BOOK III. LOUISIANA
CHAPTER I. THE RIGHTS OF MAN
Were these things which follow to my thinking not extraordinary, Ishould not write them down here, nor should I have presumed to skipnearly five years of time. For indeed almost five years had gone bysince the warm summer night when I rode into New Orleans with Mrs.Temple. And in all that time I had not so much as laid eyes on my cousinand dearest friend, her son. I searched New Orleans for him in vain, andlearned too late that he had taken passage on a packet which had droppeddown the river the next morning, bound for Charleston and New York.
I have an instinct that this is not the place to relate in detail whatoccurred to me before leaving New Orleans. Suffice it to say that Imade my way back through the swamps, the forests, the cane-brakes of theIndian country, along the Natchez trail to Nashville, across the barrensto Harrodstown in Kentucky, where I spent a week in that cabin which hadso long been for me a haven of refuge. Dear Polly Ann! She hugged me asthough I were still the waif whom she had mothered, and wept overthe little presents which I had brought the children. Harrodstown waschanged, new cabins and new faces met me at every turn, and Tom, moredisgruntled than ever, had gone a-hunting with Mr. Boone far into thewilderness.
I went back to Louisville to take up once more the struggle forpractice, and I do not intend to charge so much as a page with what maybe called the even tenor of my life. I was not a man to get into troubleon my own account. Louisville grew amazingly; white frame houses werebuilt, and even brick ones. And ere Kentucky became a State, in 1792, Ihad gone as delegate to more than one of the Danville Conventions.
Among the nations, as you know, a storm raged, and the great swells fromthat conflict threatened to set adrift and wreck the little republic butnewly launched. The noise of the tramping of great armies across theOld World shook the New, and men in whom the love of fierce fighting wasborn were stirred to quarrel among themselves. The Rights of Man! Howmany wrongs have been done under that clause! The Bastille stormed; theSwiss Guard slaughtered; the Reign of Terror, with its daily processionof tumbrels through the streets of Paris; the murder of that amiableand well-meaning gentleman who did his best to atone for the sins of hisancestors; the fearful months of waiting suffered by his Queen beforeshe, too, went to her death. Often as I lighted my candle of an eveningin my little room to read of these things so far away, I would drop myKentucky Gazette to think of a woman whose face I remembered, to wondersadly whether Hélène de St. Gré were among the lists. In her, I wassure, was personified that courage for which her order will go downeternally through the pages of history, and in my darker moments Ipictured her standing beside the guillotine with a smile that hauntedme.
The hideous image of that strife was reflected amongst our own people.Budget after budget was hurried by the winds across the sea. And swiftcouriers carried the news over the Blue Wall by the Wilderness Trail(widened now), and thundered through the little villages of the BlueGrass country to the Falls. What interest, you will say, could thepioneer lawyers and storekeepers and planters have in the FrenchRevolution? The Rights of Man! Down with kings! General Washington andMr. Adams and Mr. Hamilton might sigh for them, but they were notfor the free-born pioneers of the West. Citizen was the proper termnow,--Citizen General Wilkinson when that magnate came to town,resplendent in his brigadier’s uniform. It was thought that Mr.Wilkinson would plot less were he in the army under the watchful eye ofhis superiors. Little they knew him! Thus the Republic had a reward foradroitness, for treachery, and treason. But what reward had it for thelonely, embittered, stricken man whose genius and courage had gained forit the great Northwest territory? What reward had the Republic forhim who sat brooding in his house above the Falls--for Citizen GeneralClark?
In those days you were not a Federalist or a Democrat, you were anAristocrat or a Jacobin. The French parties were our parties; theFrench issue, our issue. Under the patronage of that saint of AmericanJacobinism, Thomas Jefferson, a Jacobin society was organized inPhiladelphia,--special guardians of Liberty. And flying on the Marchwinds over the mountains the seed fell on the black soil of Kentucky:Lexington had its Jacobin society, Danville and Louisville likewisetheir patrons and protectors of the Rights of Mankind. Federalists werenot guillotined in Kentucky in the summer of 1793, but I might mentionmore than one who was shot.
In spite of the Federalists, Louisville prospered, and incidentally Iprospered in a mild way. Mr. Crede, behind whose store I still lived,was getting rich, and happened to have an affair of some importance inPhiladelphia. Mr. Wharton was kind enough to recommend a young lawyerwho had the following virtues: he was neither handsome nor brilliant,and he wore snuff-colored clothes. Mr. Wharton also did me the honor tosay that I was cautious and painstaking, and had a habit of tiringout my adversary. Therefore, in the early summer of 1793, I went toPhiladelphia. At that time, travellers embarking on such a journey wereprayed over as though they were going to Tartary. I was absent fromLouisville near a year, and there is a diary of what I saw and feltand heard on this trip for the omission of which I will be thanked. Thegreat news of that day which concerns the world--and incidentally thisstory--was that Citizen Genêt had landed at Charleston.
