CHAPTER V
FATHER GIBAULT
Great movements in the affairs of men are like tides of the seas whichreach and affect the remotest and quietest nooks and inlets, impartinga thrill and a swell of the general motion. Father Gibault brought thewave of the American Revolution to Vincennes. He was a simplemissionary; but he was, besides, a man of great worldly knowledge andpersonal force. Colonel George Rogers Clark made Father Gibault'sacquaintance at Kaskaskia, when the fort and its garrison surrenderedto his command, and, quickly discerning the fine qualities of thepriest's character, sent him to the post on the Wabash to win over itspeople to the cause of freedom and independence. Nor was the taskassumed a hard one, as Father Gibault probably well knew before heundertook it.
A few of the leading men of Vincennes, presided over by GaspardRoussillon, held a consultation at the river house, and it was agreedthat a mass meeting should be called bringing all of the inhabitantstogether in the church for the purpose of considering the course to betaken under the circumstances made known by Father Gibault. Oncle Jazonconstituted himself an executive committee of one to stir up a noisefor the occasion.
It was a great day for Vincennes. The volatile temperament of theFrench frontiersmen bubbled over with enthusiasm at the first hint ofsomething new, and revolutionary in which they might be expected totake part. Without knowing in the least what it was that Father Gibaultand Oncle Jazon wanted of them, they were all in favor of it at aventure.
Rene de Ronville, being an active and intelligent young man, was sentabout through the town to let everybody know of the meeting. In passinghe stepped into the cabin of Father Beret, who was sitting on the loosepuncheon floor, with his back turned toward the entrance and soabsorbed in trying to put together a great number of small paperfragments that he did not hear or look up.
"Are you not going to the meeting, Father?" Rene bluntly demanded. Inthe hurry that was on him he did not remember to be formally polite, aswas his habit.
The old priest looked up with a startled face. At the same time heswept the fragments of paper together and clutched them hard in hisright hand. "Yes, yes, my son--yes I am going, but the time has not yetcome for it, has it?" he stammered. "Is it late?"
He sprang to his feet and appeared confused, as if caught in doingsomething very improper.
Rene wondered at this unusual behavior, but merely said:
"I beg pardon, Father Beret, I did not mean to disturb you," and wenthis way.
Father Beret stood for some minutes as if dazed, then squeezed thepaper fragments into a tight ball, just as they were when he took themfrom under the floor some time before Rene came in, and put it in hispocket. A little later he was kneeling, as we have seen him oncebefore, in silent yet fervent prayer, his clasped hands lifted towardthe crucifix on the wall.
"Jesus, give me strength to hold on and do my work," he murmuredbeseechingly, "and oh, free thy poor servant from bitter temptation."
Father Gibault had come prepared to use his eloquence upon theexcitable Creoles, and with considerable cunning he addressed a motleyaudience at the church, telling them that an American force had takenKaskaskia and would henceforth hold it; that France had joined handswith the Americans against the British, and that it was the duty of allFrenchmen to help uphold the cause of freedom and independence.
"I come," said he, "directly from Colonel George Rogers Clark, a nobleand brave officer of the American army, who told me the news that Ihave brought to you. He sent me here to say to you that if you willgive allegiance to his government you shall be protected against allenemies and have the full freedom of citizens. I think you should dothis without a moment's hesitation, as I and my people at Kaskaskiahave already done. But perhaps you would like to have a word from yourdistinguished fellow-citizen, Monsieur Gaspard Roussillon. Speak toyour friends, my son, they will be glad to take counsel of your wisdom."
There was a stir and a craning of necks. M. Roussillon presentlyappeared near the little chancel, his great form towering majestically.He bowed and waved his hand with the air of one who accepts distinctionas a matter of course; then he took his big silver watch and looked atit. He was the only man in Vincennes who owned a watch, and so theincident was impressive. Father Gibault looked pleased, and already amurmur of applause went through the audience. M. Roussillon stroked thebulging crystal of the time-piece with a circular motion of his thumband bowed again, clearing his throat resonantly, his face growingpurplish above his beard.
"Good friends," he said, "what France does all high-class Frenchmenapplaud." He paused for a shout of approbation, and was notdisappointed. "The other name for France is glory," he added, "and alltrue Frenchmen love both names. I am a true Frenchman!" and he struckhis breast a resounding blow with the hand that still held the watch. Ahuge horn button on his buckskin jerkin came in contact with thecrystal, and there was a smash, followed by a scattered tinkling ofglass fragments.
