 Book 1, Chapter 16 of the Crossing by Winston Churchill. This Levervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16, Dady Goes to Cahokia. I should make for a poor historian, for I have not stuck to my chronology. But as I write, the vivid recollections are those that I set down. I have forgotten two things of great importance. First, the departure of Father Gabault with several Creole gentlemen and a spy of Colonel Clark's for Ben Sins and their triumphant return in August. The sacrifice of the good priest had not been in vain and he came back with the joyous news of a peaceful conquest. The stars and stripes now waved over the fort and the French themselves had put it there. And the vast stretch of country from that place westward to the father of waters was now American. And that brings me to the second oversight. The surprise and conquest of Cahokia by Bowman and his men was like that of Kaskaskia and the French there were loyal too, offering their militia for service in the place of those men of Bowman's company who would not reenlist. These came to Kaskaskia to join our home goers and no sooner had the hundred marched out of the gate and taken up their way for Kentucky than Colonel Clark began the drilling of the new troops. Captain Leonard Helm was sent to take charge of Ben Sins and Captain Montgomery set out across the mountains for Williamsburg with letters praying the governor of Virginia to come to our assistance. For another cloud had risen in the horizon another problem for Clark to face a greater portent than all the others. A messenger from Captain Bowman at Coho's came riding down the street on a scraggly French pony and pulled up before headquarters. The messenger was Sergeant Thomas Machesney and his long legs almost reached to the ground on either side of the little beast leaping from the saddle. He seized me in his arms, set me down and gave me tell Colonel Clark of his arrival. It was a sultry August morning. Within the hour Colonel Clark and Tom and myself were riding over the dusty trace that wound westward across the common lands of the village which was known as the Fort Clark Road. The heat haze simmered in the distance and there was no sound in plain or village save the tinkle of a cowbell from the clumps of shade. Colonel Clark rode twenty paces in front alone, his head bowed with thinking. They're coming into Cahokia as thick as bees out in a gum, Davey, said Tom. Seems like there's thousands of them. Nothing will do them but they must see the Colonel, the varmints, and they've got patience. They'll wait there till the bears get fat. I reckon they know Clark's got the armies of Congress behind him. If they know, said Tom with a chuckle, if they know we'd only got seventy of the boys and some hundred Frenchies in the army. I reckon the Colonel's too cute for him. The savages in Cahokia were as leaves of the forest. Curiosity, that main spring of the Indian character, had brought the chiefs big and little to see with their own eyes the great captain of the long knives. In vain had the faithful bowmen put them off. They would wait. Clark must come and Clark was coming for he was not the man to quail at such a crisis. For the crux of the whole matter was here. And if he failed to impress them with his power, with the might of the Congress for which he fought, no man of his would ever see Kentucky again. As we rode through the bottom under the pecan trees, we talked of Polly Ann, Tom and I, and of our little home by the Salt River far to the southward, where we would live in peace when the campaign was over. Tom had written her painfully enough, an affectionate scroll, which he sent by one of Captain Lynn's men. And I too had written. My letter had been about Tom, and now he had become a sergeant, and what a favorite he was with bowmen and the Colonel. Poor Polly Ann. She could not write, but a runner from Harrods Town, who was a friend of Tom's had carried all the way to Cahokia in the pocket with his dispatches, a fold of Nettlebark Lenin. Tom pulled it from the bosom of his hunting shirt to show me. And in it was a little ring of hair like unto the finest spun red gold. This was the message Polly Ann had sent, a message from little Tom as well. At Prairie de Roker at St. Philip, the inhabitants lined the streets to do homage to this man of strange power who rode unattended and unafraid to the council of the savage tribes which had terrorized his people of Kentucky. From the ramparts of Fort Carte, once one of the mighty chain of strongholds to protect a new France, and now deserted like massacre. I gazed for the first time in all at the turgid flood of the Mississippi, and at the lands of the Spanish King beyond. With never ceasing fury, the river tore at his clay banks and worried the green islands that braved his charge. And my boyish fancy pictured to itself the monsters which might lie hidden in his muddy depths. We lay that night in the open at a spring on the bluffs, and the next morning beheld the church tower of Cahokia. A little away from the town we perceived an odd gathering on the road, the yellowed and weathered hunting shirts of Bowman's Company mixed with the motley dress of the Creole volunteers. Some of these gentlemen wore the costume of Coruse de Beauz. Others had odd regimental coats and hats which had seen much service. Besides the military was a sober deputation of citizens, and hovering behind the whole, a horde of curious blanketed braves, come to get a first glimpse of the great white captain. So escorted we crossed at the mill, came to a shady street that faced the little river, and stopped at the stone house where Colonel Clark was to abide. On that day and for many days more that street was thronged with warriors, sheeps in gala dress strutted up and down, feathered and plumed and blanketed, smeared with paint, bedecked with rude jewelry, earrings and bracelets. From the remote forests of the north they had come, where the cold winds blow off the blue lakes, from the prairies to the east, from the upper running waters where the Mississippi flows clear and undefiled by the muddy flood, from the villages and wigworms of the sluggish bobbash, and from the sandy, tiny country between the great northern seas where Mykla Mackenac stands guard alone. Sex and foxes, chipaways and mommies, and missy-ogies, pawns and patawamis, chiefs and medicine men. Well might the sleep of the good citizens be disturbed, and the women fear to venture to the creek with their linen and their paddles. The lives of these people hung in truth upon a slender thing, the bearing of one man. All day long the great chief sought an audience with him, but he sent them word that matters would be settled in the council that was to come. All day long the warriors lined the picket fence in front of the house, and more than once Tom Machesney roughly shouldered a lane through them that timid visitors might pass. Like a pack of wolves they watched narrowly for any sign of weakness. As for Tom, they were to him as so many dogs. You're varmints, he cried. I'll take a blizzard at you if you don't keep the way clear. At that they would give back grudgingly with a course of grunts, only to close in again as tightly as before. But they came to have a wholesome regard for the sun-browned man with the red hair who guarded the colonel's privacy. The boy who sat on the doorstep, the son of the great pale-faced chief as they called me, was a never-ending source of comment among them. Once Colonel Clark sent for me, the little front room of his house was not unlike the one we had occupied at Kaskaskia. It had bare walls, a plain table and chairs, and a crucifix in the corner. It served as dining room, parlor, bedroom, for there was a palette too. Now the table was covered with parchment and papers, and beside Colonel Clark said a grave gentleman of about his own age. As I came into the room, Colonel Clark relaxed, turned toward this gentleman, and said, Mosul Gratiot, behold my commissary general, my strategist, my financier. And Mosul Gratiot smiled. He struck me as a man who never let himself go sufficiently to laugh. Ah, he said, Vigo has told me how he settled the question of paper money. He might do something for the Congress in the east. Davy is a Scotchman like John Law, said the Colonel, and he's a master at perceiving a man's character and business. What would you call me at a venture, Davy? asked Mosul Gratiot. He spoke excellent English with only a slight accent. A citizen of the world like Mosul Vigo. I answered at a hazard. Pardo, said Mosul Gratiot, you are not far away. Like Mosul Vigo, I keep a store here at Cacochia. Like Mosul Vigo, I have traveled much in my