The poor _curé_ looked from one to the other, as if doubting whether
they were not playing a cruel practical joke on him. The faces of all
the officers had been blackened in streaks with gunpowder and water,
in a fashion which many of the grimly-humorous backwoodsmen had taken
from the Indian war-paint. In dress they were no way superior to their
men, and the wearing of swords was all that distinguished them. Such a
looking set of ruffians might have frightened any one, much more the
poor Frenchmen, whose minds had been industriously filled with horrible
stories about the “rebels” by Hamilton’s and Rocheblave’s emissaries.
Clark, whose pity was excited by the evident terror of these feeble old
men, came forward kindly enough, and said:
“I am Colonel Clark, of Kentucky, gentlemen, commander of this force.
What is your business? Fear nothing. We will not kill you. Speak
freely.”
Father Gibault, who seemed to be spokesman, was so much affected by the
kind tone, that he faltered:
“God bless you, monsieur! God bless you! You are very kind, and we are
very old.”
Clark waved his hand impatiently.
“Well, well, gentlemen, what is your business? Speak quickly, for I am
busy.”
“Monsieur,” said the priest, earnestly, “we are well aware that your
people do not belong to our church, and that you hold its doctrines in
derision; but, monsieur, we beg leave to assure you that we are very
quiet, harmless people. We know that the fortune of war has thrown
us into your hands, and that we must expect to be separated from our
happy homes, perhaps never to meet again. But, oh, monsieur, we beg,
in the name of humanity, that you will allow us to meet once more, for
the last time in our church, to hear one last mass, and to take leave
of each other.”
And the five old men, with one accord, broke out weeping in the most
piteous manner, crying:
“Oh, monsieur, for the love of God!” “Pity us!” “Indeed we did not know
who you were.” “The commandant told us you were all savages.” “But we
know better now.”
As if by one consent, the rough backwoodsmen jumped up and stamped away
to the windows, while muttered exclamations of sympathy were heard.
Clark waved his hand for silence, for he had his face under more
control than his subordinates, though he too was much affected by the
spectacle of old men in tears.
Then he said, in a careless tone:
“I have nothing to say against your church, gentlemen. That is a matter
we Americans leave every man to settle with his God. If your people
wish to assemble in the church, they can do so; but at the same time,
if they do, they must not venture out of town. I will withdraw the
troops to let you assemble. Is that all?”
“Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!” cried father Gibault, in a tone of
great relief. “But, oh, monsieur, if you would only listen to us for
a little while, I feel confident that we could convince you that our
intentions have always been of the most innocent--”
“That will do,” said the colonel, sternly. “I have listened to you
long enough, gentlemen. I have no leisure for further intercourse. The
officer of the day will withdraw the men from the town and you can meet
at the church. Good-day.”
He saluted stiffly, and turned away, while the overawed group of
delegates left the room in mournful silence, the terror being at its
utmost hight.
When they were fairly in the street, Clark turned to his officers, who
stood silently round, and said, solemnly:
“Gentlemen, pray God that when this war is over we may never have
another. This is a bad business, and were it not that I intend to
change the mourning of these poor creatures to joy before to-morrow,
I swear to you that I would march back to Kentucky to-night. No, I
wouldn’t neither; but I hate to be looked on as a wild beast. Bowman,
keep the men out of the houses, as soon as the people go to the church.
I swear I feel sick at heart.”
* * * * *
It was nearly sunset before the people separated from the church. The
windows were wide open, for it was still very hot and sultry, and the
whole force of the Americans was drawn up near by, resting silently on
their arms, auditors of all that passed and very respectful auditors.
They could hear the solemn voice of the old priest, chanting mass, the
responses of the congregation broken by sobs and tears. Then several
of the older inhabitants made long and pathetic speeches, urging to
resignation under the will of Heaven, while women and children cried,
and men groaned aloud.
And, outside of the church, the supposed barbarians, whom the terrified
people within looked on as little better than their fierce Indian
neighbors, were hushed in pitying silence, while some of the roughest
broke down and blubbered secretly.
At last there was a deep hush, within and without, as the priest, with
faltering voice pronounced the benediction, and a stir, that followed,
announced that the people were coming out.
Suddenly Clark, who had been standing, gloomily leaning on his sword,
started.
“Attention!” he shouted, sternly. “Stand to your arms there, men! Who
gave you leave to fall out? Shoulder arms! Support arms! Silence in the
ranks! Officers to your posts!”
Then, as the door opened, and father Gibault came out with a few of the
principal inhabitants, they were met by the sight of a grim line of
brown rifle-barrels, as the savage-looking frontiersmen obeyed their
chief’s orders.
