Governor Rocheblave was roused from a dream, in which he was being
decorated with the Grand Cross of the Bath for eminent services to his
Britannic majesty, by the sound of whoops, yells, and rifle-shots under
his very house. Then came the crash of glass and plaster, as several
bullets came through his window, and sent pieces of ceiling spattering
over the floor.
The Governor jumped out of bed, scared out of his wits, and madame
began to scream at the top of her voice, a scream echoed from every
quarter of the “palace,” as the maid-servants heard the racket in the
streets.
Then came the boom of four or five cannon, and a louder crash than
before, as the big chimney of the government house, struck by a
six-pound shot, toppled down over the roof in a mass of ruins.
Then a stillness perfectly awful succeeded for several minutes,
followed by the banging of opening windows, as the terrified
inhabitants began to look out.
As for Governor Rocheblave, he remembered the bullets too well to dare
go to his own windows; and presently came the clatter of hoofs on
the pavement below, as a horseman pulled up from full speed. Then a
stentorian voice bellowed, in horribly bad French:
“_Fusillez tout homme dans la rue! Fermez fenetres!_”
But fear is a quick translator, and every one knew the meaning of those
words.
“SHOOT EVERY MAN IN THE STREET! SHUT WINDOWS!”
A disinterested person would have admired the alacrity with which
the windows banged to, in obedience to the order; but the people of
Kaskaskia were too keenly alive to their own perils to admire any thing.
In a moment Governor Rocheblave came to his senses, and understood
every thing. At first he had thought of an Indian rising, but the
cannon-shots and bad French convinced him that a more formidable foe
was at hand.
“Coralie, it is the barbarous Americans. What shall we do?” he
faltered, as he gazed, panic-stricken, at his wife. “The papers--the
agreements with the chiefs--they will find them, and I shall be shot.”
“Not so fast,” said madame, more coolly. “I know these men, if they are
Americans. They are fools, where women are concerned. Where are the
papers?”
“In the box,” said the trembling Governor, pointing to a casket of
mahogany, open on the table.
In a moment the quick-witted woman pounced on the box, bore it to her
bed, and swept up the loose papers to the same receptacle. She had
hardly time to jump in after them when a clatter of weapons was heard
on the staircase, and a loud knock was heard at the front door.
“Who’s there?” screamed madame, excitedly. “Are these barbarians that
insult the privacy of a lady’s chamber? Go away!”
There was a short, whispered consultation outside, and a voice spoke,
in very bad French:
“Open the door, Governor. We know you’re here. We will not hurt the
lady, but we must have the Governor.”
“Monsieur Rocheblave has fled,” cried the lady, angrily, as her
husband, quaking with fear, turned up the light and moved toward the
door. “Have you no manners, pigs, that you do not believe a lady? Go
away!”
The only answer was a blow that burst the fastening of the door, and
into the room stalked Major Bowman, second in command to Clark, who
advanced to Rocheblave with a cocked pistol in his hand, saying:
“Monsieur, you are my prisoner. Surrender your papers.”
Rocheblave sunk trembling into a chair.
“I surrender, monsieur. Spare my life, and pray do not insult my wife,
if you are gentlemen.”
“We _are_ gentlemen,” said Bowman, quietly. “Madame is safe; but you
must dress and come with me to the commander. No excuses, sir. I give
you five minutes to dress. Then you must come with us as you are. Where
are your papers?”
Rocheblave pointed to an open bureau, littered with the more
unimportant papers of his government, and the Kentuckian advanced to
inspect them, while the Governor finished his dressing under the eye of
a burly sergeant at the door, whose rifle looked remarkably ready for
action at a moment’s notice.
But as the Governor found that he was quite unmolested, his spirits
began to recover from the first shock of surprise, and he asked:
“Are you not going to give me my parole, sir? I suppose that you make
war like honorable soldiers.”
Bowman made no reply till he had made a hasty examination of all the
loose papers, finding nothing worthy of note.
Then he turned round to Rocheblave, who was now dressed:
“In five minutes, sir, my commander will be here. He can answer your
question. I find you have hidden your papers.”
Here madame, who had ducked under the bed-clothes, put out her head to
listen. There was considerable galloping to and fro in the streets,
and a great clattering, as if a party were dismounting at the gate.
Rocheblave, who quickly saw that he had fallen into the hands of
organized troops, notwithstanding their rough exterior, began to assume
a more haughty tone, as became a British officer.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said, angrily. “You have come
into my house, like a parcel of rebel thieves, as you are, and I have
given up my papers. Are you not satisfied, but do you wish to insult a
prisoner?”
Madame, who had taken her cue, cried out:
“They want the silver, Auguste--that’s what they want, these thieves.
Show them the plate-chest, and you will hear no more of papers. I know
them well.”
Bowman, who was a chivalrous Kentucky gentleman, was very much
embarrassed by the lady’s bitter tongue, and was greatly relieved by
hearing the voice of his commander on the stairs. He rose and retreated
sheepishly to the door, while madame exchanged a triumphant glance with
her husband, and fired a volley of spiteful sarcasms at the abashed
soldier.
The next moment Clark entered the room, followed by the boy adjutant.
A conference, in low tones, took place between the three officers, at
the end of which Clark advanced to the Governor.
The border leader, haggard and unshorn, with dirty, ragged dress, was
by no means a reassuring sight. The moment madame laid eyes on him,
she trembled for her papers. While Clark was speaking to the Governor,
the little adjutant, whose face had been blacked all over, so that he
looked worse than his leader, went peering about the room in a manner
very different from that of his restrained and dignified chiefs.
“Governor,” said Clark, “Major Bowman tells me you have hidden all the
valuable papers of your office. Where are they? Give them up, and I
give you your parole. Refuse, and I put a guard over you.”
“Who are you, sir?” asked Rocheblave, sulkily.
“I am Colonel Clark of Kentucky,” said the other. “I have taken your
town, and your people are being disarmed as fast as my men can pile
the weapons. Where are your papers?”
“I know, colonel,” said the quiet voice of Adjutant Frank. As he spoke
he pointed to madame, who sat up in the bed, guarding her treasures.
The lady screamed indignantly.
“Wretches, barbarians, do you bring boys with you to insult ladies? The
Governor has no papers. I swear it. These are but my private jewels and
trinkets, and let me see a man dare to touch them.”
Little Frank was actually approaching the lady, to take the papers his
sharp eyes had discovered, when the deep voice of Clark broke in:
“Hold, Mr. Frank. Better that she should hide any amount of papers,
than that a gentleman should insult a lady. Governor, you’re a close
prisoner till I see those papers. Gentlemen, clear the room. To our
other duties.”