All Vincennes stood breathless, contemplating the irreparable accident.M. Roussillon had lost the effect of a great period in his speech, buthe was quick. Lifting the watch to his ear, he listened a moment withsuperb dignity, then slowly elevating his head and spreading his freehand over his heart he said:
"The faithful time-piece still tells off the seconds, and the loyalheart of its owner still throbs with patriotism."
Oncle Jazon, who stood in front of the speaker, swung his shapeless capas high as he could and yelled like a savage. Then the crowd went wildfor a time.
"Vive la France! A bas l' Angleterre!" Everybody shouted at the top ofhis voice.
"What France does we all do," continued M. Roussillon, when the noisesubsided. "France has clasped hands with George Washington and hisbrave compatriots; so do we."
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!" shrieked Oncle Jazon in a piercing treble,tiptoeing and shaking his cap recklessly under M. Roussillon's nose.
The orator winced and jerked his head back, but nobody saw it, saveperhaps Father Gibault, who laughed heartily.
Great sayings come suddenly, unannounced and unexpected. They have themysterious force of prophetic accident combined with happy economy ofphrasing. The southern blood in M. Roussillon's veins was effervescingupon his brain; his tongue had caught the fine freedom and abandon ofinspired oratory. He towered and glowed; words fell melodiously fromhis lips; his gestures were compelling, his visage magnetic. Inconclusion he said:
"Frenchmen, America is the garden-spot of the world and will one dayrule it, as did Rome of old. Where freedom makes her home, there is thecentre of power!"
It was in a little log church on the verge of a hummock overlooking amarshy wild meadow. Westward for two thousand miles stretched theunbroken prairies, woods, mountains, deserts reaching to the Pacific;southward for a thousand miles rolled the green billows of thewilderness to the warm Gulf shore; northward to the pole and eastwardto the thin fringe of settlements beyond the mountains, all washouseless solitude.
If the reader should go to Vincennes to-day and walk southward alongSecond Street to its intersection with Church Street, the spot thenunder foot would be probably very near where M. Roussillon stood whileuttering his great sentence. Mind you, the present writer does notpretend to know the exact site of old Saint Xavier church. If it couldbe fixed beyond doubt the spot should have an imperishable monument ofIndiana stone.
When M, Roussillon ceased speaking the audience again exhausted itsvocal resources; and then Father Gibault called upon each man to comeforward and solemnly pledge his loyalty to the American cause. Not oneof them hesitated.
Meantime a woman was doing her part in the transformation of PostVincennes from a French-English picket to a full-fledged American fortand town. Madame Godere, finding out what was about to happen, fell towork making a flag in imitation of that under which George Washingtonwas fighting. Alice chanced to be in the Godere home at the time andjoined enthusiastically in the sewing. It was an exciting task. Theirfingers trembled while they worked, and the thread, heavily coated withbeeswax,
squeaked as they drew it through the cloth.
"We shall not be in time," said Madame Godere; "I know we shall not.Everything hinders me. My thread breaks or gets tangled and my needle'sso rusty I can hardly stick it through the cloth. O dear!"
Alice encouraged her with both words and work, and they had almostfinished when Rene came with a staff which he had brought from the fort.
"Mon dieu, but we have had a great meeting!" he cried. He wasperspiring with excitement and fast walking; leaning on the staff hemopped his face with a blue handkerchief.
"We heard much shouting and noise," said Madame Godere, "M.Roussillon's voice rose loud above the rest. He roared like a lion."
"Ah, he was speaking to us; he was very eloquent," Rene replied. "Butnow they are waiting at the fort for the new flag. I have come for it."
"It is ready," said Madame Godere.
With flying fingers Alice sewed it to the staff.
"Voici!" she cried, "vive la republique Americaine!" She lifted thestaff and let the flag droop over her from head to foot.
"Give it to me," said Rene, holding forth a hand for it, "and I'll runto the fort with it."
"No," said Alice, her face suddenly lighting up with resolve. "No, I amgoing to take it myself," and without a moment's delay off she went.
Rene was so caught by surprise that he stood gazing after her until shepassed behind a house, where the way turned, the shining flag ripplingaround her, and her moccasins twinkling as she ran.
