Alice of Old Vincennes

by Maurice Thompson

  CHAPTER VII

  THE MAYOR'S PARTY

  Beverley was so surprised and confused in his mind by the ease withwhich he had been mastered at swordplay by a mere girl, that he felt asif just coming out of a dream. In fact the whole affair seemed unreal,yet so vivid and impressive in all its main features, that he could notemerge from it and look it calmly over from without. His experiencewith women had not prepared him for a ready understanding andacceptance of a girl like Alice. While he was fully aware of herbeauty, freshness, vivacity and grace, this Amazonian strength of hers,this boldness of spirit, this curious mixture of frontier crudeness anda certain adumbration--so to call it--of patrician sensibilities andaspirations, affected him both pleasantly and unpleasantly. He did notsympathize promptly with her semi-barbaric costume; she seemed notgently feminine, as compared with the girls of Virginia and Maryland.He resented her muscular development and her independent disposition.She was far from coarseness, however, and, indeed, a trace of subtlerefinement, although not conventional, imbued her whole character.

  But why was he thinking so critically about her? Had his selfishnessreceived an incurable shock from the button of her foil? A healthyyoung man of the right sort is apt to be jealous of his physicalprowess--touch him there and he will turn the world over to righthimself in, his own admiration and yours. But to be beaten on hishighest ground of virility by a dimple-faced maiden just leaving herteens could not offer Beverley any open way to recoupment of damages.

  He tried to shake her out of his mind, as a bit of pretty andtroublesome rubbish, what time he pursued his not very exactingmilitary duties. But the more he shook the tighter she clung, and theoftener he went to see her.

  Helm was a good officer in many respects, and his patriotism was of thebest; but he liked jolly company, a glass of something strong and alarge share of ease. Detroit lay many miles northeastward across thewilderness, and the English, he thought, would scarcely come so far toattack his little post, especially now that most of the Indians in theintervening country had declared in favor of the Americans. Recently,too, the weather had been favoring him by changing from wet to dry, sothat the upper Wabash and its tributaries were falling low and wouldsoon be very difficult to navigate with large batteaux.

  Very little was done to repair the stockade and dilapidated remnant ofa blockhouse. There were no sufficient barracks, a mere shed in oneangle serving for quarters, and the old cannon could not have been usedto any effect in case of attack. As for the garrison, it was a nominalquantity, made up mostly of men who preferred hunting and fishing tothe merest pretense of military duty.

  Gaspard Roussillon assumed to know everything about Indian affairs andthe condition of the English at Detroit. His optimistic eloquencelulled Helm to a very pleasant sense of security. Beverley was not soeasy to satisfy; but his suggestions regarding military discipline anda vigorous prosecution of repairs to the blockhouse and stockade weretreated with dilatory geniality by his superior officer. The softwonder of a perfect Indian summer glorified land, river and sky. Whynot dream and bask? Why not drink exhilarating toddies?

  Meantime the entertainment to be given by Gaspard Roussillon occupiedeverybody's imagination to an unusual extent. Rene de Ronville,remembering but not heeding the doubtful success of his former attempt,went long beforehand to claim Alice as his partenaire; but she flatlyrefused him, once more reminding him of his obligations to littleAdrienne Bourcier. He would not be convinced.

  "You are bound to me," he said, "you promised before, you know, and theparty was but put off. I hold you to it; you are my partenaire, and Iam yours, you can't deny that."

  "No you are not my partenaire," she firmly said; then added lightly,"Feu mon partenaire, you are dead and buried as my partner at thatdance."

  He glowered in silence for a few moments, then said:

  "It is Lieutenant Beverley, I suppose."

  She gave him a quick contemptuous look, but turned it instantly intoone of her tantalising smiles.

  "Do you imagine that?" she demanded.

  "Imagine it! I know it," he said with a hot flush. "Have I no sense?"

  "Precious little," she replied with a merry laugh.

  "You think so."

  "Go to Father Beret, tell him everything, and then ask him what hethinks," she said in a calm, even tone, her face growing serious.

  There was an awkward silence.

  She had touched Rene's vulnerable spot; he was nothing if not a devoutCatholic, and his conscience rooted itself in what good Father Berethad taught him.

  The church, no matter by what name it goes, Catholic or Protestant, hasa saving hold on the deepest inner being of its adherents. No grip isso hard to shake off as that of early religious convictions. The still,small voice coming down from the times "When shepherds watched theirflocks by night," in old Judea, passes through the priest, theminister, the preacher; it echoes in cathedral, church, open-airmeeting; it gently and mysteriously imparts to human life thedistinctive quality which is the exponent of Christian civilization.Upon the receptive nature of children it makes an impress that foreverafterward exhales a fragrance and irradiates a glory for the saving ofthe nations.

