CHAPTER IX
THE HONORS OF WAR
Gaspard Roussillon was thoroughly acquainted with savage warfare, andhe knew all the pacific means so successfully and so long used byFrench missionaries and traders to control savage character; but theemergency now upon him was startling. It confused him. The fact that hehad taken a solemn oath of allegiance to the American government couldhave been pushed aside lightly enough upon pressing occasion, but heknew that certain confidential agents left in Vincennes by GovernorAbbott had, upon the arrival of Helm, gone to Detroit, and of coursethey had carried thither a full report of all that happened in thechurch of St. Xavier, when Father Gibault called the people together,and at the fort, when the British flag was hauled down and la banniered'Alice Roussillon run up in its place. His expansive imagination didfull credit to itself in exaggerating the importance of his part inhanding the post over to the rebels. And what would Hamilton think ofthis? Would he consider it treason? The question certainly bore atragic suggestion.
M. Roussillon lacked everything of being a coward, and treachery had norightful place in his nature. He was, however, so in the habit offighting windmills and making mountains of molehills that he could notat first glance see any sudden presentment with a normal vision. He hadno love for Englishmen and he did like Americans, but he naturallythought that Helm's talk of fighting Hamilton was, as his own wouldhave been in a like case, talk and nothing more. The fort could nothold out an hour, he well knew. Then what? Ah, he but too well realizedthe result.
Resistance would inflame the English soldiers and madden the Indians.There would be a massacre, and the belts of savages would sag withbloody scalps. He shrugged his shoulders and felt a chill creep up hisback.
The first thing M. Roussillon did was to see Father Beret and takecounsel of him; then he hurried home to dig a great pit under hiskitchen floor in which he buried many bales of fur and all his mostvaluable things. He worked like a giant beaver all night long. MeantimeFather Beret went about over the town quietly notifying the inhabitantsto remain in their houses until after the fort should surrender, whichhe was sure would happen the next day.
"You will be perfectly safe, my children," he said to them. "No harmcan come to you if you follow my directions."
Relying implicitly upon him, they scrupulously obeyed in everyparticular.
He did not think it necessary to call at Roussillon place, havingalready given M. Roussillon the best advice he could command.
Just at the earliest break of day, while yet the gloom of nightscarcely felt the sun's approach, a huge figure made haste along thenarrow streets in the northern part of the town. If any person had beenlooking out through the little holes, called windows, in those silentand rayless huts, it would have been easy to recognize M. Roussillon byhis stature and his gait, dimly outlined as he was. A thought, whichseemed to him an inspiration of genius, had taken possession of him andwas leading him, as if by the nose, straight away to Hamilton's lines.He was freighted with eloquence for the ear of that commander, and ashe strode along facing the crisp morning air he was rehearsing underhis breath, emphasizing his periods in tragic whispers with sweepinggestures and liberal facial contortions. So absorbed was he in hisoratorical soliloquy that he forgot due military precaution and ranplump into the face of a savage picket guard who, without respect forthe great M. Roussillon's dignity, sprang up before him, gruntedcavernously, flourished a tomahawk and spoke in excellent andexceedingly guttural Indian:
"Wah, surrender!"
It is probable that no man ever complied with a modest request in amore docile spirit than did M. Roussillon upon that occasion. In facthis promptness must have been admirable, for the savage gruntedapproval and straightway conducted him to Hamilton's headquarters on abatteau in the river.
The British commander, a hale man of sandy complexion and probablyunder middle age, was in no very pleasant humor. Some of his orders hadbeen misunderstood by the chief of his Indian allies, so that apremature exposure of his approach had been made to the enemy.
"Well, sir, who are you?" he gruffly demanded, when M. Roussillonloomed before him.
"I am Gaspard Roussillon, the Mayor of Vincennes," was the lofty reply."I have come to announce to you officially that my people greet youloyally and that my town is freely at your command." He felt asimportant as if his statements had been true.
"Humph, that's it, is it? Well, Mr. Mayor, you have my congratulations,but I should prefer seeing the military commander and accepting hissurrender. What account can you give me of the American forces, theirnumbers and condition?"
M. Roussillon winced, inwardly at least, under Hamilton's veryundeferential air and style of address. It piqued him cruelly to betreated as a person without the slightest claim to respect. He somehowforgot the rolling and rhythmical eloquence prepared for the occasion.
"The American commander naturally would not confide in me, Monsieur leGouverneur, not at all; we are not very friendly; he ousted me fromoffice, he offended me--" he was coughing and stammering.
