The night closed in over Kaskaskia, cool and pleasant after the sultry
day. There was no moon, but the stars were uncommonly brilliant, and
there was no difficulty in traveling. The Governor of Kaskaskia, a
few days before, had been exercising the militia of the neighboring
country, with considerable force of Indian allies; for some vague
rumors had reached him of a possible raid by the rebel Virginians. All
along the banks of the Mississippi scouts and spies were stationed with
swift horses, to give notice of any force ascending the river. But, as
the days wore on, and no one came, the vigilance of the townspeople had
slacked.
Guard was mounted regularly at the fort, and there were several hundred
militia in the town; but the parades were more formal than useful, and
twenty men were judged sufficient for the defense of the fort.
Governor Rocheblave retired to rest that night, somewhat disturbed in
mind. The message from old Tabac had puzzled and annoyed him, but he
was too confident of his own ability to manage the Indians to fear for
the issue of next day’s conference.
He sat up till ten o’clock, preparing an artful speech, to be followed
by munificent presents, and finally went to bed hopeful of success.
Meanwhile, Ruby and her red friends were hospitably quartered in an
empty building near the “palace,” and to all appearance were settled
for the night, when the rest of the townspeople were asleep.
About three-quarters of a mile above the town, on the opposite side of
the river Kaskaskia, stood the farm-house of Monsieur Picard, a worthy
market-gardener, who supplied the town with vegetables; and around this
house, about an hour after dark, events were taking place which would
have alarmed the Governor considerably, had he known them.
Monsieur Picard and his family, in their night-clothes, and all pale
with terror, were surrounded by a crowd of rough-looking men, who were
questioning them about the town, in English.
“_Mon Dieu, messieurs_,” said the unhappy gardener, “eef you vill not
keel me, I vill tell all I know. Monsieur Rocheblave, de Gouverneur, he
have two, t’ree, twenty t’ousand soldier dere, and he march and make
parade, eh, _mon Dieu_, how I know vat it mean--I be not _soldat_, I do
not know, but dey say de Americains dey come to cut our t’roats, _comme
les Indiens_, and M. Rocheblave he say dat he _extair-r-rminate_ dem
for King Shorge!”
“How many men are in the fort?” inquired one man, less savage in aspect
than the rest, and in good French.
“Not many, monsieur, not many. There is only the company of Capitaine
Ledoux to mount guard there,” said Picard, glibly.
“Good!” said the other. “Where’s Adjutant Frank?”
It was Clark who spoke. There was a short silence.
Then Captain Harrod answered.
“I thought you knew, colonel. The little cuss found a hoss yesterday,
and rid off into the perrary, all alone, this arternoon. He said as how
he war a-goin’ on a scout on his own hook.”
Clark seemed disturbed.
“I know, captain, I know; but I thought he had come back. The boy
promised to be with us by dark. Has any one seen him since?”
There was no answer, and Clark groaned aloud.
“The rash lad! He must have lost his way. If there were any Indians
about, I should judge him a prisoner; and if he has been taken into
Kaskaskia, the town will be alarmed, and we shall have hard work!”
It was seldom the cautious leader allowed his feelings to be publicly
noticed, and it was evident he was deeply stirred by the fate of the
little adjutant, who had become a wonderful favorite with all the
command during the weary secret march over the prairies of Illinois. He
turned sternly on Picard, saying:
“Now, sir, tell me quick, and tell me truly, as you value your life,
has the Governor of Kaskaskia any notion we are here?”
“My God! monsieur, how can he? Should I be where I am, if that were the
case? I will tell the truth, monsieur. The Governor expects you to come
up the river, and men are there, on the watch.”
“Then we waste time here,” said the leader, abruptly. “Major Bowman,
take your own company, with Harrod’s and Helm’s. Cross in this man’s
boat, and march on the town as I told you. When you hear a gun from the
fort, rush in with a shout, take the place, and disarm every one. You
know the orders. Captain Montgomery’s company will follow me. Place a
guard over this house, and shoot any one who tries to come out. Get in
there!”
He signified his orders to the terrified Picards, who hurried into the
house, expecting nothing less than instant death. The ignorant French
were full of superstitious terrors about the Americans, whom they
had been taught to regard as merciless savages; and Clark’s seeming
brutality only confirmed the impression.
Then there was a hurried embarkation by the riverside.
Honest Picard never dreamed that his flat-boat, which had conveyed so
many loads of cabbage to Kaskaskia, would come one July night, to be a
transport for ferocious enemies. But it was even so, now. Loaded down
to the water’s edge with wild-looking backwoodsmen, it served as a
ferry for the three companies destined to attack the town, and, in less
than an hour after, the whole body was on its silent way to Kaskaskia.
At the moment of starting, Clark led the remaining company down the
river toward the fort, only about a half-mile below. The men proceeded
in Indian file, stealing along like ghosts; and a person a hundred
yards off could have suspected nothing.
In a short time the gray bastions of the fort loomed up before them,
standing at the edge of a high bank, down which one of its outworks
stretched to the water’s edge.
The leader stayed his men with a signal and stole forward himself to
reconnoiter, when the sound of voices in gay conversation struck his
ear; and, the moment after, a little postern door low down by the
water, opened, and two men came out and advanced toward the Americans
as if careless of danger.
Without an order given, every one of the invaders sunk down to the
earth in an instant and vanished from view, leaving Clark alone in the
middle of the open glacis.
The commander did not drop. He knew that he had been seen, for the two
men halted and seemed undecided whether to advance or not.
Suddenly one of them called out in French:
“_Qui vive?_ (Who goes there?) Is it thou, Picard?”
Clark started violently. It was the voice of the missing adjutant. With
admirable presence of mind he imitated the voice and rustic accent of
the gardener, answering:
“It is I, indeed. Has the doctor gone back yet? My wife is sick.”
“The doctor went back at sunset,” answered Frank, “but here is Poirier,
the hospital steward. He and I were coming over to break a bottle with
thee, Picard; but, since thy wife is sick, Poirier shall do what he
can.”
“Come on then, in God’s name,” said Clark, turning away to aid the
stratagem. “You have a lancet to let blood, without doubt. Hasten, ere
it be too late. She has fits.”
“Come on, Poirier,” cried the little adjutant; and the hospital
steward, completely deceived, hurried along after Clark, until in the
midst of the crouching borderers.
In another moment he was surrounded, and a dozen knives brandished at
his throat, with a sternly whispered command to keep silence, if he
valued his life.
The poor fellow was so overcome with terror that he dropped senseless
in the road, and the little adjutant hurriedly said:
“Into the fort, colonel, like lightning. The garrison sleep. I’ll tell
you how I fooled them when we’re safe. Not a moment is to be lost. I’ll
show the way.”
With the rapid, stealthy rush of so many tigers, Montgomery’s company
followed the flying figure to the fort, swarmed in at the postern, took
the sentries on the ramparts without firing a shot, and in ten minutes
were in full possession.
Then, with his own hand, Clark fired a six-pound shot over the town, a
signal answered by loud yells from the opposite side of the river, as
Bowman’s men rushed in like a tempest through the deserted streets.