  Father Beret was the humble, self-effacing, never-tiring agent of goodin his community. He preached in a tender sing-song voice the sweetmonotonies of his creed and the sublime truths of Christ's code. He wasindeed the spiritual father of his people. No wonder Rene's scowlingexpression changed to one of abject self-concern when the priest's namewas suddenly connected with his mood. The confessional loomed up beforethe eyes of his conscience, and his knees smote together, spirituallyif not physically.

  "Now," said Alice, brusquely, but with sweet and gentle firmness, "goto your fiancee, go to pretty and good Adrienne, and ask her to be yourpartenaire. Refresh your conscience with a noble draught of duty andmake that dear little girl overflow with joy. Go, Rene de Ronville."

  In making over what she said into English, the translation turns out tobe but a sonorous paraphrase. Her French was of that mixed creole sort,a blending of linguistic elegance and patois, impossible to imitate.Like herself it was beautiful, crude, fascinating, and something in itimpressed itself as unimpeachable, despite the broken and incongruousdiction. Rene felt his soul cowering, even slinking; but he fairlymaintained a good face, and went away without saying another word.

  "Ciel, ciel, how beautiful she is!" he thought, as he walked along thenarrow street in the dreamy sunshine. "But she is not for me, not forme."

  He shook himself and tried to be cheerful. In fact he hummed a Creoleditty, something about

  "La belle Jeanette, qu' a brise mon coeur."

  Days passed, and at last the time of the great event arrived. It was afrosty night, clear, sparkling with stars, a keen breath cutting downfrom the northwest. M. Roussillon, Madame Roussillon, Alice andLieutenant Beverley went together to the river house, whither they hadbeen preceded by almost the entire population of Vincennes. Some fireshad been built outside; the crowd proving too great for the building'scapacity, as there had to be ample space for the dancers. Merry groupshovered around the flaming logs, while within the house a fiddle sangits simple and ravishing tunes. Everybody talked and laughed; it was alively racket of clashing voices and rhythmical feet.

  You would have been surprised to find that Oncle Jazon was the fiddler;but there he sat, perched on a high stool in one corner of the largeroom, sawing away as if for dear life, his head wagging, his elbowleaping back and forth, while his scalpless crown shone like the sideof a peeled onion and his puckered mouth wagged grotesquely from sideto side keeping time to his tuneful scraping.

  When the Roussillon party arrived it attracted condensed attention. Itsimportance, naturally of the greatest in the assembled popular mind,was enhanced--as mathematicians would say, to the nth power--by thegown of Alice. It was resplendent indeed in the simple, unaccustomedeyes upon which it flashed with a buff silken glory. Matrons stared atit; maidens gazed with fascinated and jealous vision; men
young and oldlet their eyes take full liberty. It was as if a queen, arrayed in arobe of state, had entered that dingy log edifice, an apparition ofdazzling and awe-inspiring beauty. Oncle Jazon caught sight of her, andsnapped his tune short off. The dancers swung together and stopped inconfusion. But she, fortified by a woman's strongest bulwark, the senseof resplendency, appeared quite unconscious of herself.

  Little Adrienne, hanging in blissful delight upon Rene's strong arm,felt the stir of excitement and wondered what was the matter, being tooshort to see over the heads of those around her.

  "What is it? what is it?" she cried, tiptoeing and tugging at hercompanion's sleeve. "Tell me, Rene, tell me, I say."

  Rene was gazing in dumb admiration into which there swept a powerfulanger, like a breath of flame. He recollected how Alice had refused towear that dress when he had asked her, and now she had it on. Moreover,there she stood beside Lieutenant Beverley, holding his arm, looking upinto his face, smiling, speaking to him.

  "I think you might tell me what has happened," said Adrienne, poutingand still plucking at his arm. "I can't see a thing, and you won't tellme."

  "Oh, it's nothing," he presently answered, rather fretfully. Then hestooped, lowered his voice and added; "it's Mademoiselle Roussillon alldressed up like a bride or something. She's got on a buff silk dressthat Mo'sieu' Roussillon's mother had in France."

  "How beautiful she must look!" cried the girl. "I wish I could see her."