day. You know where Switzerland is, Davy? I did not. It is a country set like a cluster of jewels in the heart of Europe, said Mosul Gratiot, and there are mountains there that rise among the clouds and are covered with perpetual snows. And when the sun sets on those snows, they are rubies, and the skies above them sapphire. I was born among the mountain, sir, I answered my pulse quickening at his description. But they were not so high as those you speak of. Then, said Mosul Gratiot, you can understand a little my sorrow as a lad when I left it. From Switzerland I went to a foggy place called London, and then I crossed the ocean to the solemn forest of the north of Canada, where I was many years learning the characters of these gentlemen who are looking in upon us. And he waved his arm at the line appearing red faces by the pickets. Mosul Gratiot smiled at Clark. And there's another part of resemblance between myself and Mosul Vigo. Have you taken the paper money? I demanded. Mosul Gratiot slapped his linen breeches. That I have, and this time I thought he was going to laugh, but he did not, though his eyes sparkled. And do you think that the good Congress will ever repay me, Davy? No, sir, said I. Pest! exclaimed Mosul Gratiot, but he did not seem to be offended or shaken. Davy, said Colonel Clark, we have enough of predictions for the present. Petch this letter to Captain Bowman at the garrison up the street. He handed me the letter. Are you afraid of the Indians? If I were, sir, I would not show it, I said, for he had encouraged me to talk freely to him. A vast, cried the Colonel as I was going out. And why not? If I show that I'm not afraid of them, sir, they will think that you are the less so. There you are for strategy, Gratiot, said Colonel Clark, laughing. Get out, you rascal. Tom was more concerned when I appeared. Don't pester him, Davy, said he. For God's sake, don't pester him. They're spalling for a fight. Stand back there, you critters. He shouted, brandishing his rifle in their faces. I reckon it wouldn't take a horse or a dog to sent you today. Ranked bear's oil. Kite along, Davy. Clutching the letter tightly, I slipped between the narrow ranks and gained the middle of the street, not without a quickened beat in my heart. Thence I sped, douching this group and that, until I came to the long log house that was called the garrison. Here our men were stationed where formally a squad from an English regiment was quartered. I found Captain Bowman delivered the letter and started back again through the brown dusty street which lay in the shade of the great forest trees that still lined it, doubling now and again to avoid an idling brave that looked bent upon mischief. For a single misschance might set the tide running to massacre. I was dearing the gate again, the dust flying from my moccasin feet, the sight of the stalwart tom giving me courage again. Suddenly, with the deafness of a panther, an Indian shot forward and lifted me high in his arms. To this day I recall my terror as I dangled in midair, staring into the hideous face. By intuition, I kicked him in the stomach with all my might and with a howl of surprise and rage his fingers gripped into my flesh. The next thing I remember was being in the dust suffocated by that odor which he who had known it had never forgotten. A medley of discordant cries was in my ears. Then I was snatched up, bumped against heads and shoulders and deposited somewhere. Now it was Tom's face that was close to mine, and the light of a fierce anger was in his blue eyes. Did they hurt you, Davy? He asked. I shook my head. Before I could speak, he was at the gate again, confronting the mob of savages that swayed against the fence, and the street was filled with running figures. A voice of command that I knew well came from behind me. It was Colonel Clark's. Stay where you are, Machesney. He shouted, and Tom halted with his hand on the latch. With your permission, I will speak to them, said Monsieur Gratiot, who had come out also. I looked up at him, and he was as calm as when he had joked with me a quarter of an hour since. Very well, said Clark briefly. Monsieur Gratiot surveyed them scornfully. Where is the hungry wolf who speaks English, he said. There was a stir in the rear ranks, and a lean savage with abnormal cheekbones pushed forward. Hungry wolf here, he said with a grunt. The hungry wolf knew the French trader at Michelin Mackenac, said Monsieur Gratiot. He knows that the French trader's word is a true word. Let the hungry wolf tell his companions that the chief of the long knives is very angry. The hungry wolf turned and began to speak. His words, horse, and resonance seemed to come from the depths of his body. Presently he paused, and there came an answer from the fiend who had seized me. After that, there were many grunts, and the hungry wolf turned again. The north wind mean no harm, he answered. He played with the son of the great white chief, and his belly is very sore, or the chief's son kicked him. The chief of the long knives will consider the offense, said Monsieur Gratiot, and retired into the house with Captain Clark. For a full five minutes the Indians waited, impassive, and then Monsieur Gratiot reappeared alone. The chief of the long knives is mercifully inclined to forgive, he said. It was in play, and there must be no more play with the chief's son, and the path to the great chief's presence must be kept clear. Again the hungry wolf translated. The north wind grunted and departed in silence, followed by many of his friends. And indeed for a while after that the others kept a passage clear to the gate. As for the son of the great white chief, he sat for a long time that afternoon beside the truck patch of the house, and presently he slipped out by a byway into the street again among the savages. His heart was bumping in his throat, but a boyish reasoning told him that he must show no fear, and that day he found what his colonel had long since learned to be true, that in courage is the greater safety. The power of the great white chief was such that he allowed his son to go forth alone, and feared not for his life, even so Clark himself walked among them, nor looked to right or left. Two nights, Colonel Clark said through, calling now on this man and now on that, and conning the treaties which the English had made with the various tribes, I and French and Spanish treaties too, until he knew them all by heart. There was no haste in what he did, no uneasiness in his manner. He listened to the advice of Moshe Gratiot and other Creole gentlemen of weight to the Spanish officers who came in their regimentals from St. Louis out of curiosity to see how this man would treat with the tribes. For he spoke of his intentions to none of them, and gained the more respect by it. Within the week the council began, and the scene of the great drama was a field near the village, the background of forest trees. Few plays on the rural stage held such suspense, few battles such excitement for those who watched. Here was the spectacle of one strong man's brain pitted against the combined craft of the wilderness. In the midst of a stretch of waving grass was a table, and the young man of six and twenty sat there alone. Around him were reamed the gathered tribes, each chief in the order of his importance squatted in the inner circle, their blankets making patches of bright color against the green. Behind the tribes was the little group of hunting shirts, the men leaning on the barrels of their long rifles, indolent but watchful. Here and there a gay uniform of a Spanish or Creole officer, and behind these all the population of the village that dared to show itself. The ceremonies began with the kindling of the council fire, a right handed down through unknown centuries of Indian usage. By it nations had been made and unmade, broad lands passed, even as they now might pass. The yellow of its crackling flames was shamed by the summer sun, and the black smoke of it was wafted by the south wind over the forest. Then for three days the chief spoke, and the man listened unmoved. The sound of these orations wild and fearful to my boyish ear comes back to me now. Yet there was a cadence in it, a music of notes now falling, now rising to a passion and intensity that thrilled us. Bad birds flying through the land, the British agents, had besought them to take up the bloody hatchet. They had sinned, they had listened to the lives which the bad birds had told of the big knives, they had taken their presence. But now the great spirit in his wisdom had brought themselves and the chief of the big knives together. Therefore, suiting the action to the word, they stamped