Citizen Genêt, Ambassador of the great Republic of France to the litleRepublic of America, landed at Charleston, acclaimed by thousands, andlost no time. Scarcely had he left that city ere American privateers hadslipped out of Charleston harbor to prey upon the commerce of the hatedMistress of the Sea. Was there ever such a march of triumph as that ofthe Citizen Ambassador northward to the capital? Everywhere toasted andfeasted, Monsieur Genêt did not neglect the Rights of Man, forwithout doubt the United States was to declare war on Britain withina fortnight. Nay, the Citizen Ambassador would go into the halls ofCongress and declare war himself if that faltering Mr. Washingtonrefused his duty. Citizen Genêt organized his legions as he went along,and threw tricolored cockades from the windows of his carriage. And athis glorious entry into Philadelphia (where I afterwards saw the greatman with my own eyes), Mr. Washington and his Federal-Aristocratstrembled in their boots.
It was late in April, 1794, when I reached Pittsburg on my homewardjourney and took passage down the Ohio with a certain Captain Wendell ofthe army, in a Kentucky boat. I had known the Captain in Louisville, forhe had been stationed at Fort Finney, the army post across the Ohio fromthat town, and he had come to Pittsburg with a sergeant to fetch downthe river some dozen recruits. This was a most fortunate circumstancefor me, and in more ways than one. Although the Captain was a gruff andblunt man, grizzled and weather-beaten, a woman-hater, he could be adelightful companion when once his confidence was gained; and as wedrifted in the mild spring weather through the long reaches between thepasses he talked of Trenton and Brandywine and Yorktown. There was morethan one bond of sympathy between us, for he worshipped Washington,detested the French party, and had a hatred for “filthy Democrats”second to none I have ever encountered.
We stopped for a few days at Fort Harmar, where the Muskingum paysits tribute to the Ohio, built by the Federal government to hold theterritory which Clark had won. And leaving that hospitable place we tookup our journey once more in the very miracle-time of the spring. Thesunlight was like amber-crystal, the tall cottonwoods growing by thewater-side flaunted a proud glory of green, the hills behind them thatformed the first great swells of the sea of the wilderness were clothedin a thousand sheens and shaded by the purple budding of the oaks andwalnuts on the northern slopes. On the yellow sandbars flocks of geesesat pluming in the sun, or rose at our approach to cast fleeting shadowson the water, their honk-honks echoing from the hills. Here and therea hawk swooped down from the azure to break the surface and bear off awriggling fish that gleamed like silver, and at eventide we would see atthe brink an elk or doe, with head poised, watching us as we drifted.We passed here and there a lonely cabin, to set my thoughts wanderingbackwards to my youth, and here and there in the dimples of the hillslittle clusters of white and brown houses, one day to bec
ome marts ofthe Republic.
My joy at coming back at this golden season to a country I loved wastempered by news I had heard from Captain Wendell, and which I haddiscussed with the officers at Fort Harmar. The Captain himself hadbroached the subject one cool evening, early in the journey, as wesat over the fire in our little cabin. He had been telling me aboutBrandywine, but suddenly he turned to me with a kind of fierce gesturethat was natural to the man.
“Ritchie,” he said, “you were in the Revolution yourself. You helpedClark to capture that country,” and he waved his hand towards thenorthern shore; “why the devil don’t you tell me about it?”
“You never asked me,” I answered.
He looked at me curiously.
“Well,” he said, “I ask you now.”
I began lamely enough, but presently my remembrance of the young man whoconquered all obstacles, who compelled all men he met to follow and obeyhim, carried me strongly into the narrative. I remembered him, quiet,self-contained, resourceful, a natural leader, at twenty-five a bulwarkfor the sorely harried settlers of Kentucky; the man whose clear visionalone had perceived the value of the country north of the Ohio to theRepublic, who had compelled the governor and council of Virginia to seeit likewise. Who had guarded his secret from all men, who in the faceof fierce opposition and intrigue had raised a little army to followhim--they knew not where. Who had surprised Kaskaskia, cowed the tribesof the North in his own person, and by sheer force of will drew afterhim and kept alive a motley crowd of men across the floods and throughthe ice to Vincennes.
