CHAPTER XI
A SWORD AND A HORSE PISTOL
We hear much about the "days that tried men's souls"; but what aboutthe souls of women in those same days? Sitting in the liberal genialityof the nineteenth century's sunset glow, we insist upon having ourgrumble at the times and the manners of our generation; but if we hadto exchange places, periods and experiences with the people who livedin America through the last quarter of the eighteenth century, therewould be good ground for despairing ululations. And if our men couldnot bear it, if it would try their souls too poignantly, let us imaginethe effect upon our women. No, let us not imagine it; but rather let usgive full credit to the heroic souls of the mothers and the maidens whodid actually bear up in the center of that terrible struggle andunflinchingly help win for us not only freedom, but the vast empirewhich at this moment is at once the master of the world and the modeltoward which all the nations of the earth are slowly but surely tending.
If Alice was an extraordinary girl, she was not aware of it; nor hadshe ever understood that her life was being shaped by extraordinaryconditions. Of course it could not but be plain to her that she knewmore and felt more than the girls of her narrow acquaintance; that heraccomplishments were greater; that she nursed splendid dreams of whichthey could have no proper comprehension, but until now she had nevereven dimly realized that she was probably capable of being somethingmore than a mere creole lass, the foster daughter of GaspardRoussillon, trader in pelts and furs. Even her most romantic visionshad never taken the form of personal desire, or ambition in its mostnebulous stage; they had simply pleased her fresh and natural fancy andserved to gild the hardness and crudeness of her life,--that was all.
Her experiences had been almost too terrible for belief, viewed at ourdistance from them; she had passed through scenes of incredible horrorand suffering, but her nature had not been chilled, stunted orhardened. In body and in temper her development had been sound andbeautiful. It was even thus that our great-grandmothers triumphed overadversity, hardship, indescribable danger. We cannot say that thestrong, lithe, happy-hearted Alice of old Vincennes was the only one ofher kind. Few of us who have inherited the faded portraits of ourrevolutionary forbears can doubt that beauty, wit and great lovablenessflourished in the cabins of pioneers all the way from the Edisto to theLicking, from the Connecticut to the Wabash.
Beverley's advent could not fail to mean a great deal in the life of agirl like Alice; a new era, as it were, would naturally begin for herthe moment that his personal influence touched her imagination; but itis well not to measure her too strictly by the standard of our presenttaste and the specialized forms of our social and moral code. She was atrue child of the wilderness, a girl who grew, as the wild prairie rosegrew, not on account of innumerable exigencies, accidents andhardships, but in spite of them. She had blushed unseen, and had wasteddivine sweets upon a more than desert air. But when Beverley came nearher, at first carelessly droning his masculine monotonies, as thewandering bee to the lonely and lovely rose, and presently striking hersoul as with the wings of Love, there fell a change into her heart ofhearts, and lo! her haunting and elusive dreams began to condense andtake on forms that startled her with their wonderful splendor andbeauty. These she saw all the time, sleeping or waking; they madebright summer of the frozen stream and snapping gale, the snowdriftsand the sleet. In her brave young heart, swelled the ineffablesong--the music never yet caught by syrinx or flute or violin, thewords no tongue can speak.
Ah, here may be the secret of that vigorous, brave, sweet life of ourpioneer maids, wives, and mothers. It was love that gave those tenderhearts the iron strength and heroic persistence at which the world mustforever wonder. And do we appreciate those women? Let the Old Worldboast its crowned kings, its mailed knights, its ladies of the courtand castle; but we of the New World, we of the powerful West, let usbrim our cups with the wine of undying devotion, and drink to thememory of the Women of the Revolution,--to the humble but good andmarvelously brave and faithful women like those of old Vincennes.
But if Alice was being radically influenced by Beverley, he in turnfound a new light suffusing his nature, and he was not unaware that itcame out of her eyes, her face, her smiles, her voice, her soul. It wasthe old, well-known, inexplicable, mutual magnetism, which from thefirst has been the same on the highest mountain-top and in the lowestvalley. The queen and the milkmaid, the king and the hind may cometogether only to find the king walking off with the lowly beauty andher fragrant pail, while away stalks the lusty rustic, to be lord andmaster of the queen. Love is love, and it thrives in all climes, underall conditions.