At the blockhouse, awaiting the moment when the symbol of freedomshould rise like a star over old Vincennes the crowd had picturesquelybroken into scattered groups. Alice entered through a rent in thestockade, as that happened to be a shorter route than through the gate,and appeared suddenly almost in their midst.
It was a happy surprise, a pretty and catching spectacular apparitionof a sort to be thoroughly appreciated by the lively French fancy ofthe audience. The caught the girl's spirit, or it caught them, and theymade haste to be noisy.
"V'la! V'la! l'p'tite Alice et la bannlere de Zhorzh Vasinton! (Look,look, little Alice and George Washington's flag!)" shouted Oncle Jazon.He put his wiry little legs through a sort of pas de zephyr and winkedat himself with concentrated approval.
All the men danced around and yelled till they were hoarse.
By this time Rene had reached Alice's side; but she did not see him;she ran into the blockhouse and climbed up a rude ladder-way; then sheappeared on the roof, still accompanied by Rene, and planted the staffin a crack of the slabs, where it stood bravely up, the colors floatingfree.
She looked down and saw M. Roussillon, Father Gibault and Father Beretgrouped in the centre of the area. They were waving their hands aloftat her, while a bedlam of voices sent up applause which went throughher blood like strong wine. She smiled radiantly, and a sweet flushglowed in her cheeks.
No one of all that wild crowd could ever forget the picture sketched soboldly at that moment when, after planting the staff, Alice steppedback a space and stood strong and beautiful against the soft blue sky.She glanced down first, then looked up, her arms folded across herbosom. It was a pose as unconsciously taken as that of a bird, and thegrace of it went straight to the hearts of those below.
She turned about to descend, and for the first time saw that Rene hadfollowed her. His face was beaming.
"What a girl you are!" he exclaimed, in a tone of exultant admiration."Never was there another like you!"
Alice walked quickly past him without speaking; for down in the spacewhere some women were huddled aside from the crowd, looking on, she hadseen little Adrienne Bourcier. She made haste to descend. Now that herimpulsively chosen enterprise was completed her boldness deserted herand she slipped out through a dilapidated postern opposite the crowd.On her right was the river, while southward before her lay a great flatplain, beyond which rose some hillocks covered with forest. The sunblazed between masses of slowly drifting clouds that trailed creepingfantastic shadows across the marshy waste.
Alice walked along under cover of the slight landswell which then, moreplainly marked than it is now, formed the contour line of hummock uponwhich the fort and village stood. A watery swale grown full of tallaquatic weeds meandered parallel with the bluff, so to call it, andthere was a soft melancholy whispering of wind among the long bladesand stems. She passed the church and Father Beret's hut and continuedfor some distance in the direction of that pretty knoll upon which thecemetery is at present so tastefully kept. She felt shy now, as if torun away and hide would be a great relief. Indeed, so relaxed were hernerves that a slight movement in the grass and cat-tail flags near bystartled her painfully, making her jump like a fawn.
"Little friend not be 'fraid," said a guttural voice in broken French."Little friend not make noise."
At a glance she recognized Long-Hair, the Indian, rising out of thematted marsh growth. It was a hideous vision of embodied cunning,soullessness and murderous cruelty.
"Not tell white man you see me?" he grunted interrogatively, steppingclose to her. He looked so wicked that she recoiled and lifted herhands defensively.
She trembled from head to foot, and her voice failed her; but she madea negative sign and smiled at him, turning as white as her tanned facecould become.
In his left hand he held his bow, while in his right he half lifted amurderous looking tomahawk.
"What new flag mean?" he demanded, waving the bow's end toward the fortand bending his head down close to hers. "Who yonder?"
"The great American Father has taken us under his protection," sheexplained. "We are big-knives now." It almost choked her to speak.
"Ugh! heap damn fools," he said with a dark scowl. "Little friend muchdamn fool."
He straightened up his tall form and stood leering at her for someseconds, then added:
"Little friend get killed, scalped, maybe."
The indescribable nobility of animal largeness, symmetry and strengthshowed in his form and attitude, but the expression of his countenancewas absolutely repulsive--cold, hard, beastly.
He did not speak again, but turned quickly, and stooping low,disappeared like a great brownish red serpent in the high grass, whichscarcely stirred as he moved through it.