We sat far into the night, the Captain listening as I had never seena man listen. And when at length I had finished he was for a longtime silent, and then he sprang to his feet with an oath that woke thesleeping soldiers forward and glared at me.
“My God!” he cried, “it is enough to make a man curse his uniform tothink that such a man as Wilkinson wears it, while Clark is left to rot,to drink himself under the table from disappointment, to plot with thedamned Jacobins--”
“To plot!” I cried, starting violently in my turn.
The Captain looked at me in astonishment.
“How long have you been away from Louisville?” he asked.
“It will be a year,” I answered.
“Ah,” said the Captain, “I will tell you. It is more than a year sinceClark wrote Genêt, since the Ambassador bestowed on him a general’scommission in the army of the French Republic.”
“A general’s commission!” I exclaimed. “And he is going to France?” Thenation which had driven John Paul Jones from its service was now to loseGeorge Rogers Clark!
“To France!” laughed the Captain. “No, this is become France enough.He is raising in Kentucky and in the Cumberland country an army with acursed, high-sounding name. Some of his old Illinois scouts--McChesney,whom you mentioned, for one--have been collecting bear’s meat andvenison hams all winter. They are going to march on Louisiana andconquer it for the French Republic, for Liberty, Equality--the Rights ofMan, anything you like.”
“On Louisiana!” I repeated; “what has the Federal government beendoing?”
The Captain winked at me and sat down.
“The Federal government is supine, a laughing-stock--so our friends theJacobins say, who have been shouting at Mr. Easton’s tavern all winter.Nay, they declare that all this country west of the mountains, too,will be broken off and set up into a republic, and allied with that mostglorious of all republics, France. Believe me, the Jacobins have notbeen idle, and there have been strange-looking birds of French plumagedodging between the General’s house at Clarksville and the Bear Grass.”
I was silent, the tears almost forcing themselves to my eyes at thepathetic sordidness of what I had heard.
“It can come to nothing,” continued the Captain, in a changed voice.“General Clark’s mind is unhinged by--disappointment. Mad Anthony ¹ isnot a man to be caught sleeping, and he has already attended to a littleexpedition from the Cumberland. Mad Anthony loves the General, as we alldo, and the Federal government is wiser than the Jacobins think. It maynot be necessary to do anything.” Captain Wendell paused, and lookedat me fixedly. “Ritchie, General Clark likes you, and you have neveroffended him. Why not go to his little house in Clarksville when you getto Louisville and talk to him plainly, as I know you can? Perhaps youmight have some influence.”
¹ General Wayne of Revolutionary fame was then in command of thatdistrict.
I shook my head sadly.
“I intend to go,” I answered, “but I will have no influence.”
CHAPTER II. THE HOUSE ABOVE THE FALLS
It was May-day, and shortly after dawn we slipped into the quiet waterwhich is banked up for many miles above the Falls. The Captain and I satforward on the deck, breathing deeply the sharp odor which comes fromthe wet forest in the early morning, listening to the soft splash of theoars, and watching the green form of Eighteen Mile Island as it gentlydrew nearer and nearer. And ere the sun had risen greatly we had passedTwelve Mile Island, and emerging from the narrow channel which dividesSix Mile Island from the northern shore, we beheld, on its terrace abovethe Bear Grass, Louisville shining white in the morning sun. Majestic inits mile of width, calm, as though gathering courage, the river seemedto straighten for the ordeal to come, and the sound of its waters cryingover the rocks far below came faintly to my ear and awoke memories of aday gone by. Fearful of the suck, we crept along the Indian shore untilwe counted the boats moored in the Bear Grass, and presently above thetrees on our right we saw the Stars and Stripes floating from the logbastion of Fort Finney. And below the fort, on the gentle sunny slope tothe river’s brink, was spread the green garden of the garrison, with itssprouting vegetables and fruit trees blooming pink and white.
We were greeted by a company of buff and blue officers at the landing,and I was bidden to breakfast at their mess, Captain Wendell promisingto take me over to Louisville afterwards. He had business in the town,and about eight of the clock we crossed the wide river in one of thebarges of the fort and made fast at the landing in the Bear Grass. Butno sooner had we entered the town than we met a number of countrypeople on horseback, with their wives and daughters--ay, andsweethearts--perched up behind them: the men mostly in butternut linseyhunting shirts and trousers, slouch hats, and red handkerchiefs stuckinto their bosoms; the women marvellously pretty and fresh in stiffcotton gowns and Quaker hats, and some in crimped caps with ribbonsneatly tied under the chin. Before Mr. Easton’s tavern Joe Handy,the fiddler, was reeling off a few bars of “Hey, Betty Martin” to thefamiliar crowd of loungers under the big poplar.