There is an inevitable and curious protest that comes up unbiddenbetween lovers; it takes many forms in accordance with particularcircumstances. It is the demand for equality and perfection. Loveitself is without degrees--it is perfect--but when shall it see theperfect object? It does see it, and it does not see it, in everybeloved being. Beverley found his mind turning, as on a pivot, roundand round upon the thought that Alice might be impossible to him. Themystery of her life seemed to force her below the line of hisaristocratic vision, so that he could not fairly consider her, and yetwith all his heart he loved her. Alice, on the other hand, had herbookish ideal to reckon with, despite the fact that she daily dashed itcontemptuously down. She was different from Adrienne Bourcier, whobewailed the absence of her un-tamable lover; she wished that Beverleyhad not, as she somehow viewed it, weakly surrendered to Hamilton. Hisapparently complacent acceptance of idle captivity did not comport withher dream of knighthood and heroism. She had been all the time halfexpecting him to do something that would stamp him a hero.
Counter protests of this sort are never sufficiently vigorous to take afall out of Love; they merely serve to worry his temper by lightlyhindering his feet. And it is surprising how Love does delight himselfwith being entangled.
Both Beverley and Alice day by day felt the cord tightening which drewtheir hearts together--each acknowledged it secretly, but strove not toevince it openly. Meantime both were as happy and as restlesslydissatisfied as love and uncertainty could make them.
Amid the activities in which Hamilton was engaged--his dealings withthe Indians and the work of reconstructing the fort--he found time toworry his temper about the purloined flag. Like every other man in theworld, he was superstitious, and it had come into his head that toinsure himself and his plans against disaster, he must have the bannerof his captives as a badge of his victory. It was a small matter; butit magnified itself as he dwelt upon it. He suspected that Alice haddeceived him. He sharply questioned Father Beret, only to be halfconvinced that the good priest told the truth when he said that he knewnothing whatever on the subject beyond the fact that the banner hadmysteriously disappeared from under his floor.
Captain Farnsworth scarcely sympathized with his chief about the flag,but he was nothing if not anxious to gain Hamilton's highestconfidence. His military zeal knew no bounds, and he never let passeven the slightest opportunity to show it. Hence his persistent searchfor a clue to the missing banner. He was no respecter of persons. Hefrankly suspected both Alice and Father Beret of lying. He wouldhimself have lied under the existing circumstances, and he consideredhimself as truthful and trustworthy as priest or maiden.
"I'll get that flag for you," he said to Hamilton, "if I have to putevery man, woman and child in this town on the rack. It lies, I think,between Miss Roussillon and the priest, although both insistently denyit. I've thought it over in every way, and I can't see how they canboth be ignorant of where it is, or at least who got it."
Hamilton, since being treated to that wonderful blow on the jaw, wasapt to fall into a spasm of anger whenever the name Roussillon wasspoken in his hearing. Involuntarily he would put his hand to hischeek, and grimace reminiscently.
"If it's that girl, make her tell," he savagely commanded. "Let's haveno trifling about it. If it's the priest, then make him tell, or tiehim up by the thumbs. Get that flag, or show some good reason for yourfailure.
I'm not going to be baffled."
The Captain's adventure with Father Beret came just in time to make itcount against that courageous and bellicose missionary in more waysthan one. Farnsworth did not tell Hamilton or any other person aboutwhat the priest had done to him, but nursed his sore ribs and hiswrath, waiting patiently for the revenge that he meant soon to take.
Alice heard from Adrienne the story of Farnsworth's conduct and hishumiliating discomfiture at the hands of Father Beret. She was bothindignant and delighted, sympathizing with Adrienne and glorying in thepriest's vigorous pugilistic achievement.
"Well," she remarked, with one of her infectious trills of laughter,"so far the French have the best of it, anyway! Papa Roussillon knockedthe Governor's cheek nearly off, then Rene cracked the Irish Corporal'shead, and now Father Beret has taught Captain Farnsworth a lesson infisticuffs that he'll not soon forget! If the good work can only go ona little longer we shall see every English soldier in Vincennes wearingthe mark of a Frenchman's blow." Then her mood suddenly changed fromsmiling lightness to almost fierce gravity, and she added:
"Adrienne Bourcier, if Captain Farnsworth ever offers to treat me as hedid you, mark my words, I'll kill him--kill him, indeed I will! Youought to see me!"