on the bloody belt and rent in pieces the emblems of the white king across the water. So said the interpreters as the chiefs one after another tore the miniature of British flags which had been given them into bits. On the evening of the third day the white chief rose in his chair gazing haughtily about him. There was a deep silence. Tell your chiefs, he said, tell your chiefs that tomorrow I will give them an answer. And upon the manner in which they received that answer depends the fate of your nations. Good night. They rose and thronging around him sought to take his hand. But Clark turned from them. Peace is not yet come, he said sternly. It is time to take the hand when the heart is given with it. A feathered headsman of one of the tribes gave back with dignity and spoke. It is well said by the great chief of the pale faces, he answered. These in truth are not the words of a man with a double tongue. So they sought their quarters for the night and the suspense hung breathless over the village. There were many callers at the stone house that evening, Spanish officers, Creole gentlemen, an English Canadian trader or two. With my elbow on the sill of the open window, I watched them a while, listening with a boy's eagerness to what they had to say of the day's doings. They disputed amongst themselves in various degrees of English as to the manner of treating the red man. Now gesticulating, now threatening, now seizing a rolled parchment treaty from the table. Clark said alone, a little apart, silence save a word now and then in a low tone to most your grotty or captain bowman. Here was an odd assortment of the races which had overrun the new world. At intervals, some disputant would pause in his talk to kill a mosquito or fight away a moth or a june bug. But presently the argument reached such a pitch that the mosquitoes fed undisturbed. You have done much, sir, said the Spanish commandant of St. Louis. But the savage, he will never be content without present. He will never be one without present. Clark was one of those men who our preforce listened to when they began to speak. Captain de Liva said he, I know not what may be the present policy of the Spanish majesty with McGillabray and his creeks in the south. But this I do believe, and he brought down his fist among the papers, that the old French and Spanish treaties were right in principle. Here are copies of the English treaties that I have secured, and in them thousands of sovereigns have been thrown away. They are so much waste paper, gentlemen. The Indians are children. If you give them presents, they believe you to be afraid of them. I will deal with them without presents. And if I had the gold of the Bank of England stored in the garrison there, they should not touch a piece of it. But Captain de Liva, incredulous, raised his eyebrows and shrugged, oh, deos, he cried, who ever hear of one man and fifty militias of during the northern tribes without a piastre? After a while the colonel called me in and sent me speeding across the little river with a note to a certain Mr. Brady, whose house was not far away. Like many another citizen of Cahokia, Mr. Brady was terror-ridden. A party of young pew and bucks had decreed it to be their pleasure to encamp in Mr. Brady's yard, to peer through the shutters into Mr. Brady's house, to enjoy themselves by annoying Mr. Brady's family and others as much as possible. During the Indian occupation of Cahokia, this band had gained a well-deserved reputation from Nishtip, and chief among them was the north wind himself, whom I had done the honor to kick in the stomach. Tonight they had made a fire in this Mr. Brady's flower garden, over which they were cooking venison steaks, and as I reached the door the north wind spied me, grinned, rubbed his stomach, made a false dash at me that frightened me out of my wits, and finally went through the pantomime of scalping me. I stood looking at him with my legs apart, for the son of the great chief must not run away, and I marked that the north wind had two great ornamental dams, like shutter-fastenings painted on his cheeks. I sniffed preparation too on his followers, and I was sure they were getting ready for some new deviltry. I handed the note to Mr. Brady through the crack of the door that he felt safe to me, and when he had slammed and bolted me out, I ran into the street and stood for some time behind the trunk of a big hickory, watching the followers of the north wind. Some were painting themselves, others cleaning their rifles and sharpening their scalping knives, all jabbered unceasingly. Now and again a silent brave past paused a moment to survey them greatly, grunted an answer to something they would fling at him and went on. At length arrived three chiefs whom I knew to be high in the councils. The north wind came out to them, and the four blanketed forms stood silhouetted between me and the fire for a quarter of an hour. By this time I was sure of a plot and fled away to another tree for fear of detection. At length stalked through the street the hungry wolf the interpreter. I knew this man to be friendly to Clark, and I acted on impulse. He gave her grunt of surprise while I halted before him. I made up my mind. The son of the great chief knows that the Peuans have wickedness in their hearts tonight, I said. The tongue of the hungry wolf does not lie. The big Indian drew back with another grunt, and the distant firelight flashed on his eyes as unpolished black flints. Ruff! Is the pale-faced chief's son a prophet? The anger of the pale-faced chief and of his countrymen is as the hurricane, I said, scarce believing my own ears. For a lad is imitative by nature, and I had not listened to the interpreters for three days without profit. The hungry wolf grunted again after which he was silent for a long time. Then he said, let the chief of the long knives have guard tonight, and suddenly he was gone into the darkness. I waited to creak and sped to Clark. He was alone now, the shutters of the room closed, and as I came in I could scarce believe that he was the same masterful man I had seen at the council that day and at the conference an hour gone. He was once more the friend at whose feet I sat in private who talked to me as a companion and a father. Where have you been, Davey? He asked, and then what is it my lad? I crept close to him and told him in a breathless undertone, and I knew that I was shaking the while. He listened gravely, and when I had finished laid a firm hand on my head. There, he said, you are a brave lad and a canny. He thought a minute, his hand still resting on my head, and then rose and led me to the back door of the house. It was near midnight, and the sounds of the place were stilling, the crickets chirping in the grass. Run to Captain Bowman and tell him to send ten men to this door, but they must come man by man to escape detection. Do you understand? I nodded and was starting, but he still held me. God bless you, David, you are a brave boy. He closed the door softly, and I sped away, my monkessons making no sound on the soft dirt. I reached the garrison, was challenged by Jack Terrell, the guard, and brought by him to Mr. Bowman's room. The captain sat undressed at the edge of his bed, but he was a man of action, and strode into the long room where his company was sleeping, and gave his orders without delay. Half an hour later, there was no light in the village. The Colonel's headquarters were dark, but in the kitchen, a dozen tall men were waiting. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of The Crossing by Winston Churchill. This Liebertox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 17. The Sacrifice So far as the world knew, the chief of the long knives slept peacefully in his house, and such was his sense of power that not even a century paced the street without. For by these things is the Indian mine impressed. In the tiny kitchen, a dozen men and a boy tried to hush their breathing and sweltered, for it was very hot, and the pent-up odor of past cooking was stifling to men used to the open. In a corner hooded under a box was a lighted lantern, and Tom Chesney stood ready to seize it at the first alarm. On such occasions, the current of time runs sluggish. Thrice, our muscles were startled into tenseness by the baying of a hound, and once a cop crew out of all season. For the night was cloudy and pitchy black, and the dawn is far away as eternity. Suddenly I knew that every man in the room was on the alert, for the skilled frontiersmen, when watchful, has a sixth sense. None of them might have told you what he had heard. The next sound was the faint creaking of Colonel Clark's door as it opened. Wrapping a blanket around the lantern, Tom led the way, and we masked ourselves behind the front door. Another breathing space, and then the war cry of the purens broke hideously on the night, and the children woke crying from their sleep. In two bounds our little detachment was in the street, the fire spouting red from the deckards faint, shadowy forms fading along the line of trees. After that, an uproar of awakening cries here and there, a drum beating madly for the militia. The dozen flung themselves across the stream, eye hot in their wake through Mr. Brady's gate which was open, and there was a scene of sweet tranquility under the lantern's rays. The north wind and his friends wrapped in their blankets, and sleeping the sleep of the just. Dan, the sly varmints, cried Tom, and he turned over the north wind with his foot as a log. With a grotto fury, the Indian shed his blanket and scrambled to his feet, and stood glaring at us through his paint. But suddenly he met the fixed sternness of Clark's gaze, and his own shifted. By this time his followers were up. The north wind raised his hands to heaven and took him of his innocence, and then spread his palms outward. Where was the proof? Look, I cried, quivering with excitement. Look, their leggings and moccasins are wet. There is no devil that they beat, said Tom, and there was a murmur of approval from the other man. The boy is right, said the Colonel, and turned to Tom. Sergeant had the chiefs put in irons. He swung on his heel, and without more ado went back to his house to bed. The north wind and two others were easily singled out as the leaders, and were straightway escorted to the garrison house, their air of injured innocence availing them not a wit. The militia was dismissed, and the village was hushed once more. But all night long the chiefs went to and fro, taking counsel among themselves. What would the chief of the pale faces do? The morning came with a cloudy damp dawning. Within a decent time, for the Indian is decorous. Blacketed deputations filled the archways under the trees, and waited there as the minutes ran into hours. The chief of the long knives surveyed the morning from his doorstep, and his eyes rested on a solemn figure at the gate. It was the hungry wolf. Sorrow was in his voice, and he bore messages from the 20 great chiefs who stood beyond. They were come to express their abhorrence of the night's doings, of which they were as innocent as the deer of the forest. Let the hungry wolf tell the chiefs, said Colonel Clark briefly, that the council is the place for talk. And he went back into the house again. Then he made me run to Captain Bowman with an order to bring the north wind and his confederates to the council field in Irons. The day followed the promise of the dawn. The clouds hung low, and now and again great drops struck the faces of the people in the field. And like the heavens, the assembly itself was charged with we knew not what. Was it peace or war? As before, a white man sat with supreme indifference at the table, and in front of him three most unhappy chiefs squatted in the grass, the shame of their irons hidden under the blanket foals. Audacity is truly a part of the equipment of genius. To have rescued the north wind and his friends would have been child's play to have retired from the council with threats of war as easy. And yet they craved pardon. One chief after another rose with dignity in the ring and came to the table to plead. An argument deserving mention was that the north wind had desired to test the friendship of the French for the big knives set forth without a smile. To all pleaders, Colonel Clark shook his head. He, being a warrior, cared little whether such people were friends or foes. He held them in the hollow of his hand, and at length they came no more. The very clouds seemed to hang motionless when he rose to speak, and you who will may read in his memoir what he said. The hungry wolf caught the spirit of it, and was eloquent in his own tongue, and no word of it was lost. First he told them of the causes of war, of the 13 council fires with the English, and in terms that the Indian mine might grasp and how their old father the French king had joined the big knives in this righteous fight. Warriors, said he, here is a bloody belt and a white one. Take which you choose, but behave like men. Should it be the bloody path, you may leave this town in safety to join the English, and we shall then see which of us can stain our shirts with the most blood. But should it be the path of peace, as brothers of the big knives and of their friends the French, and then you go to your homes and listen to the bad birds, you will then no longer deserve to be called men and warriors, but creatures of two tongues which ought to be destroyed. Let us then part this evening in the hope that the great spirit will bring us together again with the sun as brothers. So the council broke up. White men and red went trooping into the town, staring curiously at the guard which was leading the north wind and his friends to another night of meditation. What their fate would be no man knew. Many thought the tomahawk. That night the citizens of the little village of Payne Court, as St. Louis was called, might have seen the sky reddened in the eastward. It was the loom of many fires of Cahokia, and around them the chiefs of the forty tribes, all saved the three in Durant's vile, were gathered in solemn talk. Would they take the bloody belt or the white one? No man cared so little as the pale-faced chief. When their eyes were turned from the fitful blaze of the logs, the gala light of many candles greeted them, and above the sound of their own speeches rose the merrier note of the fiddle. The garrison windows shone like lanterns, and behind these creole and backwardsman swung the village ladies in the gay French dances. The man at whose bidding this merry-making was held stood in the corner watching with folded arms, and none to look at him might know that he was playing for a steak. The troubled fires of the Indians had died to embers long before the candles were snuffed in the garrison house, and the music ceased. The son himself was pleased to hail that last morning of the great council, and beamed with torrid tolerance upon the ceremony of kindling the greatest of the fires. On this morning Colonel Clark did not sit alone, but was surrounded by men of weight, by Monsieur Gratiot and other citizens, Captain Bowman and the Spanish officers. And when at length the brush crackled and the flames caught the logs, three of the mightiest chiefs arose. The greatest, victor in fifty tribal wars, held in his hand the white belt of peace. The second bore a long-stemmed pipe with a huge bowl, and after him, with measured steps, a third came with a smoking sensor, the sacred fire with which to kindle the pipe. Haulting before Clark, he first swung the sensor to the heavens, then to the earth, then to all the spirits of the air, calling these to witness that peace was come at last, and finally to the chief of the long knives and to the gentleman of dignity about his person. Next the Indian turned and spoke to his brethren in measured, sonorous tones. He made them think that great spirit who had cleared the sky and opened their ears and hearts that they might receive the truth, who had laid bare to their understanding the lives of the English. Even as these English had served the big knives, so might they one day serve the Indians. Therefore he commanded them to cast the tomahawk into the river, and when they should return to their land to drive the evil birds from it. And they must send their wise men to Cascascia to hear the words of wisdom of the great white chief, Clark. He thanked the great spirit for this council fire which he had kindled at Cahokia. Lifting the bowl of the sensor, in the eyes of all the people, he drew in a long whip to bear witness of peace. After him the pipe went the interminable realms of the chiefs. Colonel Clark took it and puffed. Captain Bowman puffed. Everybody puffed. Davy must have a pull, cried Tom. And even the chief smiled as I coughed and sputtered while my friends roared with laughter. It gave me no great notion of the fragrance of tobacco. And then came such a handshaking and grunting as a man rarely sees in a lifetime. There was but one disquieting question left. What was to become of the north wind and his friends? None dared mention the matter at such a time. But at length as the day wore on to afternoon, the Colonel was seen to speak quietly to Captain Bowman, and several back woodsmen went off toward the town. And presently a silence fell on the company as they beheld the dejected