  Rene put a hand on each side of her slender waist and lifted her high,so that her pretty head rose above the crowding people. Alice chancedto turn her face that way just then and saw the unconventionalperformance. Her eyes met those of Adrienne and she gave a nod ofsmiling recognition. It was a rose beaming upon a gilliflower.

  M. Roussillon naturally understood that all this stir and crowding tosee was but another demonstration of his personal popularity. He bowedand waved a vast hand.

  But the master of ceremonies called loudly for the dancers to taketheir places. Oncle Jazon attacked his fiddle again with startlingenergy. Those who were not to dance formed a compact double line aroundthe wall, the shorter ones in front, the taller in the rear. And what ascene it was! but no person present regarded it as in any way strangeor especially picturesque, save as to the gown of Alice, which was nowfloating and whirling in time to Oncle Jazon's mad music. The peopleoutside the house cheerfully awaited their turn to go in while an equalnumber went forth to chat and sing around the fires.

  Beverley was in a young man's seventh heaven. The angels formed a choircircling around his heart, and their song brimmed his universe fromhorizon to horizon.

  When he called at Roussillon place, and Alice appeared so beautifullyand becomingly robed, it was another memorable surprise. She flashed anew and subtly stimulating light upon him. The old gown, rich insubdued splendor of lace and brocade, was ornamented at the throat witha heavy band of pearls, just above which could be seen a trace of thegold chain that supported her portrait locket. There, too, with a notunbecoming gleam of barbaric colors, shone the string of porcupinebeads to which the Indian charmstone hidden in her bosom was attached.It all harmonized with the time, the place, the atmosphere. Anywhereelse it would have been preposterous as a decorative presentment, buthere, in this little nook where the coureurs de bois, the half-breeds,the traders and the missionaries had founded a centre of assembly, itwas the best possible expression in the life so formed at hap-hazard,and so controlled by the coarsest and narrowest influences. To FitzhughBeverley, of Beverley Hall, the picture conveyed immediately a sweetand pervading influence.

  Alice looked superbly tall, stately and self-possessed in hertransforming costume, a woman of full stature, her countenance gravelydemure yet reserving near the surface the playful dimples andmischievous smiles so characteristic of her more usual manner. A suddenmood of the varium et mutabile semper femina had led her to wear thedress, and the mood still illuminated her.

  Beverley stood before her frankly looking and admiring. The underglowin her cheeks deepened and spread over her perfect throat; her eyes methis a second, then shyly avoided him. He hardly could have been surewhich was master, her serenity or her girlish delight in beingattractively dressed; but there could be no doubt as to herself-possession; for, saving the pretty blush under his almost rudegaze of admiration, she bore herself as firmly as any fine lady heremembered.

  They walked together to the river house, she daintily holding up herskirts, under the insistent verbal direction of Madame Roussillon, andat the same time keeping a light, strangely satisfying touch on hisarm. When they entered the room there was no way for Beverley to escapefull consciousness of the excitement they aroused; but M. Roussillon'sassumption broke the force of what would have otherwise been extremelyembarrassing.

  "It is encouraging, very encouraging," murmured the big man to Beverleyin the midst of the staring and scrambling and craning of necks, "tohave my people admire and love me so; it goes to the middle of myheart." And again he bowed and waved his hand with an all-includinggesture, while he swept his eyes over the crowd.

  Alice and Beverley were soon in the whirl of the dance, forgetful ofeverything but an exhilaration stirred to its utmost by Oncle Jazon'smusic.

  A side remark here may be of interest to those readers who enjoy thedream that on some fortunate day they will invade a lonely nook, whereamid dust and cobwebs, neglected because unrecognized, reposes amasterpiece of Stradivari or some other great fiddle-maker. Oncle Jazonknew nothing whatever about old violins. He was a natural musician,that was all, and flung himself upon his fiddle with the samepassionate abandon that characterizes a healthy boy's assault when aplum pudding is at his mercy. But his fiddle was a Carlo Bergonzi; andnow let the search be renewed, for the precious instrument wascertainly still in Vincennes as late as 1819, and there is a vaguetradition that Governor Whitcomb played on it not long before he died.The mark by which it may be identified is the single word "Jazon" cutin the back of its neck by Oncle Jazon himself.

  When their dance was ended Alice and Beverley followed the others oftheir set out into the open air while a fresh stream of eager dancerspoured in. Beverley insisted upon wrapping Alice in her mantle ofunlined beaver skin against the searching winter breath. They did notgo to the fire, but walked back and forth, chatting until their turn todance should come again, pausing frequently to exchange pleasantrieswith some of the people. Curiously enough both of them had forgottenthe fact that other young men would be sure to ask Alice for a dance,and that more than one pretty creole lass was rightfully expecting agiddy turn with the stalwart and handsome Lieutenant Beverley.