"But he won't dare touch you," said Adrienne, looking at her friendwith round, admiring eyes. "He knows very well that you are not littleand timid like me. He'd be afraid of you."
"I wish he would try it. How I would love to shoot him into pieces, thehateful wretch! I wish he would."
The French inhabitants all, or nearly all, felt as Alice did; but atpresent they were helpless and dared not say or do anything against theEnglish. Nor was this feeling confined to the Creoles of Vincennes; ithad spread to most of the points where trading posts existed. Hamiltonfound this out too late to mend some of his mistakes; but he sethimself on the alert and organized scouting bodies of Indians underwhite officers to keep him informed as to the American movements inKentucky and along the Ohio. One of these bands brought in as captiveColonel Francis Vigo, of St. Louis, a Spaniard by birth, an American byadoption, a patriot to the core, who had large influence over bothIndians and Creoles in the Illinois country.
Colonel Vigo was not long held a prisoner. Hamilton dared notexasperate the Creoles beyond their endurance, for he knew that thesavages would closely sympathize with their friends of long standing,and this might lead to revolt and coalition against him,--a verydangerous possibility. Indeed, at least one of the great Indianchieftains had already frankly informed him that he and his tribe wereloyal to the Americans. Here was a dilemma requiring consummatediplomacy. Hamilton saw it, but he was not of a diplomatic temper orcharacter. With the Indians he used a demoralizing system of bribery,while toward the whites he was too often gruff, imperious, repellant.Helm understood the whole situation and was quick to take advantage ofit. His personal relations with Hamilton were easy and familiar, sothat he did not hesitate to give advice upon all occasions. Here hisjovial disposition helped him.
"You'd better let Vigo return to St. Louis," he said. They had a bowlof something hot steaming between them. "I know him. He's harmless ifyou don't rub him too hard the wrong way. He'll go back, if you treathim well, and tell Clark how strong you are here and how foolish itwould be to think of attacking you. Clark has but a handful of men,poorly supplied and tired with long, hard marches. If you'll think amoment you cannot fail to understand that you'd better be friends withthis man Vigo. He and Father Gibault and this old priest here, Beret,carry these Frenchmen in their pockets. I'm not on your side,understand, I'm an American, and I'd blow the whole of you to kingdomcome in a minute, if I could; but common sense is common sense all thesame. There's no good to you and no harm to Clark in mistreating, oreven holding this prisoner. What harm can he do you by going back toClark and telling him the whole truth? Clark knew everything longbefore Vigo reached here. Old Jazon, my best scout, left here the dayyou took possession, and you may bet he got to Kaskaskia in shortorder. He never fails. But he'll tell Clark to stay where he is, andVigo can do no more."
What effect Helm's bold and apparently artless talk had upon Hamilton'smind is not recorded; but the meager historical facts at command showthat Vigo was released and permitted to return under promise that hewould give no information to the enemy ON HIS WAY to Kaskaskia.
Doubtless this bit of careless diplomacy on the Governor's part didhave a somewhat soothing effect upon a large class of Frenchmen atVincennes; but Farnsworth quickly neutralized it to a serious extent bya foolish act while slightly under the influence of liquor.
He met Father Beret near Roussillon place, and feeling his ribs squirmat sight of the priest, he accosted him insolently, demandinginformation as to the whereabouts of the missing flag.
A priest may be good and true--Father Beret certainly was--and yet havethe strongest characteristics of a worldly man. This thing of beingbullied day after day, as had recently been the rule, generated nothingto aid in removing a refractory desire from the priest's heart--theworldly desire to repeat with great increment of force the punchagainst Famsworth's lower ribs.
"I order you, sir, to produce that rebel flag," said Farnsworth. "Youwill obey forthwith or take the consequences. I am no longer in thehumor to be trifled with. Do you understand?"
"I might be forced to obey you, if I could," said the priest, drawinghis robe about him; "but, as I have often told you, my son, I do notknow where the flag is or who took it. I do not even suspect any personof taking it. All that I know about it is the simple fact that it isgone."