three crossing the field with a guard. They were led before Clark, and when he saw them his face hardened to sternness. It is only women who watched to catch a bear sleeping, he said. The big knives did not kill women. I shall give you meat for your journey home, for women cannot hunt. If you remain here, you shall be treated as squalls. Set the women free. Tom Machestny cast off their arms. As for Clark, he began to talk immediately with Montreux-Gradier, as though he had dismissed them from his mind. And their agitation was a pitiful thing to see. In vain they pressed about him. In vain they even pulled the fringe of his shirt to gain his attention. And then they went about among the other chiefs. But these dared not intercede. Uneasiness was written on every man's face, and the talk went haltingly. But Clark was serenity itself. At length, with a supreme effort, they plucked up courage to come again to the table, one holding out the belt of peace, and the other the still smoldering pipe. Clark paused in his talk. He took the belt and flung it away over the heads of those around him. He seized the pipe, and taking up his sword from the table, drew it, and with one blow claved the stem in half. There was no anger in either act, but much deliberation. The big knives, he said scornfully, do not treat with women. The pleading began again, the hungry wolf interpreting with tremors of earnestness. Their lives were spared, but to what purpose since the white chief looked with disfavor upon them? Let him know that bad men from Nishlamakhanak put the deed into their hearts. When the big knives come upon such people in the wilderness, Clark answered, they shoot them down that they may not eat the deer, but they have never talked of it. He turned from them once more. They went away in a dejection to ring our compassion, and we thought the matter ended at last. The sun was falling low, the people beginning to move away when, to the astonishment of all, the culprits were seen coming back again. With them were two young men of their own nation. The Indians opened up a path for them to pass through, and they came as men go to the grave, so mournful, so impressive with all, that the crowd fell into silence again, and the colonel turned his eyes. The two young men sank down on the ground before him, and shrouded their heads in their blankets. What is this? Clark demanded. The North wind spoke in a voice of sorrow. An atonement to the great white chief for the sins of our nation, perchance the great chief will deign to strike a tomahawk upon their heads that our nation may be saved in war by the big knives, and the North wind held forth the pipe once more. I have nothing to say to you, said Clark. Still they stood irresolute, their minds now bereft of expedience, and the young men set motionless on the ground. As Clark talked, they peered out from under their blankets once, twice, thrice. He was still talking to the wondering Meshura Gratiad, but no other voice was heard, and the eyes of all were turned on him in amazement. But at last when the drama had risen to the pitch of unbearable suspense, he looked down upon the two miserable pyramids at his feet and touched them. The blankets quivered. Stand up, said the colonel, and uncover. They rose, cast the blankets from them, and stood with a stoic dignity awaiting his pleasure. Wonderful fine limb the men there were, and for the first time Clark's eyes were seen to kindle. I thank the great spirit, said he, in a loud voice, that I have found men among your nation, that I have at last discovered the real chiefs of your people. Had they sent such as you to treat with me in the beginning, all might have been well. Go back to your people as their chiefs, and tell them that through you the big knives have granted peace to your nation. Stepping forward, he grasped them each by the hand, and despite training joy shown in their faces, while a long-drawn murmur arose from the assemblage. But Clark did not stop there. He presented them to Captain Bowman and to the French and Spanish gentlemen present, and they were hailed by their own kind as chiefs of their nation. To cap it all, our troops, Beckwoodsman and Creole militia, paraded in line on the common, and fired a salute in their honor. Thus did Clark gain the friendship of the forty tribes in the Northwest country. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of The Crossing by Winston Churchill. This lever box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 18. And he had been where I had been. We went back to Kaskaskia, Colonel Clark, Tom, and myself, and a great weight was lifted from our hearts. A peaceful autumn passed, and we were happy, save when we thought of those we had left at home. There's no space here to tell of many incidents. Great chiefs who had not been to the council came hundreds of leagues across wide rivers that they might see with their own eyes this man who had made peace without gold, and these had to be amused and entertained. The apples ripened and were shaken to the ground by the winds. The good father, Gibalt, true to his promise, strove to teach me French. Indeed, I picked up much of that language in my intercourse with the inhabitants of Kaskaskia. How well I recall that simple life, its dances, its songs, and the games with the laughing boys and girls on the common. And the good people were very kind to the orphan that dwelt with Colonel Clark, the drummer boy of his regiment. But winter brought forebodings when the garden patches grew bare and brown, and the bleak winds from across the Mississippi swept over the common. Untoward tidings came like water dripping from a roof, bit by bit. And day by day, Colonel Clark looked graver. The messengers he had sent to Vincennes came not back, and the couriers and freighters from time to time brought rumors of a British force gathering like a thundercloud in the northeast. Mosher Vigo himself, who had gone to Vincennes on his own business, did not return. As for the inhabitants, some of them who had once vowed to us with a smile now passed with faces averted. The coals set the mirey roads like cement in ruts and ridges. A flurry of snow came and powdered the roofs even as the French loaves were powdered. It was January. There was Colonel Clark on a runt of an Indian pony, Tom Machesney on another riding ahead. Several French gentlemen seated on stools in a two-wheeled cart, and myself. We were going to Cahokia, and it was very cold, and when the tireless wheels bumped from ridge to gully, the gentlemen grabbed each other as they slid about and laughed. All at once the merriment ceased, and looking forward we saw that Tom had leaped from his saddle and was bending over something in the snow. These chance to be footprints of some 20 men. The immediate result of this alarming discovery was that Tom went on express to warn Captain Bowman, and the rest of us returned to a painful scene at Cahokia. We reached the village. The French gentlemen leaped down from their stools in the cart, and in ten minutes the streets were filled with frenzied, hooded figures. Hamilton, called the hair buyer, was upon them with no less than six hundred, and he would hang them to their own gateposts for listening to the long knives. These were but a handful, after all was said. There was Father Gavalt, for example. Father Gavalt would doubtlessly be exposed to the crows in the belfry of his own church, because he had busied himself at Bencins and with other matters. Father Gavalt was human and therefore lovable. He bade his parishioners a hasty and tearful farewell, and he made a cold and painful journey to the territories of his Spanish majesty across the Mississippi. Father Gavalt looked back, and against the gray of the winter's twilight there were flames like red maple leaves. In the fort the men stood to their guns, their faces flushed with staring at the burning houses. Only a few were burned, enough to give no cover for Hamilton and his six hundred if they came. But they did not come. The faithful bowman and his men arrived instead, with the news that there had been only a roving party of 40, and these were now in full retreat. Father Gavalt came back, but where it was, Hamilton, this was the disquieting thing. One bitter day, when the sun smiled mockingly on the powdered common, a horseman was perceived on the Fort Cart Road. It was Moschur Vigo returning from Bencins, but he had been first to St. Louis by reason of the value he set upon his head. Yes, Moschur Vigo had been to Bencins, remaining a little longer than he expected, the guest of Governor Hamilton. So Governor Hamilton had recaptured that place. Moschur Vigo was no spy, hence he had