  Rene de Ronville before long broke rudely into their selfish dream andled Alice into the house. This reminded Beverley of his social duty,wherefore seeing little Adrienne Bourcier he made a rush and securedher at a swoop from the midst of a scrambling circle of mutuallyhindered young men.

  "Allons, ma petite!" he cried, quite in the gay tone of the occasion,and swung her lightly along with him.

  It was like an eagle dancing with a linnet, or a giant with a fairy,when the big Lieutenant led out la petite Adrienne, as everybody calledher. The honor of Beverley's attention sat unappreciated on Adrienne'smind, for all her thoughts went with her eyes toward Rene and Alice.Nor was Beverley so absorbed in his partner's behalf that he ever for amoment willingly lost sight of the floating buff gown, the shiningbrown hair and the beautiful face, which formed, indeed, the center ofattraction for all eyes.

  Father Beret was present, sharing heartily in the merriment of hisflock. Voices greeted him on all sides with intonations of tenderrespect. The rudest man there was loyal to the kind-hearted priest, andwould as soon have thought of shooting him as of giving him any but themost reverent attention. It is to be noted, however, that theirunderstanding of reverence included great freedom and levity notespecially ecclesiastical in its nature. Father Beret understood theconditions around him and had the genius to know what not to hear, whatnot to see; but he never failed wh
en a good word or a fatherly touchwith his hand seemed worth trying on a sheep that appeared to bestraying dangerously far from the fold. Upon an occasion like thisdance at the river house, he was no less the faithful priest because ofhis genial sympathy with the happiness of the young people who lookedto him for spiritual guidance.

  It was some time before Beverley could again secure Alice for a dance,and he found it annoying him atrociously to see her smile sweetly onsome buckskin-clad lout who looked like an Indian and danced like aParisian. He did not greatly enjoy most of his partners; they could notappeal to any side of his nature just then. Not that he at all timesstood too much on his aristocratic traditions, or lacked the viriletraits common to vigorous and worldly-minded men; but the contrastbetween Alice and the other girls present was somehow an absolute barto a democratic freedom of the sort demanded by the occasion. He metFather Beret and passed a few pleasant words with him.

  "They have honored your flag, my son, I am glad to see," the priestsaid, pointing with a smile to where, in one corner, the banner thatbore Alice's name was effectively draped.

  Beverley had not noticed it before, and when he presently gotpossession of Alice he asked her to tell him the story of how sheplanted it on the fort, although he had heard it to the last detailfrom Father Beret just a moment ago. They stood together under itsfolds while she naively sketched the scene for him, even down to herpicturesquely disagreeable interview with Long-Hair, mention of whomled up to the story of the Indian's race with the stolen dame jeanne ofbrandy under his arm on that memorable night, and the subsequentservices performed for him by Father Beret and her, after she and Jeanhad found him in the mud beyond the river.

  The dancing went on at a furious pace while they stood there. Now andagain a youth came to claim her, but she said she was tired and beggedto rest awhile, smiling so graciously upon each one that his rebuffthrilled him as if it had been the most flattering gift of tenderpartiality, while at the same time he suspected that it was all forBeverley.

  Helm in his most jovial mood was circulating freely among those whoformed the periphery of the dancing-area; he even ventured a few clumsycapers in a cotillion with Madame Godere for partner. She danced well;but he, as someone remarked, stumbled all over himself.

  There was but one thing to mar the evening's pleasure: some of the mendrank too much and grew boisterous. A quarrel ended in a noisy butharmless fight near one of the fires. M. Roussillon rushed to the spot,seized the combatants, tousled them playfully, as if they had beenchildren, rubbed their heads together, laughed stormily and so restoredthe equilibrium of temper.

  It was late when fathers and mothers in the company began to suggestadjournment. Oncle Jazon's elbow was tired and the enthusiasm generatedby his unrecognized Bergonzi became fitful, while the relaxing crowdrapidly encroached upon the space set apart for the dancers. In theopen lamps suspended here and there the oil was running low, and therag wicks sputtered and winked with their yellow flames.

  "Well," said M. Roussillon, coming to where Alice and Beverley stoodinsulated and isolated by their great delight in each other's company,"it's time to go home."

  Beverley looked at his watch; it was a quarter to three!