Father Beret's manner and voice were very mild, but there must havebeen a hint of sturdy defiance somewhere in them. At all eventsFarnsworth was exasperated and fell into a white rage. Perhaps it wasthe liquor he had been drinking that made him suddenly desperate.
"You canting old fool!" he cried, "don't lie to me any longer; I won'thave it. Don't stand there grinning at me. Get that flag, or I'll makeyou."
"What is impossible, my son, is possible to God alone. Apud homines hocimpossible est, apud Deum autem omnia possibilia sunt."
"None of your Jesuit Latin or logic to me--I am not here to argue, butto command. Get that flag. Be in a hurry about it, sir."
He whipped out his sword, and in his half drunken eyes there gatheredthe dull film of murderous passion.
"Put up your weapon, Captain; you will not attack an unarmed priest.You are a soldier, and will not dare strike an old, defenceless man."
"But I will strike a black-robed and black-hearted French rebel. Getthat flag, you grinning fool!"
The two men stood facing each other. Father Beret's eyes did not stirfrom their direct, fearless gaze. What Farnsworth had called a grin wasa peculiar smile, not of merriment, a grayish flicker and a slightbackward wrinkling of the cheeks. The old man's arms were looselycrossed upon his sturdy breast.
"Strike if you must," he said very gently, very firmly. "I never yethave seen the man that could make me afraid." His speech was slightlysing-song in tone, as it would have been during a prayer or a blessing.
"Get the flag then!" raged Farnsworth, in whose veins the heat ofliquor was aided by an unreasoning choler.
"I cannot," said Father Beret.
"Then take the consequences!"
Farnsworth lifted his sword, not to thrust, but to strike with its flatside, and down it flashed with a noisy whack. Father Beret flung out anarm and deftly turned the blow aside. It was done so easily thatFarnsworth sprang back glaring and surprised.
"You old fool!" he cried, leveling his weapon for a direct lunge. "Youdevilish hypocrite!"
It was then that Father Beret turned deadly pale and swiftly crossedhimself. His face looked as if he saw something startling just beyondhis adversary. Possibly this sudden change of expression causedFarnsworth to hesitate for a mere point of time. Then there was theswish of a woman's skirts; a light step pattered on the frozen ground,and Alice sprang between the men, facing Farnsworth. As she did thissomething small and yellow,--th
e locket at her throat,--fell and rolledunder her feet. Nobody saw it.
In her hand she held an immense horse pistol, which she leveled in theCaptain's face, its flaring, bugle-shaped muzzle gaping not a yard fromhis nose. The heavy tube was as steady as if in a vise.
"Drop that sword!"
That was all she said; but her finger was pressing the trigger, and theflint in the backward slanting hammer was ready to click against thesteel. The leaden slugs were on the point of leaping forth.
"Drop that sword!"
The repetition seemed to close the opportunity for delay.
Farnsworth was on his guard in a twinkling. He set his jaw and utteredan ugly oath; then quick as lightning he struck sidewise at the pistolwith his blade. It was a move which might have taken a less alertperson than Alice unawares; but her training in sword-play was ready inher wrist and hand. An involuntary turn, the slightest imaginable, setthe heavy barrel of her weapon strongly against the blow, partlystopping it, and then the gaping muzzle spat its load of balls andslugs with a bellow that awoke the drowsy old village.
Farnsworth staggered backward, letting fall his sword. There was a rentin the clothing of his left shoulder. He reeled; the blood spun out;but he did not fall, although he grew white.
Alice stood gazing at him with a look on her face he would neverforget. It was a look that changed by wonderful swift gradations fromterrible hate to something like sweet pity. The instant she saw himhurt and bleeding, his countenance relaxing and pale, her heart failedher. She took a step toward him, her hand opened, and with a thud theheavy old pistol fell upon the ground beside her.
Father Beret sprang nimbly to sustain Farnsworth, snatching up thepistol as he passed around Alice.
"You are hurt, my son," he gently said, "let me help you." He passedhis arm firmly under that of Farnsworth, seeing that the Captain wasunsteady on his feet.
"Lean upon me. Come with me, Alice, my child, I will take him into thehouse."