"Oh, the devil! what do I care? Answer my question, sir," Hamiltongruffly interrupted. "Tell me the number of American troops at thefort, sir."
"I don't know exactly. I have not had admittance to the fort. I mightbe deceived as to numbers; but they're strong, I believe, Monsieur leGouverneur, at least they make a great show and much noise."
Hamilton eyed the huge bulk before him for a moment, then turning to asubaltern said:
"Place this fellow under guard and see that he doesn't get away. Sendword immediately to Captain Farnsworth that I wish to see him at once."
The interview thereupon closed abruptly. Hamilton's emissaries hadgiven him a detailed account of M. Roussillon's share in submittingVincennes to rebel dominion, and he was not in the least inclinedtoward treating him graciously.
"I would suggest to you, Monsieur le Gouverneur, that my officialposition demands--" M. Roussillon began; but he was fastened upon bytwo guards, who roughly hustled him aft and bound him so rigidly thathe could scarcely move finger or toe.
Hamilton smiled coldly and turned to give some orders to a stalwart,ruddy young officer who in a canoe had just rowed alongside the batteau.
"Captain Farnsworth," he said, acknowledging the military salute, "youwill take fifty men and make everything ready for a reconnaissance inthe direction of the fort. We will move down the river immediately andchoose a place to land. Move lively, we have no time to lose."
In the meantime Beverley slipped away from the fort and made a hurriedcall upon Alice at Roussillon place. There was not much they could sayto each other during the few moments at command. Alice showed verylittle excitement; her past experience had fortified her against thealarms of frontier life; but she understood and perfectly appreciatedthe situation.
"What are you going to do?" Beverley demanded in sheer despair. He wasnot able to see any gleam of hope out of the blackness which had fallenaround him and into his soul.
"What shall you do?" he repeated.
"Take the chances of war," she said, smiling gravely. "It will all comeout well, no doubt."
"I hope so, but--but I fear not."
His face was gray with trouble. "Helm is determined to fight, and thatmeans--"
"Good!" she interrupted with spirit. "I am so glad of that. I wish Icould go to help him! If I were a man I'd love to fight! I think it'sjust delightful."
"But it is reckless bravado; it is worse than foolishness," saidBeverley, not feeling her mood. "What can two or three men do againstan army?"
"Fight and die like men," she replied, her whole countenance lightingup. "Be heroic!"
"We will do that, of course; we--I do not fear death; but you--you--"His voice choked him.
A gun shot rang out clear in the distance, and he did not finishspeaking.
"That's probably the beginning," he added in a moment, extending bothhands to her. "Good bye. I must hurry to the fort. Good bye."
She drew a quick breath and turned so whit
e that her look struck himlike a sudden and hard blow. He stood for a second, his arms at fullreach, then:
"My God, Alice, I cannot, cannot leave you!" he cried, his voice againbreaking huskily.
She made a little movement, as if to take hold of his hands: but in aninstant she stepped back a pace and said:
"Don't fear about me. I can take care of myself. I'm all right. You'dbetter return to the fort as quickly as you can. It is your country,your flag, not me, that you must think of now."
She folded her arms and stood boldly erect.
Never before, in all his life, had he felt such a rebuke. He gave her astraight, strong look in the eyes.
"You are right, Alice." he cried, and rushed from the house to the fort.
She held her rigid attitude for a little while after she heard him shutthe front gate of the yard so forcibly that it broke in pieces, thenshe flung her arms wide, as if to clasp something, and ran to the door;but Beverley was out of sight. She turned and dropped into a chair.Jean came to her out of the next room. His queer little face was paleand pinched; but his jaw was set with the expression of one who hasknown danger and can meet it somehow.
"Are they going to scalp us?" he half whispered presently, with ashuddering lift of his distorted shoulders.
Her face was buried in her hands and she did not answer. Childlike heturned from one question to another inconsequently.
"Where did Papa Roussillon go to?" he next inquired. "Is he going tofight?"
She shook her head.
"They'll tear down the fort, won't they?"
If she heard him she did not make any sign.
"They'll kill the Captain and Lieutenant and get the fine flag that youset so high on the fort, won't they, Alice?"
She lifted her head and gave the cowering hunchback such a stare thathe shut his eyes and put up a hand, as if afraid of her. Then sheimpulsively took his little misshapen form in her arms and hugged itpassionately. Her bright hair fell all over him, almost hiding him.Madame Roussillon was lying on a bed in an adjoining room moaningdiligently, at intervals handling her rosary and repeating a prayer.The whole town was silent outside.