  Alice also looked at the watch, and saw engraved and enameled on itsmassive case the Beverley crest, but she did not know what it meant.There was something of the sort in the back of her locket, sheremembered with satisfaction.

  Just then there was a peculiar stir in the flagging crowd. Someone hadarrived, a coureur de bois from the north. Where was the commandant?the coureur had something important for him.

  Beverley heard a remark in a startled voice about the English gettingready for a descent upon the Wabash valley. This broke the charm whichthralled him and sent through his nerves the bracing shock that only asoldier can feel when a hint of coming battle reaches him.

  Alice saw the flash in his face.

  "Where is Captain Helm? I must see him immediately. Excuse me," hesaid, abruptly turning away and looking over the heads of the people;"yonder he is, I must go to him."

  The coureur de bois, Adolphe Dutremble by name, was just from the headwaters of the Wabash. He was speaking to Helm when Beverley came up. M.Roussillon followed close upon the Lieutenant's heels, as eager as heto know what the message amounted to; but Helm took the coureur aside,motioning Beverley to join them. M. Roussillon included himself in theconference.

  After all it was but the gossip of savages that Dutremble communicated;still the purport was startling in the extreme. Governor Hamilton, sothe story ran, had been organizing a large force; he was probably nowon his way to the portage of the Wabash with a flotilla of batteaux,some companies of disciplined soldiers, artillery and a strong body ofIndians.

  Helm listened attentively to Dutremble's lively sketch, thencross-questioned him with laconic directness.

  "Send Mr. Jazon to me," he said to M. Roussillon, as if speaking to aservant.

  The master Frenchman went promptly, recognizing Captain Helm's right tocommand, and sympathizing With his unpleasant military predicament ifthe news should prove true.

  Oncle Jazon came in a minute, his fiddle and bow clamped under his arm,to receive a verbal commission, which sent him with some scouts of hisown choosing forthwith to the Wabash portage, or far enough toascertain what the English commander was doing.

  After the conference Beverley made haste to join Alice; but he foundthat she had gone home.

  "One hell of a fix we'll be in if Hamilton comes down here with a goodforce," said Helm.

  Beverley felt like retorting that a little forethought, zeal andpreparation might have lessened the prospective gloom. He had beentroubled all the time about Helm's utter lack of military precaution.True, there was very little material out of which that optimisticofficer could have formed a body of resistance against the armyprobably at Hamilton's command; but Beverley was young, energetic,bellicose, and to him everything seemed possible; he believed invigilance, discipline, activity, dash; he had a great faith in theefficacy of enthusiasm.

  "We must organize these Frenchmen," he said; "they will make goodfighters if we can once get them to act as a body. There's no time tobe lost; but we have time enough in which to do a great deal beforeHamilton can arrive, if we go at it in earnest."

  "Your theory is excellent, Lieutenant, but the practice of it won't beworth a damn," Helm replied with perfect good nature. "I'd like to seeyou organize these parly-voos. There ain't a dozen of 'em that wouldn'taccept the English with open arms. I know 'em. They're good hearted,polite and all that; they'll hurrah for the flag; that's easy enough;but put 'em to the test and they'll join in with the strongest side,see if they don't. Of course there are a few exceptions. There's Jazon,he's all right, and I have faith in Bosseron, and Legrace, and youngRonville."

  "Roussillon--" Beverley began.

  "Is much of a blow-hard," Helm interrupted with a laugh. "Barks loud,but his biting disposition is probably not vicious."

  "He and Father Beret control the whole population at all events," saidBeverley.

  "Yes, and such a population!"

  While joining in Captain Helm's laugh at the expense of Vincennes,Beverley took leave to indulge a mental reservation in favor of Alice.He could not bear to class her with the crowd of noisy, thoughtless,mercurial beings whom he heard still singing gay snatches and callingto one another from distance to distance, as they strolled homeward ingroups and pairs. Nor could the impending danger of an enforcedsurrender to the English and Indians drive from his mind her beautifulimage, while he lay for the rest of the night between sleeping andwaking on his primitive bed, alternately hearing over again her everyphrase and laugh, and striving to formulate some definite plan fordefending the town and fort. His heart was full of her. She hadsurprised his nature and filled it, as with a wonderful, haunting song.His youth, his imagination, all that was fresh and spontaneously gentleand natural in him, was flooded with the magnetic splendor of herbeauty. And yet, in his pride (and it was not a f
alse pride, but rathera noble regard for his birthright) he vaguely realized how far she wasfrom him, how impossible.