Alice picked up the Captain's sword and led the way.
It was all done so quickly that Farnsworth, in his half dazedcondition, scarcely realized what was going on until he found himselfon a couch in the Roussillon home, his wound (a jagged furrow plowedout by slugs that the sword's blade had first intercepted) neatlydressed and bandaged, while Alice and the priest hovered over him busywith their careful ministrations.
Hamilton and Helm were, as usual, playing cards at the former'squarters when a guard announced that Mademoiselle Roussillon wished anaudience with the Governor.
"Bring the girl in," said Hamilton, throwing down his cards andscowling darkly.
"Now you'd better be wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove," remarkedHelm. "There is something up, and that gun-shot we heard awhile ago mayhave a good deal to do with it. At any rate, you'll find kindness yourbest card to play with Alice Roussillon just at the present stage ofthe game."
Of course they knew nothing of what had happened to Farnsworth; butthey had been discussing the strained relations between the garrisonand the French inhabitants when the roar of Alice's big-mouthed pistolstartled them. Helm was slyly beating about to try to make Hamiltonlose sight of the danger from Clark's direction. To do this he artfullymagnified the insidious work that might be done by the French and theirIndian friends should they be driven to desperation by oppressive orexasperating action on the part of the English.
Hamilton felt the dangerous uncertainty upon which the situationrested; but, like many another vigorously self-reliant man, he couldnot subordinate his passions to the dictates of policy. When Alice wasconducted into his presence he instantly swelled with anger. It was herfather who had struck him and escaped, it was she who had carried offthe rebel flag at the moment of victory.
"Well, Miss, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" he demandedwith a supercilious air, bending a card between his thumb and finger onthe rude table.
She stood before him tall and straight, well bundled in furs. She wasnot pale; her blood was too rich and brilliant for that; but despite ahalf-smile and the inextinguishable dimples, there was a touch ofsomething appealingly pathetic in the lines of her mouth. She did notwaver or hesitate, however, but spoke promptly and distinctly.
"I have come, Monsieur, to tell you that I have hurt CaptainFarnsworth. He was about to kill Father Beret, and I shot him. He is inour house and well cared for. I don't think his wound is bad. And--"here she hesitated at last and let her gaze fall,--"so here I am." Thenshe lifted her eyes again and made an inimitable French gesture withher shoulders and arms. "You will do as you please, Monsieur, I am atyour mercy."
Hamilton was astounded. Helm sat staring phlegmatically. MeantimeBeverley entered the room and stopped hat in hand behind Alice. He wasflushed and evidently excited; in fact, he had heard of the troublewith Farnsworth, and seeing Alice enter the floor of Hamilton'squarters he followed her in, his heart stirred by no slight emotion. Hemet the Governor's glare and parried it with one of equal haughtiness.The veins on his forehead swelled and turned dark. He was in a mood todo whatever desperate act should suggest itself.
When Hamilton fairly comprehended the message so graphically presentedby Alice, he rose from his seat by the fire.
"What's this you tell me?" he blurted. "You say you've shot CaptainFarnsworth?"
"Oui, Monsieur."
He stared a moment, then his features beamed with hate.
"And I'll have you shot for it, Miss, as sure as you stand there inyour silly impudence ogling me so brazenly!"
He leaned toward her as he spoke and sent with the words a shock ofcoarse, passionate energy from which she recoiled as if expecting ablow to follow it.
An irresistible impulse swept Beverley to Alice's side, and hisattitude was that of a protector. Helm sprang up.
A Lieutenant came in and respectfully, but with evident over-haste,reported that Captain Farnsworth had been shot and was at Roussillonplace in care of the surgeon.
"Take this girl into custody. Confine her and put a strong guard overher."
In giving the order Hamilton jerked his thumb contemptuously towardAlice, and at the same time gave Beverley a look of supreme defianceand hatred. When Helm began to speak he turned fiercely upon him andstopped him with:
"None of your advice, sir. I have had all I want of it. Keep your placeor I'll make you."
Then to Beverley:
"Retire, sir. When I wish to see you I'll send for you. At present youare not needed here."
The English Lieutenant saluted his commander, bowed respectfully toAlice and said:
"Come with me, Miss, please."