“It’s Davy Ritchie!” shouted Joe, breaking off in the middle of thetune; “welcome home, Davy. Ye’re jest in time for the barbecue on theisland.”
“And Cap Wendell! Howdy, Cap!” drawled another, a huge, long-haired,sallow, dirty fellow. But the Captain only glared.
“Damn him!” he said, after I had spoken to Joe and we had passed on, “heought to be barbecued; he nearly bit off Ensign Barry’s nose a couple ofmonths ago. Barry tried to stop the beast in a gouging fight.”
The bright morning, the shady streets, the homelike frame and loghouses, the old-time fragrant odor of corn-pone wafted out of the opendoorways, the warm greetings,--all made me happy to be back again.Mr. Crede rushed out and escorted us into his cool store, and while hewaited on his country customers bade his negro brew a bowl of toddy, atthe mention of which Mr. Bill Whalen, chief habitué, roused himself froma stupor on a tobacco barrel. Presently the customers, having indulgedin the toddy, departed for the barbecue, the Captain went to the fort,and Mr. Crede and myself were left alone to talk over the business whichhad sent me to Philadelphia.
At four o’clock, having finished my report and dined with my client, Iset out for Clarksville, for Mr. Crede had told me, among other things,that the General was there. Louisville was deserted, the tavern porchvacant; but tacked on the logs beside the door was a printed bill whichdrew my curiosity. I stopped, c
aught by a familiar name in large type atthe head of it.
“GEORGE R. CLARK, ESQUIRE,
“MAJOR-GENERAL IN THE ARMIES OF FRANCE AND COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONARY LEGION ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.
“Proposals
“For raising volunteers for the reduction of the Spanish posts on theMississippi, for opening the trade of the said river and giving freedomto all its inhabitants--”
I had got so far when I heard a noise of footsteps within, and Mr.Easton himself came out, in his shirt-sleeves.
“By cricky, Davy,” said he, “I’m right glad ter see ye ag’in. Readin’the General’s bill, are ye? Tarnation, I reckon Washington and all hisEuropean fellers east of the mountains won’t be able ter hold us backthis time. I reckon we’ll gallop over Louisiany in the face of allthe Spaniards ever created. I’ve got some new whiskey I ‘low will sinktallow. Come in, Davy.”
As he took me by the arm, a laughter and shouting came from the backroom.
“It’s some of them Frenchy fellers come over from Knob Licks. They’rein it,” and he pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the proclamation,“and thar’s one young American among ‘em who’s a t’arer. Come in.”
I drank a glass of Mr. Easton’s whiskey, and asked about the General.
“He stays over thar to Clarksville pretty much,” said Mr. Easton. “Tharain’t quite so much walkin’ araound ter do,” he added significantly.
I made my way down to the water-side, where Jake Landrasse sat alone onthe gunwale of a Kentucky boat, smoking a clay pipe as he fished. Ihad to exercise persuasion to induce Jake to paddle me across, whichhe finally agreed to do on the score of old friendship, and he declaredthat the only reason he was not at the barbecue was because he waswaiting to take a few gentlemen to see General Clark. I agreed to paythe damages if he were late in returning for these gentlemen, and soonhe was shooting me with pulsing strokes across the lake-like expansetowards the landing at Fort Finney. Louisville and the fort were justabove the head of the Falls, and the little town of Clarksville, whichClark had founded, at the foot of them. I landed, took the road that ledparallel with the river through the tender green of the woods, and asI walked the mighty song which the Falls had sung for ages to theWilderness rose higher and higher, and the faint spray seemed to bewafted through the forest and to hang in the air like the odor of asummer rain.
It was May-day. The sweet, caressing note of the thrush mingled with themusic of the water, the dogwood and the wild plum were in festal array;but my heart was heavy with thinking of a great man who had cheapenedhimself. At length I came out upon a clearing where fifteen log housesmarked the grant of the Federal government to Clark’s regiment. Perchedon a tree-dotted knoll above the last spasm of the waters in theirtwo-mile race for peace, was a two-storied log house with a little,square porch in front of the door. As I rounded the corner of the houseand came in sight of the porch I halted--by no will of my own--atthe sight of a figure sunken in a wooden chair. It was that of my oldColonel. His hands were folded in front of him, his eyes were fixed butdimly on the forests of the Kentucky shore across the water; his hair,uncared for, fell on the shoulders of his faded blue coat, and thestained buff waistcoat was unbuttoned. For he still wore unconsciouslythe colors of the army of the American Republic.
