, at his own cost, which _must_ be maintained.
Therefore, Coralie, be polite to mademoiselle, who is about to become
our guest. It is a great privilege you and I enjoy, to entertain a
princess.”
“A princess!” said madame, ill-temperedly. “I’ve had enough of these
wild princesses. What does she come for? It’s not time for her visit
for two months yet.”
“I suppose that the visit portends something to us,” said the Governor.
“At all events, _I_ shall not be wanting in respect to our illustrious
guest.”
And the Governor hastily arranged his costume, and left the room, to
greet the approaching personage.
At the principal gate of the “palace,” as it was styled, he paused, to
watch the progress of a cavalcade, coming up the street.
At the head rode, on a very handsome dappled mustang, our little
friend Ruby Roland, dressed in gorgeous velvets and brocades, heavily
laced with gold, and loaded with jewelry. All the finery that the
wealth of a tribe could lavish on her, was displayed on her trim
figure, and she rode her spirited little horse like a man, with all a
man’s ease and dexterity.
She carried no arms, but this was compensated for by her escort,
consisting of twelve grim-looking chiefs, armed to the teeth.
The Governor bowed very low to this strangely-situated girl, at once
perfect lady and Indian princess, and himself assisted her to dismount
from her horse, while a score of obedient servants came running out to
perform the same service to her escort.
For every one in the town knew by this time that a great embassy was
come from “La Grande Porte.” The chiefs with Ruby were recognized as
being the heads of twelve independent tribes, united under the great
confederacy of the Wabash, and such chiefs always expected deferential
treatment.
The Governor embraced his cousin by marriage in the most courtly French
style, and shook hands with all the chiefs in turn, welcoming them with
a string of French and Indian compliments together, and ushering them
into the drawing-room.
Here Madame la Gouverneuse, who had recovered her outward equanimity,
whatever her inward feelings, embraced Ruby with a cordiality that
would have deceived any male beholder, and which the quick-witted girl
herself penetrated in an instant.
Then, after a sumptuous feast on the most unsubstantial of French
pastry and ice cream, articles devoured with intense relish by the wild
sons of the prairie, the Governor opened negotiations by a delicate
hint that business was in order.
Ruby at once became spokeswoman for her party, and proceeded to explain
the object of her visit in a speech which excited general grunts of
approbation from her stoical attendants.
“We have come,” said the girl, in the metaphorical Indian style, “from
the banks of the great river to the east, to the father of all waters.
We are few as a flock of antelopes, but behind us are our brothers,
like the buffalo, without number. From the great fresh sea on the
north, by the country of the Michigans, to the great river Ohio, that
never fails, we are one house, and that house has one door, who is our
Red Father. The Grand Door has opened to let us forth, to bring great
words to our French father. Tabac has spoken, and if our French Father
listen to his words it is well. If not, we will go back, and the door
will be shut.”
“The French Father is dead,” said Rocheblave, cautiously. “He can not
hear my red brethren’s words. We have an English father now, who gives
us blankets and guns. Let the chiefs talk to him.”
Rocheblave, though of French parents, was entirely devoted to the
English government, and he hoped by speaking as he did, to check the
proposition he felt, rather than saw, was coming.
Ruby proceeded with simple directness to her mission.
“The Great Spirit has sent a bird to his children,” she said, “to speak
with a straight tongue and tell us the truth. He tells us that the
French Father is _not_ dead. He has been asleep for many years, but
now is awake. He calls to his red-children to arouse and drive out the
fork-tongued English who have stolen his lands, and hired the red-men
to make war on the Big-Knives (Americans). The French Father has made
friends with the Big-Knives, and has declared war against the English.
My father is French and ought to love his French Father. The Grand Door
is open, and if the Governor of Kaskaskia is wise, he will enter into
our house, and forsake the fork-tongues forever, as we have. I have
spoken.”
The Governor was astounded. This was the first intelligence he had
received of the American alliance with France, so lately concluded. He
could hardly credit it. Therefore, he said:
“Is my daughter sure that the bird spoke true? There are lying birds
about, sent by the rebellious Big-Knives. Let my red brothers beware of
such.”
“The bird spoke true,” said Ruby, firmly. “The tribes of the Wabash
are ashamed to have served the English. Henceforth they befriend the
Big-Knives, as their French Father wishes them. I have spoken.”
And the twelve chiefs grunted an emphatic assent.
Rocheblave was puzzled, and temporized. He said:
“This is a grave matter. I must consult the old men and warriors. I
will give an answer to the Grand Door at noon to-morrow. Is it good?”
“It is not good,” said Ruby, rising. “To-morrow we will come, but the
Grand Door will be shut. The Governor of Kaskaskia must knock ere it be
opened.”
So saying, she swept from the room, followed by her dusky escort,
leaving Rocheblave astonished, while madame whined:
“_Mon Dieu!_ Why did my cousin Roland make such a fool of himself? I
told you she was a barbarian.”