Helm and Beverley exchanged a look of helpless and enquiring rage. Itwas as if they had said: "What can we do? Must we bear it?" Certainlythey could do nothing. Any interference on their part would be sure toincrease Alice's danger, and at the same time add to the weight oftheir own humiliation.
Alice silently followed the officer out of the room. She did not evenglance toward Beverley, who moved as if to interfere and was promptlymotioned back by the guard. His better judgement returning held himfrom a rash and futile act, until Hamilton spoke again, saying loudlyas Alice passed through the door:
"I'll see who's master of this town if I have to shoot every Frenchhoyden in it!"
"Women and children may well fear you, Colonel Hamilton," saidBeverley. "That young lady is your superior."
"You say that to me, sir!"
"It is the best I could possibly say of you."
"I will send you along with the wench if you do not guard yourlanguage. A prisoner on parole has no license to be a blackguard."
"I return you my parole, sir, I shall no longer regard it as binding,"said Beverley, by a great effort, holding back a blow; "I will not keepfaith with a scoundrel who does not know how to be decent in thepresence of a young girl. You had better have me arrested and confined.I will escape at the first opportunity and bring a force here to reckonwith you for your villainy. And if you dare hurt Alice Roussillon Iwill have yo
u hanged like a dog!"
Hamilton looked at him scornfully, smiling as one who feels safe in hisauthority and means to have his own way with his victim. Naturally heregarded Beverley's words as the merest vaporings of a helpless andexasperated young man. He saw very clearly that love was having a handin the affair, and he chuckled inwardly, thinking what a fool Beverleywas.
"I thought I ordered you to leave this room," he said with an air andtone of lofty superiority, "and I certainly mean to be obeyed. Go, sir,and if you attempt to escape, or in any way break your parole, I'llhave you shot."
"I have already broken it. From this moment I shall not regard it. Youhave heard my statement. I shall not repeat it. Govern yourselfaccordingly."
With these words Beverley turned and strode out of the house, quitebeside himself, his whole frame quivering.
Hamilton laughed derisively, then looked at Helm and said:
"Helm, I like you; I don't wish to be unkind to you; but positively youmust quit breaking in upon my affairs with your ready-made advice. I'vegiven you and Lieutenant Beverley too much latitude, perhaps. If thatyoung fool don't look sharp he'll get himself into a beastly lot oftrouble. You'd better give him a talk. He's in a way to need it justnow."
"I think so myself," said Helm, glad to get back upon fair footing withthe irascible Governor. "I'll wait until he cools off somewhat, andthen I can manage him. Leave him to me."
"Well, come walk with me to see what has really happened to Farnsworth.He's probably not much hurt, and deserves what he's got. That girl hasturned his head. I think I understand the whole affair. A little love,a little wine, some foolishness, and the wench shot him."
Helm genially assented; but they were delayed for some time by anofficer who came in to consult with Hamilton on some pressing Indianaffairs. When they reached Roussillon place they met Beverley comingout; but he did not look at them. He was scarcely aware of them. Alittle way outside the gate, on going in, he had picked up Alice'slocket and broken chain, which he mechanically put into his pocket. Itwas all like a dream to him, and yet he had a clear purpose. He wasgoing away from Vincennes, or at least he would try, and woe be toHamilton on his coming back. It was so easy for an excited young mindto plan great things and to expect success under apparently impossibleconditions. Beverley gave Jean a note for Alice; it was this that tookhim to Roussillon place; and no sooner fell the night than heshouldered a gun furnished him by Madame Godere, and guided by thewoodsman's fine craft, stole away southward, thinking to swim the icyWabash some miles below, and then strike across the plains of Illinoisto Kaskaskia.
It was a desperate undertaking; but in those days desperateundertakings were rather the rule than the exception. Moreover, lovewas the leader and Beverley the blind follower. Nothing could daunt himor turn him back, until he found an army to lead against Hamilton. Itseems but a romantic burst of indignation, as we look back at it,hopelessly foolish, with no possible end but death in the wilderness.Still there was a method in love's madness, and Beverley, with hissuperb physique, his knowledge of the wilderness and his indomitableself-reliance, was by no means without his fighting chance for success.
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