gone first to St. Louis. Governor Hamilton was at Bencins with much of King George's gold, and many supplies, and certain Indians who had not been at the council, 800 and all said Moschur Vigo using his fingers. And it was Governor Hamilton's design to march upon Cascascia and Cahokia and sweep over Kentucky. Nay, he had already sent certain emissaries to McGillivray and his creeks and the southern Indians with presence, and these were to press forward on their side. The Governor could do nothing now, but would move as soon as rigors of winter had somewhat relented. Moschur Vigo shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He loved lay Americans. What would Moschur Lekernal do now? Moschur Lekernal was grave, but this was his usual manner. He did not tear his hair, but the ways that the long knives were pass understanding. He asked many questions. How was it with the garrison at Bencins? Moschur Vigo was exact as a businessman should be. They were now reduced to 80 men, and 500 savages had gone out to ravage. There was no chance then of Hamilton moving at present. Moschur Vigo threw up his hands. Never had he made such a trip, and he had been forced to come back by a northern route. The Wabash was as the great lakes and the forest grew out of the water. A fox could not go to Bencins in this weather. A fish, Moschur Vigo laughed heartily. Yes, a fish might. Then, said Colonel Clark, we will be fish. Moschur Vigo stared and passed his hand from his forward backwards over his long hair. I leaned forward in my corner about the hickory far hair. Then we will be fish, said Colonel Clark. Better that than food for the crows. But if we stay here, we shall be caught like bears in a trap, and Kentucky will be at Hamilton's mercy. Sacré, exclaimed Moschur Vigo, you are mad monomy. I know what this country is, and you cannot get to Bencins. I will get to Bencins, said Colonel Clark, so gently that Moschur Vigo knew he meant it. I will swim to Bencins. Moschur Vigo raised his hands to heaven. The three of us went out of the door and walked. There was a snowy place in front of the church, all party-colored like a clown's coat. Scarlet Capotes, yellow Capotes, and blue Capotes, and bright silk anchorages. They surrounded the Colonel. Pardew, what was he to do now? For the British governor and his savages were coming to take revenge on them, because in their necessity they had declared for Congress. Colonel Clark went silently on his way to the gate. But Moschur Vigo stopped, and Kaskaskia heard with a shock that this man of iron was to march against Bencins. The gates of the fort were shut, and the captains summoned. Undaunted woodsmen, as they were, they were lukewarm at first at the idea of this march through the floods. Who can blame them? They had, indeed, sacrificed much. But in ten minutes they had caught his enthusiasm, which is one of the mysteries of genius, and the men pervaded in the snow likewise caught it, and swung their hats at the notion of taking the hair-buyer. "'Tis no news to me,' said Terrence, stamping his feet on the flinty ground. Wasn't it David that pointed him out to us, and the hair lifting from his head six months since? "'Were you like swimming, yes?' said Swin Polson, his face like the rising sun with the cold. "'Swimming it is,' said Terrence. "'Sure, the devil made worse things than weather, and Hamilton's beyond.' I reckon that'll fetch us through,' Bill Cowan put in grimly. It was a blessed thing that none of us had a bird's eye view of that same water. No man of force will listen when his mind is made up, and perhaps it is just as well, for in that way things are accomplished. Clark would not listen to Montchavigo, and hence the financier had perforced to listen to Clark. There were several miracles before we left. Montchavigo, for instance, agreed to pay the expenses of the expedition, though in his heart he thought we should never get to Vincennes. Incidentally, he was never repaid. Then there were the French, yesterday running hither and thither in pyroxiums of fear, today enlisting in whole companies, though it were easier to get to the wild geese of the swamps than to Hamilton. Their ladies stitched colors day and night and presented them with simple confidence to the colonel in the church. Twenty stands of colors for one hundred and seventy men, counting those who had come from Cahokia. Think of the industry of it, of the enthusiasm behind it. Twenty stands of colors. Clark took them all, and in due time it will be told how the colors took Vincennes. This was because Colonel Clark was a man of destiny. Furthermore, Colonel Clark was off the next morning at dawn to buy a Mississippi Kettleboat. He had her rigged up with two four-pounders and four swivels, filling her with provisions and calling her the willing. She was the first gunboat on the western waters. A great fear came into my heart, and at dusk I stole back to the colonel's house alone. The snow had turned to rain, and Terrence stood guard within the doorway. Arra! he said. What happened, darling? I gulped, and the tears sprang into my eyes. Whereupon Terrence, in defiance of all military laws, laid his gun against the doorpost and put his arms around me, and I confided my fears. It was at this critical juncture that the door opened, and Colonel Clark came out. What to do here? He demanded, gazing at us sternly. Save in your honor's presence, said Terrence. He's a feared your honor will be sending him on the vote. Sure he wants to go swimming with the rest of us. Colonel Clark frowned, bit his lip, and Terrence seized his gun and stood to attention. It were right to leave you in Kaskaskia, said the colonel. The water will be over your head. The king's drum will be floating the likes of him, said the irrepressible colonel, and the boys would be that lonesome. The colonel walked away without a word. In an hour's time he came back to find me cleaning his accoutrements by the fire. For a while he did not speak, but busied himself with his papers. I, having lighted the candles for him. Presently he spoke my name, and I stood before him. I will give you a piece of advice, Davey, said he. If you want a thing, go straight to the man that has it. Machesty has spoken to me about this wild notion of yours of going to Vincennes and Cowan and McCann and Ray and a dozen others have dogged my footsteps. I only spoke to Terrence because he asked me, sir, I answered. I said nothing to anyone else. He laid down his pen and looked at me with an odd expression. What a weird little piece you are, he exclaimed. You seem to have wormed your way into the hearts of these men. You know that you will probably never get to Vincennes alive. I don't care, sir, I said. A happy thought struck me. If they see a boy going through the water, sir, I hesitated, abashed. What then? said Clark, short of me. It may keep some from going back, I finished. At that he gave a sort of gasp and stared at me the more. Egg had, he said. I believe the good lord launched you wrong in two. Perhaps you'll be a child when you're fifty. He was silent a long time and fell to musing and I thought he had forgotten. May I go, sir? I asked at length. He started. Come here, said he. But when I was close to him he merely laid his hand on my shoulder. Yes, you may go, Davey. He sighed and presently turned to his writing again and I went back joyfully to my cleaning. On a certain dark fourth of February, picture the village of Cascasca assembled on the riverbank in Capote and Hood. Ropes are cast off. The keelboat pushes her blunt nose through the cold muddy water. The oars churn up dirty yellow foam and cheers shake the sodden air. So the willing left on her long journey down the Cascasca into the flood of the Mississippi against many weary leagues of the Ohio's current and up the swollen wild ash until they were to come to the mouth of the white river near Vincent's. There they were to await us. Should we ever see them again? I think that this was the unspoken question in the hearts of the many who were to go by land. The fifth was a mild gray day with the melting snow lying in patches on the brown bluff and the sun making shift to pierce here and there. We formed the regiment in the fort backwardsmen and Creole now to fight for their common country. Jacques and Pierre and Alphonse and mother and father, sweetheart and wife waiting to wave the last goodbye. Bravely we marched out of the gate and into the church for Father de Beau's blessing. And then forming once more we filed away on the road leading northward to the ferry. Our colors flying leaving the weeping cheering crowd behind. In front of the tall man of the column was a wizened figure beating madly