Clark, with drawn sword, stood rigidly in front of his men, looking at
the priest, as the latter solemnly advanced with his little deputation,
while the church door was full of pale, anxious people, afraid to
advance a step further.
Father Gibault advanced to Clark, and said:
“Monsieur le colonel, to you and your brave comrades, I beg leave to
offer, in the name of my flock, our deep gratitude for the indulgence
we have received. Whether we live or die, we shall always remember
and bless you for this kindness. And now, monsieur, at the prayer of
my children, I beg leave to address you, our conqueror, on a subject
dearer to us than any other. Monsieur, may I speak, before all?”
A pin might have been heard to drop as Clark said, briefly:
“Speak on, father.”
“Monsieur,” said the good old priest, clasping his hands, and with
the tears streaming down his cheeks, as he spoke with impassioned
earnestness, “we are sensible that our present situation is the fate of
war, cruel merciless war. Monsieur, we are all ready to submit, to the
loss of our property. But oh, monsieur, we beg only one thing. I beg
for my poor children that they may not be separated from their wives
and tender little ones. Our property and lives are yours, but, for the
love of the good God, dear monsieur, spare us the sight of those little
ones torn from us to starve, and if you must take us away for slaves,
do not separate our families. If you have the further mercy to allow us
some clothes and provisions for our support during the terrible journey
before us, monsieur, God will bless you for it, and we shall never
forget the indulgence.”
The old man paused a moment amid a breathless silence to look into
the face of Clark. It was set into a stern frown, and the leader had
his teeth dug into his under lip. But, not a sign of pity made its
appearance on his pale countenance, and his eyes were glaring at the
priest, as if the Kentuckian were in a perfect fury.
“Monsieur,” continued father Gibault, in a trembling tone, “I assure
you that the conduct of our people during this war has been influenced
by our commandants, whom we were always taught to obey. I am not sure,
monsieur, that any of us, at this moment, clearly understand the cause
of dispute between your own honorable country and his majesty of
England. All that we know we have been told by our Governors, and as
you are aware, dear good monsieur, there are but few opportunities,
in these remote regions, of acquiring accurate information. Indeed,
monsieur, with all our commandant’s stories to mislead and deceive us,
there are very many among us, who have expressed themselves friendly
to the gallant Americans, as much as they durst under the eyes of the
Governor’s spies. Oh, monsieur, dear good monsieur, you must have a
kind heart hidden beneath that rough frock. In the name of God whom I
serve, spare my flock the cruelty of separation, have pity on their
wives and little tender babes, and do not turn them out to starve.”
As the priest spoke he fell on his knees, and with him the whole
deputation, while a wailing sob went up from the church-door, whence
every word was distinctly audible.
The sob was echoed all along the rigid line of Americans, and you could
see the muskets shake, while a hoarse murmur of sympathy rolled along
the line.
Clark turned abruptly away, stamped his foot violently, and dashed the
point of his sword into the earth, as if in a terrible passion.
“Silence in the ranks, you soft-headed fools!” he shouted. “Do you
think George Rogers Clark does not know his own business?”
Then turning on the trembling Frenchmen, he cried fiercely:
“Gentlemen, do you mistake us for savages? I am almost certain you
do from your language. Do you think that we Americans intend to
strip women and children, or take the bread out of their mouths? My
countrymen, gentlemen, disdain to make war upon helpless innocence.
It was to prevent the horrors of Indian butchery upon our own wives
and children, that we have taken arms and penetrated into this
remote stronghold of British and Indian barbarity, and not for the
despicable prospect of plunder. Now that the King of France has
united his powerful arms with those of America, the war will not in
all probability last long; but the inhabitants of Kaskaskia are at
liberty to take which side they please, without the least danger to
their property and families. Nor will your religion be any source of
disagreement, as all religions are regarded with equal respect in
the eye of the American law, and any insult to it shall be punished
immediately. And now to prove my sincerity, please inform your
fellow-citizens that they are quite at liberty to conduct themselves as
usual, without the least apprehension. I am now convinced, from what I
have learned since my arrival among you, that you have been misinformed
and prejudiced against us by British officers; and all your friends
that are in confinement shall immediately be released.”
And the unmasked stoic, who had played his part of tyrant with so much
imposing fierceness, broke down at last, and shook hands with the
agitated old men, the tears streaming down his face.
A mighty cheer broke from the borderers, and in a moment, all
discipline disappeared, as French and Americans fraternized in a grand
burst of joy.