“General!” I said.
He started, got to his feet, and stared at me.
“Oh, it’s--it’s Davy,” he said. “I--I was expecting--some friends--Davy.What--what’s the matter, Davy?”
“I have been away. I am glad to see you again, General.”
“Citizen General, sir, Major-general in the army of the French Republicand Commander-in-chief of the French Revolutionary Legion on theMississippi.”
“You will always be Colonel Clark to me, sir,” I answered.
“You--you were the drummer boy, I remember, and strutted in front of theregiment as if you were the colonel. Egad, I remember how you fooled theKaskaskians when you told them we were going away.” He looked at me, buthis eyes were still fixed on the point beyond. “You were always olderthan I, Davy. Are you married?”
In spite of myself, I laughed as I answered this question.
“You are as canny as ever,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.“Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,--they are only possible for thebachelor.” Hearing a noise, he glanced nervously in the direction of thewoods, only to perceive his negro carrying a pail of water. “I--I wasexpecting some friends,” he said. “Sit down, Davy.”
“I hope I am not intruding, General,” I said, not daring to look at him.
“No, no, my son,” he answered, “you are always welcome. Did we notcampaign together? Did we not--shoot these very falls together on ourway to Kaskaskia?” He had to raise his voice above the roar of thewater. “Faith, well I remember the day. And you saved it, Davy,--you, alittle gamecock, a little worldly-wise hop-o’-my-thumb, eh? Hamilton’sscalp hanging by a lock, egad--and they frightened out of their fivewits because it was growing dark.” He laughed, and suddenly becamesolemn again. “There comes a time in every man’s life when it growsdark, Davy, and then the cowards are afraid. They have no friends whosehands they can reach out and feel. But you are my friend. You rememberthat you said you would always be my friend? It--it was in the fort atVincennes.”
“I remember, General.”
He rose from the steps, buttoned his waistcoat, and straightened himselfwith an effort. He looked at me impressively.
“You have been a good friend indeed, Davy, a faithful friend,” he said.“You came to me when I was sick, you lent me money,”--he waved aside myprotest. “I am happy to say that I shall soon be in a position to repayyou, to reward you. My evil days are over, and I spurn that governmentwhich spurned me, for the honor and glory of which I founded thatcity,”--he pointed in the direction of Louisville,--“for the power andwealth of which I conquered this Northwest territory. Listen! I amnow in the service of a republic where the people have rights, Iam Commander-in-chief of the French Revolutionary Legion on theMississippi. Despite the supineness of Washington, the American nationwill soon be at war with Spain. But my friends--and thank God theyare many--will follow me--they will follow me to Natchez and NewOrleans,--ay, even to Santa Fé and Mexico if I give the word. The Westis with me, and for the West I shall win the freedom of the Mississippi.For France and Liberty I shall win back again Louisiana, and then Ishall be a Maréchal de Camp.”
I could not help thinking of a man who had not been wont to speak of hisintentions, who had kept his counsel for a year before Kaskaskia.
“I need my drummer boy, Davy,” he said, his face lighting up, “but hewill not be a drummer boy now. He will be a trusted officer of highrank, mind you. Come,” he cried, seizing me by the arm, “I will writethe commission this instant. But hold! you read French,--I rememberthe day Father Gibault gave you your first lesson.” He fumbled in hispocket, drew out a letter, and handed it to me. “This is from CitizenMichaux, the famous naturalist, the political agent of the FrenchRepublic. Read what he has written me.”
I read, I fear in a faltering voice:--
“Citoyen Général:
“Un homme qui a donné des preuves de son amour pour la Liberté et de sahaine pour le despotisme ne devait pas s’adresser en vain au ministre dela République française. Général, il est temps que les Américains libresde l’Ouest soient débarassés d’un ennemie aussi injuste que méprisable.”
When I had finished I glanced at the General, but he seemed not to beheeding me. The sun was setting above the ragged line of forest, and ablue veil was spreading over the tumbling waters. He took me by the armand led me into the house, into a bare room that was all awry. Maps hungon the wall, beside them the General’s new commission, rudely framed.Among the littered papers on the table were two whiskey bottles andseveral glasses, and strewn about were a number of chairs, the armsof which had been whittled by the General’s guests. Across the roughmantel-shelf was draped the Frenc
h tricolor, and before the fireplace onthe puncheons lay a huge bearskin which undoubtedly had not beenshaken for a year. Picking up a bottle, the General poured out generoushelpings in two of the glasses, and handed one to me.
“The mists are bad, Davy,” said he; “I--I cannot afford to get the fevernow. Let us drink success to the army of the glorious Republic, France.”