on a drum stepping proudly with head thrown back. It was Cowan's voice that snapped the strain. Go ahead, David, my little game cock. He cried and the men laughed and cheered. And so we came to the bleak ferry landing where we had crossed on that hot July night six months before. We were soon on the prairies and in the misty rain that fell and fell, they seemed to melt afar into the gray and cheerless ocean. The sodden grass was matted now and unkempt. Lifeless lakes filled the depressions and through them we waded mile after mile ankle deep. There was a little cavalcade mounted on the tiny French ponies and sometimes I rode with these. But often this Cowan or Tom would fling me drum and all on his shoulder. For we had reached the forest swamps where the water is the color of the Creole coffee. And day after day as we marched the soft rain came out of the east and wet us to the skin. It was a journey of torments and even that first part of it was enough to discourage the most resolute spirit. Man might be led through it but never driven. It is ever the mind which suffers through the monotonous of bodily discomfort and none knew this better than Clark himself. Every morning as we set out with the wet hide chafing our skin the Colonel would run the length of the regiment crying, Who gives the feast tonight boys? Now it was Bowman's company. Now McCarty's. Now Bailey's. How the hunters bide with each other to supply the best and spent the days stalking the deer, cowering in the wet thickets. We crossed the saline and on the plains beyond was a great black patch, a herd of buffalo. A party of chosen men headed by Tom Machesney was sent after them. And never shall I forget the sight of the mad beast charging through the water. That night when our chilled feet could bear no more we sought out a patch of raised ground a little firmer than the quagmire and heaped up the beginnings of a fire with such brush as could be made to burn robbing the naked tickets saddle and stake sizzled leather steamed and stiffened hearts and bodies thawed grievances that men had nursed over miles of water melted courage sits best on a full stomach and as they ate they cared not whether the Atlantic had opened between them and Vincennes an hour ago and there were 20 cursing laggards counting the leagues back to Kaskaskia. Now, so sang Antoine, beat the grice in the pulsing red light and when between the verses he went through the agonies of a Huron Wardance the assembled regiment howled with delight. Some men knew cities and those who dwelt in the quarters of cities but grizzled Antoine knew the half of a continent and the manners of trading and killing of the tribes thereof. And after Antoine came Gabriel a marked contrast. Gabriel five feet six and the glare showing but a faint dark line on his quivering lip. Gabriel was a patriot a tribute he must pay to all of those brave Frenchmen who went with us. Nay Gabriel had left at home on his little farm near the village a young wife of a fortnight and so his lip quivered as he sang. We had need of gaiety after that and so Bill Cowan sang Billy of the wild wood and Terrence McCann wailed an Irish jig stamping the water out of the spongy ground amidst storms of mirth as he desisted breathless and panting he flung me up in the firelight before the eyes of all crying it's Davey can bake me ah Davey Davey they shouted for they were in the mood for anything there stood Colonel Clark in the dimmer light at the background we must keep them screwed up Davey he had said that very day there came to me on the instant a wild song that my father had taught me when the liquor held him in dominance accelerated I sprang from Terrence's arms to the sodden buried space and he thinks I yet hear my shrill piping note and see my legs kicking in the fling of it there was an uproar a deeper voice chained in and here was McAndrew flinging his legs with mine I fought on land I fought on sea at home I fought me at EO but I met the devil and Dundee on the brides that kill a cranky who and he had been where I had been you would not be so content EO and yet had seen what I had seen on the brides of kill a cranky EO in the morning Clark himself would be the first off through the gray rain laughing and shouting and waving his sword in the air and I after him as hard as I could pelt through the mud beating the charge on my drum until the war cries of the regiment drowned the sound of it but we were upon a pleasure trip best any man forget a pleasure trip amidst stark woods and brown plains flecked with ponds so we followed him until we came to a place where in summer two quiet rivers flowed through green forests the little wobbashes and now now hickory and maple oak and cottonwood stood shivering in three feet of water on what had been a league of dry land we stood dismayed at the crumbling edge of the hill and 170 pairs of eyes were turned on Clark with a mere glance at the running stream high on the bank in the drowned forest beyond he turned and faced them I reckon you've earned a rest boys he said we'll have games today there were some dozen of the unflinching who needed not to be amused choosing a great poplar these he set to hollowing out a prug and himself came among the others and played leapfrog and the indian game of ball until night fell and these instead of moping and quarreling forgot that night as I cooked him a buffalo steak he drew near the fire with bowman with a lot of god keep up their spirits bowman said the colonel keep up their spirits until we get them across once on the father hills they cannot go back here was a different being from the shouting boy who had led the games and the war dance that night in the circle of the blaze tired out we went to sleep with the ring of the axes in our ears and in the morning there were more games while the squad crossed the river to the drowned neck built a rough scaffold there and notched a trail across it to the scaffold the baggage was ferried and the next morning bit by bit the regiment even now the pains shoot through my body when I think of how man after man plunged waste deep into the icy water toward the father branch the paroch was filled with the weak and in the end of it I was curled up with my drum heroism is a many sided thing it is one matter to fight and finish another to endure hell's tortures hour after hour all day they waited with numb feet vainly searching for footing in the slime truly the agony of a brave man is among the greatest of the world's tragedies to see as they splashed onward toward the tree trucks many a joke went forth though lips were drawn and teeth pounded together I have not the heart to recall these jokes it would seem a sacrilege there were quarrels to the men striving to push one another from the easier pads and deeds sublime when some straggler clutched at the bowl of a tree for support and was helped onward through excruciating ways a dozen hell trembling to the paroch's gunnel lest they fall and drown one walked ahead with a smile or helped spell back to lend a helping shoulder to a fainting man and there was tom machestine all day long I watched him and thanked God that Polly Anne could not see him thus and yet how the pride would have leaped within her humor came not easily to him but charity and courage and unselfishness he had in abundance what he suffered none knew but through those awful hours he was always among the stragglers helping the weak in despairing when his strength might have taken him far ahead toward comfort and safety I'm all right Davey he would say an answer to my look as he passed me but on his face was written something that I did not understand how the Creole farmers and traders unused even to the common ways of woodcraft endured that fearful day and others that followed I know not and when a tardy justice shall arise and compel the people of this land to raise a shaft in memory of Clark and those who followed him let not the loyalty of the French be forgotten though it be not understood and even Tide came to lurid in disordered brains the knowledge that the other branch was here and immersively it was shallower than the first holding his rifle high with a war hoop Bill Cowan plunged into the stream unable to contain myself more I flung my drum overboard and went after it and amid shouts and laughter I was towed across by James Ray. Colonel Clark stood watching from the bank above and it was he who pulled me bedraggled to dry land I run away to help gather brush for a fire as I was heaping this in a pile I heard something that I should not have heard nor ought I to repeat it now though I did not need the flames to send the blood tingling through my body the Chesney said the Colonel