Somehow that day made itself strangely memorable to Alice. She had beenaccustomed to stirring scenes and sudden changes of conditions; butthis was the first time that she had ever joined actively in a publicmovement of importance. Then, too, Long-Hair's picturesque and rudelydramatic reappearance affected her imagination with an indescribableforce. Moreover, the pathetic situation in the love affair between Reneand Adrienne had taken hold of her conscience with a disturbing grip.But the shadowy sense of impending events, of which she could form noidea, was behind it all. She had not heard of Brandywine, or BunkerHill, or Lexington, or Concord; but something like a waft of theirsignificance had blown through her mind. A great change was coming intoher idyllic life. She was indistinctly aware of it, as we sometimes areof an approaching storm, while yet the sky is sweetly blue and serene.When she reached home the house was full of people to whom M.Roussillon, in the gayest of moods, was dispensing wine and brandy.
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!" shouted Oncle Jazon as soon as he saw her.
And then they all talked at once, saying flattering things about her.Madame Roussillon tried to scold as usual; but the lively chattering ofthe guests drowned her voice.
"I suppose the American commander will send a garrison here," some onesaid to Father Gibault, "and repair the fort."
"Probably," the priest replied, "in a very few weeks. Meantime we willgarrison it ourselves."
"And we will have M. Roussillon for commander," spoke up Rene deRonville, who was standing by.
"A good suggestion," assented Father Gibault; "let us organize at once."
Immediately the word was passed that there would be a meeting at thefort that evening for the purpose of choosing a garrison and acommander. Everybody went promptly at the hour set. M. Roussillon waselected Ca
ptain by acclamation, with Rene de Ronville as hisLieutenant. It was observed that Oncle Jazon had resumed his dignity,and that he looked into his cap several times without speaking.
Meantime certain citizens, who had been in close relations withGovernor Abbott during his stay, quietly slipped out of town, manned abatteau and went up the river, probably to Ouiatenon first and then toDetroit. Doubtless they suspected that things might soon grow too warmfor their comfort.
It was thus that Vincennes and Fort Sackville first acknowledged theAmerican Government and hoisted the flag which, as long as it floatedover the blockhouse, was lightly and lovingly called by everyone labanniere d'Alice Roussillon.
Father Gibault returned to Fort Kaskaskia and a little later CaptainLeonard Helm, a jovial man, but past the prime of life, arrived atVincennes with a commission from Col. Clark authorizing him tosupersede M. Roussillon as commander, and to act as Indian agent forthe American Government in the Department of the Wabash. He waswelcomed by the villagers, and at once made himself very pleasing tothem by adapting himself to their ways and entering heartily into theirsocial activities.
M. Roussillon was absent when Captain Helm and his party came. Rene deRonville, nominally in command of the fort, but actually enjoying someexcellent grouse shooting with a bell-mouthed old fowling piece on adistant prairie, could not be present to deliver up the post; and asthere was no garrison just then visible, Helm took possession, withoutany formalities.
"I think, Lieutenant, that you'd better look around through the villageand see if you can scare up this Captain what's-his-name," said the newcommander to a stalwart young officer who had come with him. "I can'tthink of these French names without getting my brain in a twist. Do youhappen to recollect the Captain's name, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir; Gaspard Roussillon it reads in Colonel Clark's order; but Iam told that he's away on a trading tour," said the young man.
"You may be told anything by these hair-tongued parlyvoos," Helmremarked. "It won't hurt, anyway, to find out where he lives and make aformal call, just for appearance sake, and to enquire about his health.I wish you would try it, sir, and let me know the result."
The Lieutenant felt that this was a peremptory order and turned aboutto obey promptly.
"And I say, Beverley, come back sober, if you possibly can," Helm addedin his most genial tone, thinking it a great piece of humor to suggestsobriety to a man whose marked difference from men generally, of thattime, was his total abstinence from intoxicating drinks.
Lieutenant Fitzhugh Beverley was a Virginian of Virginians. His familyhad long been prominent in colonial affairs and boasted a record ofgreat achievements both in peace and in war. He was the only son of hisparents and heir to a fine estate consisting of lands and slaves; but,like many another of the restless young cavaliers of the Old Dominion,he had come in search of adventure over into Kentucky, along the pathblazed by Daniel Boone; and when Clark organized his little army, theyoung man's patriotic and chivalrous nature leaped at the opportunityto serve his country under so gallant a commander.