“Let us drink first, General,” I said, “to the old friendship betweenus.”
“Good!” he cried. Tossing off his liquor, he set down the glass andbegan what seemed a fruitless search among the thousand papers on thetable. But at length, with a grunt of satisfaction, he produced a formand held it under my eyes. At the top of the sheet was that much-abusedand calumniated lady, the Goddess of Liberty.
“Now,” he said, drawing up a chair and dipping his quill into an almostdepleted ink-pot, “I have decided to make you, David Ritchie, with fullconfidence in your ability and loyalty to the rights of liberty andmankind, a captain in the Legion on the Mississippi.”
I crossed the room swiftly, and as he put his pen to paper I laid myhand on his arm.
“General, I cannot,” I said. I had seen from the first the futility oftrying to dissuade him from the expedition, and I knew now that it wouldnever come off. I was willing to make almost any sacrifice rather thanoffend him, but this I could not allow. The General drew himself up inhis chair and stared at me with a flash of his old look.
“You cannot?” he repeated; “you have affairs to attend to, I take it.”
I tried to speak, but he rode me down.
“There is money to be made in that prosperous town of Louisville.” Hedid not understand the pain which his words caused me. He rose and laidhis hands affectionately on my shoulders. “Ah, Davy, commerce makes aman timid. Do you forget the old days when I was the father and you theson? Come! I will make you a fortune undreamed of, and you shall be myfianancier once more.”
“I had not thought of the money, General,” I answered, “and I havealways been ready to leave my business to serve a friend.”
“There, there,” said the General, soothingly, “I know it. I would notoffend you. You shall have the commission, and you may come when itpleases you.”
He sat down again to write, but I restrained him.
“I cannot go, General,” I said.
“Thunder and fury,” cried the General, “a man might think you were aweak-kneed Federalist.” He stared at me, and stared again, and rose andrecoiled a step. “My God,” he said, “you cannot be a Federalist, youcan’t have marched to Kaskaskia and Vincennes, you can’t have been afriend of mine and have seen how the government of the United States hastreated me, and be a Federalist!”
It was an argument and an appeal which I had foreseen, yet which I knewnot how to answer. Suddenly there came, unbidden, his own counsel whichhe had given me long ago, “Serve the people, as all true men should in aRepublic, but do not rely upon their gratitude.” This man had bidden meremember that.
“General,” I said, trying to speak steadily, “it was you who gave me myfirst love for the Republic. I remember you as you stood on the heightsabove Kaskaskia waiting for the sun to go down, and you reminded me thatit was the nation’s birthday. And you said that our nation was to be arefuge of the oppressed of this earth, a nation made of all peoples, outof all time. And you said that the lands beyond,” and I pointed to theWest as he had done, “should belong to it until the sun sets on the seaagain.”
I glanced at him, for he was silent, and in my life I can recall nosadder moment than this. The General heard, but the man who had spokenthese words was gone forever. The eyes of this man before me were fixed,as it were, upon space. He heard, but he did not respond; for thespirit was gone. What I looked upon was the tortured body from which thegenius--the spirit I had worshipped--had fled. I turned away, only toturn back in anger.
“What do you know of this France for which you are to fight?” I cried.“Have you heard of the thousands of innocents who are slaughtered, ofthe women and children who are butchered in the streets in the name ofLiberty? What have those blood-stained adventurers to do with Liberty,what have the fish-wives who love the sight of blood to do with you thatwould fight for them? You warned me that this people and this governmentto which you have given so much would be ungrateful,--will the butchersand fish-wives be more grateful?”
He caught only the word grateful, and he rose to his feet with somethingof the old straightness and of the old power. And by evil chance hiseye, and mine, fell upon a sword hanging on the farther wall. Well Iremembered when he had received it, well I knew the inscription on itsblade, “Presented by the State of Virginia to her beloved son, GeorgeRogers Clark, who by the conquest of Illinois and St. Vincennes extendedher empire and aided in the defence of her liberties.” By evil chance,I say, his eye lighted on that sword. In three steps he crossed the roomto where it hung, snatched it from its scabbard, and ere I could preventhim he had snapped it across his knee and flung the pieces in a corner.
“So much for the gratitude of my country,” he said.
I had gone out on the little porch and stood gazing over the expanse offorest and waters lighted by the afterglow. Then I felt a hand upon myshoulder, I heard a familiar voice calling me by an old name.
“Yes, General!” I turned wonderingly.
“You are a good lad, Davy. I trust you,” he said. “I--I was expectingsome friends.”