we must thank our stars that we brought the boy along he has a grit and as good a head as any of us I reckon if it hadn't been for him some of them would have turned back long ago I saw Tom grinning at the Colonel as gratefully as though he himself had been praised the blaze started and soon we had a bonfire some had not the strength to hold out the buffalo meat to the fire even the grumblers and mutineers were silent owing to the ordeal they had gone through but presently when they began to be warmed and fed they talked of other trials to be born the embarrass and the big wall badge for example these must be like the sea itself take the back trail if you like said Bill Cowan with a loud laugh I reckon the rest of us can float to Vincennes on Davies drum but there was no taking the back trail now and well they knew it the games began the unwilling being forced to play and before they fell asleep that night they had taken Vincennes scalp the hair buyer and were far on the march to Detroit mercifully now that their stomachs were full they had no worries you knew the danger we were in of being cut off by Hamilton's roving bands of Indians there would be no retreat no escape but a fight to the death and I heard this and much more that was spoken of in low tones at the colonel's fire far into the night of which I never told the rank and file not even Tom Chesney on and on through rain and water we marched until we drew near to the river embarrassed drew near did I say sure darling said Terence staring comically over the gray waist we've been in it since Tuesday there was small exaggeration in it in vain did our feet seek the deeper water it would go no higher than our knees and the sound which the regiment made in marching was like that of a great flat boat going against the current it had been a sad lavender colored day and now that the gloom of the night was setting in and not so much as a hammock showed itself above the surface the creoles began to murmur and small wonder where was this man leading them this clerk who had come amongst them from the skies as it were did he know himself night fell as though a blanket had been spread over the treetops and above the dreary splashing men could be heard calling to one another in the darkness nor was there any supper ahead for our food was gone and no game was to be shot over this watery waste a cold like that of eternal space settled in our bones even Terence McCann grumbled because he is fine weather for fishes and the birds are that comfortable in the trees there's no place for a base at all at all sometime in the night there was a cry ray had found the water falling from an ousy bank and there we dozed fitfully until we were startled by a distant boom it was governor Hamilton's morning gun at Fort Sackville in Sins there was no breakfast how we made our way benumbed with hunger and cold to the banks of the Wabash I know not captain McCarty's company was set to making canoes and the rest of us looked on apathetically as the huge trees staggered and fell amidst a fountain of spray in the shallow water we were but three leagues from vinsins a raft was bound together and Tom the Chesney and three other scouts sent on a desperate journey across the river in search of boats and provisions lest we starve and fall and die on the wet flats before he left Tom came to me and the remembrance of his gaunt face haunted me for many years after he drew something from his bosom and held it out to me and I saw that it was a bit of buffalo steak which he had saved I shook my head and the tears came into my eyes come baby he said you're so little and I went hungry again I shook my head and for the life of me I could say nothing I reckon Polly Anne never forgive me if anything was to happen to you said he at that I grew strangely angry it's you who need it I cried it's you that has to do the work and she told me to take care of you the big fellow grand sheepishly as was his want there's only a bite he pleaded it wouldn't only make me hungry and he looked hard at me and it might be the saving of you you'll not eat it for Polly Anne's sake he asked coaxing me it would not be serving her I answered indignantly here are knives and that little devil he cried and dropping the morsel on the freshly cut stump he stalked away I run after him crying out that he leaped on the raft that was already in the stream and began to pull across I slipped the piece into my own hunting shirt all day the men who were too weak to swing axes set listless on the bank watching in vain for some sight of the willing they saw a canoe rounding the bend instead with a single occupant paddling madly and who should this be but captain willing's own brother escaped from the fort where he had been a prisoner he told us that a man named masonville with a party of indians was in pursuit of him and the next piece of news he had was in the way of raising our despair a little governor hamilton's astonishment at seeing this force here and now would be as great as his own governor hamilton had said indeed that only a navy could take vincennes this year unfortunately mr willing brought no food next in order came five frenchmen trapped by our scouts nor had they any provisions but as long as I live I shall never forget how tom machestney returned at nightfall the hero of the hour he had shot a deer and never did wolves pick an animal cleaner they pressed on me a choice piece of it these great hearted men who were willing to go hungry for the sake of a child and when I refused it they would have forced it down my throat swen polson he that once hit under the bed deserves a special tablet to his memory he was forgiving me all he had though his little eyes were unnaturally bright and the red had left his cheeks now you have no belly only a little on his backbone he cried big up then he has the backbone said terrence I have a piece said I and drew forth that which tom had given me they brought a quarter of a saddle to colonel clark but he smiled at them kindly and told them to divide it amongst the weak he looked at me as I said with my feet crossed on the stump I will follow davis example said he at length the canoes were finished and we crossed the river swimming over the few miserable skeletons of the french ponies we had brought along we came to a sugar camp and beyond it stretching between us and then sends was a sea of water here we made our camp if camp it could be called there was no fire no food and the water seeped out of the ground on which we lay some of those even who had not yet spoken now openly said that we should go no farther for the wind had shifted into the northwest and for the first time since we had left kaskaskia we saw the stars gleaming like scattered diamonds in the sky bit by bit the ground hardened and if by chance we dozed we stuck to it morning found the men huddled like sheep their hunting shirts hard as boards and long before hamilton's guns we were up and stamping antoine poked the butt of his rifle through the ice of the lake in front of us I think we not get to vin sins this day he said colonel clark who heard him turned to me fetch machesney here davie he said tom came machesney said he when I get the word take davie and his drum on your shoulders and follow me and davie do you think you can sing that song you gave us the other night oh yes sir I answered without mora do the colonel broke the skin of ice and taking some of the water in his hand poured powder from his flask into it and rubbed it on his face until he was the color of an indian stepping back he raised his sword high in the air and shouting the shawnee war hoop took a flying leap up to his thighs in the water tom swung me instantly to his shoulder and followed I beating the charge with all my might though my hands were so numb that I could scarce hold the sticks strangest of all to a man that they came shouting after us now davie said the colonel I fought on land I fought at sea at home I fought my auntie oh but I met the devil and dundee on the breeze of killing thank you I piped it at the top of my voice and sure enough the regiment took up the course for it had a famous swing and he had been where I'd been you would not be so can't you and he had seen what I had seen on the breeze of kill a cranky oh when their breath was gone we heard cow and shout that he had found the path under his feet a path that was on dry land in the summertime we followed it feeling carefully and that link when we had suffered all that we could bear we stumbled on to a dry ridge here we spent another night of torture with a second backwater facing us coated with a full edge of ice and still there was nothing to eat end of chapter 18