Beverley was not a mere youth, although yet somewhat under thirty.Educated abroad and naturally of a thoughtful and studious turn, he hadenriched his mind far beyond the usual limit among young Americans ofthe very best class in that time; and so he appeared older than hereally was: an effect helped out by his large and powerful form andgrave dignity of bearing. Clark, who found him useful in emergencies,cool, intrepid, daring to a fault and possessed of excellent judgement,sent him with Helm, hoping that he would offset with his orderlyattention to details the somewhat go-as-you-please disposition of thatexcellent officer.
Beverley set out in search of the French commander's house, impressedwith no particular respect for him or his office. Somehow Americans ofAnglo-Saxon blood were slow to recognize any good qualities whatever inthe Latin Creoles of the West and South. It seemed to them that theFrenchman and the Spaniard were much too apt to equalize themselvessocially and matrimonially with Indians and negroes. The very fact thatfor a century, while Anglo-Americans had been in constant bloodywarfare with savages, Frenchmen had managed to keep on easy and highlyprofitable trading terms with them, tended to confirm the worstimplication. "Eat frogs and save your scalp," was a bit of contemptuousfrontier humor indicative of what sober judgement held in reserve onthe subject.
Intent upon his formal mission, Lieutenant Beverley stalked boldly intothe inclosure at Roussillon place and was met on the gallery by MadameRoussillon in one of her worst moods. She glared at him with her handson her hips, her mouth set irritably aslant upward, her eyebrowsgathered into a dark knot over her nose. It would be hard to imagine amore forbidding countenance; and for supplementary effect out poppedhunchback Jean to stand behind her, with his big head lying back in thehollow of his shoulders and his long chin elevated, while he gawpedintently up into Beverley's face.
"Bon jour, Madame," said the Lieutenant, lifting his hat and speakingwith a pleasant accent. "Would it be agreeable to Captain Roussillonfor me to see him a moment?"
Despite Beverley's cleverness in using the French language, he had adecided brusqueness of manner and a curt turn of voice not in the leastGallic. True, the soft Virginian intonation marked every word, and hisobeisance was as low as if Madame Roussillon had been a queen; but thelight French grace was wholly lacking.
"What do you want of my husband?" Madame Roussillon demanded.
"Nothing unpleasant, I assure you, Madame," said Beverley.
"Well, he's not at home, Mo'sieu; he's up the river for a few days."
She relaxed her stare, untied her eyebrows, and even let fall her handsfrom her shelf-like hips.
"Thank you, Madame," said Beverley, bowing again, "I am sorry not tohave seen him."
As he was turning to go a shimmer of brown hair streaked with goldstruck upon his vision from just within the door. He paused, as if inresponse to a military command, while a pair of gray eyes met his witha flash. The cabin room was ill lighted; but the crepuscular dimnessdid not seem to hinder his sight. Beyond the girl's figure, a pair ofslender swords hung crossed aslant on the wall opposite the low door.
Beverley had seen, in the old world galleries, pictures in which theshadowy and somewhat uncertain background thus forced into strongestprojection the main figure, yet without clearly defining it. The roughframe of the doorway gave just the rustic setting suited to Alice'scostume, the most striking part of which was a grayish short gownending just above her fringed buckskin moccasins. Around her head shehad bound a blue kerchief, a wide corner of which lay over her crownlike a loose cap. Her bright hair hung free upon her shoulders intumbled half curls. As a picture, the figure and its entourage mighthave been artistically effective; but as Beverley saw it in actual lifethe first impression was rather embarrassing. Somehow he felt almostirresistibly invited to laugh, though he had never been much given torisibility. The blending, or rather the juxtaposition, of extremes--aface, a form immediately witching, and a costume odd togrotesquery--had made an assault upon his comprehension at once sosudden and so direct that his dignity came near being disastrouslybroken up. A splendidly beautiful child comically clad would have mademuch the same half delightful, half displeasing impression.
Beverley could not stare at the girl, and no sooner had he turned hisback upon her than the picture in his mind changed like a scene in akaleidoscope. He now saw a tall, finely developed figure and a facedelicately oval, with a low, wide forehead, arched brows, a straight,slightly tip-tilted nose, a mouth sweet and full, dimpled cheeks, and astrong chin set above a faultless throat. His imagination, in castingoff its first impression, was inclined to exaggerate Alice's beauty andto dwell upon its picturesqueness. He smiled as he walked back to thefort, and even found himself whistling gayly a snatch from a rollickingfiddle-tune that he had heard when a boy.
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