He lifted a hand that was not too steady to his brow and scanned theroad leading to the fort. Even as he spoke four figures emerged from thewoods,--undoubtedly the gentlemen who had held the council at the innthat afternoon. We watched them in silence as they drew nearer, and thensomething in the walk and appearance of the foremost began to bother me.He wore a long, double-breasted, claret-colored redingote that fittedhis slim figure to perfection, and his gait was the easy gait of a manwho goes through the world careless of its pitfalls. So intently did Istare that I gave no thought to those who followed him. Suddenly, whenhe was within fifty paces, a cry escaped me,--I should have known thatsmiling, sallow, weakly handsome face anywhere in the world.
The gentleman was none other than Monsieur Auguste de St. Gré. Atthe foot of the steps he halted and swept his hand to his hat with amilitary salute.
“Citizen General,” he said gracefully, “we come and pay our respec’s toyou and mek our report, and ver’ happy to see you look well. Citoyens,Vive la République!--Hail to the Citizen General!”
“Vive la République! Vive le Général!” cried the three citizens behindhim.
“Citizens, you are very welcome,” answered the General, gravely, as hedescended the steps and took each of them by the hand. “Citizens, allowme to introduce to you my old friend, Citizen David Ritchie--”
“Milles diables!” cried the Citizen St. Gré, seizing me by the hand,“c’est mon cher ami, Monsieur Reetchie. Ver’ happy you have this honor,Monsieur;” and snatching his wide-brimmed military cocked hat from hishead he made me a smiling, sweeping bow.
“What!” cried the General to me, “you know the Sieur de St. Gré, Davy?”
“He is my guest once in Louisiane, mon général,” Monsieur Augusteexplained; “my family knows him.”
“You know the Sieur de St. Gré, Davy?” said the General again.
“Yes, I know him,” I answered, I fear with some brevity.
“Podden me,” said Auguste, “I am now Citizen Captain de St. Gré. Andyou are also embark in the glorious cause--Ah, I am happy,” he added,embracing me with a winning glance.
I was relieved from the embarrassment of denying the impeachment byreason of being introduced to the other notables, to Citizen CaptainSullivan, who wore an undress uniform consisting of a cotton butternuthunting shirt. He had charge on the Bear Grass of building the boats forthe expedition, and was likewise a prominent member of that augustbody, the Jacobin Society of Lexington. Next came Citizen QuartermasterDepeau, now of Knob Licks, Kentucky, sometime of New Orleans. TheCitizen Quarterma
ster wore his hair long in the backwoods fashion; hehad a keen, pale face and sunken eyes.
“Ver’ glad mek you known to me, Citizen Reetchie.”
The fourth gentleman was likewise French, and called Gignoux. TheCitizen Gignoux made some sort of an impression on me which I did notstop to analyze. He was a small man, with a little round hand thatwriggled out of my grasp; he had a big French nose, bright eyesthat popped a little and gave him the habit of looking sidewise, andgrizzled, chestnut eyebrows over them. He had a thin-lipped mouth and around chin.
“Citizen Reetchie, is it? I laik to know citizen’s name glorified bygran’ cause. Reetchie?”
“Will you enter, citizens?” said the General.
I do not know why I followed them unless it were to satisfy adevil-prompted curiosity as to how Auguste de St. Gré had got there.We went into the room, where the General’s slovenly negro was alreadylighting the candles and the General proceeded to collect and fill sixof the glasses on the table. It was Citizen Captain Sullivan who gavethe toast.
“Citizens,” he cried, “I give you the health of the foremost apostle ofLiberty in the Western world, the General who tamed the savage tribes,who braved the elements, who brought to their knees the minions of adespot king.” A slight suspicion of a hiccough filled this gap. “Castaside by an ungrateful government, he is still unfaltering in hisallegiance to the people. May he lead our Legion victorious through theSpanish dominions.”
“Vive la République!” they shouted, draining their glasses. “Vive lecitoyen général Clark!”
“Louisiana!” shouted Citizen Sullivan, warming, “Louisiana, groaningunder oppression and tyranny, is imploring us with uplifted hands. Tothose remaining veteran patriots whose footsteps we followed to thisdistant desert, and who by their blood and toil have converted it intoa smiling country, we now look. Under your guidance, Citizen General, wefought, we bled--”
How far the Citizen Captain would have gone is problematical. Ihad noticed a look of disgust slowly creeping into the CitizenQuartermaster’s eyes, and at this juncture he seized the Citizen Captainand thrust him into a chair.
“Sacré vent!” he exclaimed, “it is the proclamation--he recites theproclamation! I see he have participate in those handbill. Poof, theworld is to conquer,--let us not spik so much.”
“I give you one toast,” said the little Citizen Gignoux, slyly, “we allbring back one wife from Nouvelle Orléans!”
“Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gré, laughing, “the Citizen CaptainDepeau--he has already one wife in Nouvelle Orléans.” ¹
¹ It is unnecessary for the editor to remind the reader that these arenot Mr. Ritchie’s words, but those of an adventurer. Mr. Depeau was anhonest and worthy gentleman, earnest enough in a cause which was moreto his credit than to an American’s. According to contemporary evidence,Madame Depeau was in New Orleans.
The Citizen Quartermaster was angry at this, and it did not requireany great perspicacity on my part to discover that he did not love theCitizen de St. Gré.
“He is call in his country, Gumbo de St. Gré,” said Citizen Depeau. “Itis a deesh in that country. But to beesness, citizens,--we embark onglorious enterprise. The King and Queen of France, she pay for hertreason with their haids, and we must be prepare’ for do the sem.”
“Ha,” exclaimed the Sieur de St. Gré, “the Citizen Quartermaster willlose his provision before his haid.”
The inference was plain, and the Citizen Quartermaster was quick to takeit up.
“We are all among frien’s,” said he. “Why I call you Gumbo de St. Gré?When I come first settle in Louisiane you was wild man--yes. Drinktafia, fight duel, spend family money. Aristocrat then. No, I not holdmy tongue. You go France and Monsieur le Marquis de St. Gré he get youin gardes du corps of the King. Yes, I tell him. You tell the CitizenGeneral how come you Jacobin now, and we see if he mek you Captain.”
A murmur of surprise escaped from several of the company, and they allstared at the Sieur de St. Gré. But General Clark brought down hisfist on the table with something of his old-time vigor, and the glassesrattled.
“Gentlemen, I will have no quarrelling in my presence,” he cried; “andI beg to inform Citizen Depeau that I bestow my commissions where itpleases me.”
Auguste de St. Gré rose, flushing, to his feet. “Citizens,” he said,with a fluency that was easy for him, “I never mek secret of myhistory--no. It is true my relation, Monsieur le Marquis de St. Gré,bought me a pair of colors in the King’s gardes du corps.”
“And is it not truth you tremple the coackade, what I hear fromPhiladelphe?” cried Depeau.
Monsieur Auguste smiled with a patient tolerance.
“If you hev pains to mek inquiry,” said he, “you must learn that I joinle Marquis de La Fayette and the National Guard. That I have since fightfor the Revolution. That I am come now home to fight for Louisiane, asMonsieur Genêt will tell you whom I saw in Philadelphe.”
“The Citizen Capitaine--he spiks true.”
All eyes were turned towards Gignoux, who had been sitting back in hischair, very quiet.
“It is true what he say,” he repeated, “I have it by Monsieur Genêthimself.”
“Gentlemen,” said General Clark, “this is beside the question, and Iwill not have these petty quarrels. I may as well say to you now thatI have chosen the Citizen Captain to go at once to New Orleans andorganize a regiment among the citizens there faithful to France. Onaccount of his family and supposed Royalist tendencies he will not besuspected. I fear that a month at least has yet to elapse before ourexpedition can move.”
“It is one wise choice,” put in Monsieur Gignoux.
“Monsieur le général and gentlemen,” said the Sieur de St. Gré,gracefully, “I thank you ver’ much for the confidence. I leave by firstflatboat and will have all things stir up when you come. The citizens ofLouisiane await you. If necessair, we have hole in levee ready to cut.”
“Citizens,” interrupted General Clark, sitting down before the ink-pot,“let us hear the Quartermaster’s report of the supplies at Knob Licks,and Citizen Sullivan’s account of the boats. But hold,” he cried,glancing around him, “where is Captain Temple? I heard that he had cometo Louisville from the Cumberland to-day. Is he not going with you toNew Orleans, St. Gré?”
I took up the name involuntarily.
“Captain Temple,” I repeated, while they stared at me. “NicholasTemple?”
It was Auguste de St. Gré who replied.
“The sem,” he said. “I recall he was along with you in Nouvelle Orléans.He is at ze tavern, and he has had one gran’ fight, and he is ver’--I amsorry--intoxicate--”
I know not how I made my way through the black woods to Fort Finney,where I discovered Jake Landrasse and his canoe. The road was long,and yet short, for my brain whirled with the expectation of seeing Nickagain, and the thought of this poor, pathetic, ludicrous expeditioncompared to the sublime one I had known.
George Rogers Clark had come to this!
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