"Why don't you go get the pretty flag down and hide it before theycome?" Jean murmured from within the silken meshes of Alice's hair.
In his small mind the gaudy banner was the most beautiful of allthings. Every day since it was set up he had gone to gaze at it as itfluttered against the sky. The men had frequently said in his presencethat the enemy would take it down if they captured the fort.
Alice heard his inquisitive voice; but it seemed to come from far off;his words were a part of the strange, wild swirl in her bosom.Beverley's look, as he turned and left her, now shook every chord ofher being. He had gone to his death at her command. How strong and trueand brave he was! In her imagination she saw the flag above him, sawhim die like a panther at bay, saw the gay rag snatched down and tornto shreds by savage hands. It was the tragedy of a single moment,enacted in a flashlight of anticipation.
She released Jean so suddenly that he fell to the floor. She rememberedwhat she had said to Beverley on the night of the dance when they werestanding under the flag.
"You made it and set it up," he lightly remarked; "you must see that noenemy ever gets possession of it, especially the English."
"I'll take it down and hide it when there's danger of that," she saidin the same spirit.
And now she stood there looking at Jean, without seeing him, andrepeated the words under her breath.
"I'll take it down and hide it. They shan't have it."
Madame Roussillon began to call from the other room in a loud,complaining voice; but Alice gave no heed to her querulous demands.
"Stay here, Jean, and take care of Mama Roussillon," she presently saidto the hunchback. "I am going out; I'll be back soon; don't you dareleave the house while I'm gone; do you hear?"
She did not wait for his answer; but snatching a hood-like fur cap froma peg on the wall, she put it on and hastily left the house.
Down at the fort Helm and Beverley were making ready to resistHamilton's attack, which they knew would not be long deferred. The twoheavily charged cannon were planted so as to cover the space in frontof the gate, and some loaded muskets were ranged near by ready for use.
"We'll give them one hell of a blast," growled the Captain, "beforethey overpower us."
Beverley made no response in words; but he was preparing a bit oftinder on the end of a stick with which to fire the cannon. Not faraway a little heap of logs was burning in the fort's area.
The British officer, already mentioned as at the head of the lineadvancing diagonally from the river's bank, halted his men at adistance of three hundred yards from the fort, and seemed to be takinga deliberately careful survey of what was before him.
"Let 'em come a little nearer, Lieutenant," said Helm, his jaw settingitself like a lion's. "When we shoot we want to hit."
He stooped and squinted along his gun.
"When they get to that weedy spot out yonder," he added, "just oppositethe little rise in the river bank, we'll turn loose on 'em."
Beverley had arranged his primitive match to suit his fancy, and forprobably the twentieth time looked critically to the powder in thebeveled touch-hole of his old cannon. He and Helm were facing theenemy, with their backs to the main area of the stockade, when a wellknown voice attracted their attention to the rear.
"Any room for a feller o' my size in this here crowded place?" itdemanded in a cracked but cheerful tenor. "I'm kind o' outen breath arunnin' to git here."
They turned about. It was Oncle Jazon with his long rifle on hisshoulder and wearing a very important air. He spoke in English, usingthe backwoods lingo with the ease of long practice.
"As I's a comin' in f'om a huntin' I tuck notice 'at somepin' was up. Isee a lot o' boats on the river an' some fellers wi' guns a scootin'around, so I jes' slipped by 'em all an' come in the back way. They'splenty of 'em, I tell you what! I can't shoot much, but I tuck onechance at a buck Indian out yander and jes' happened to hit 'im in thelef' eye. He was one of the gang 'at scalped me down yander inKaintuck."
The greasy old sinner looked as if he had not been washed since he wasborn. He glanced about with furtive, shifty eyes, grimaced and winked,after the manner of an animal just waking from a lazy nap.
"Where's the rest o' the fighters?" he demanded quizzically, lollingout his tongue and peeping past Helm so as to get a glimpse of theEnglish line. "Where's yer garrison? Have they all gone to breakfas'?"
The last question set Helm off again cursing and swearing in the mostmelodramatic rage.
Oncle Jazon turned to Beverley and said in rapid French: "Surely theman's not going to fight those fellows yonder?"
Beverley nodded rather gloomily.
"Well," added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and takinganother glance through the gate, "I can't shoot wo'th a cent, bein'sort o' nervous like; but I'll stan' by ye awhile, jes' for luck. Imight accidentally hit one of 'em."
When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches himlike an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in another. A rushof admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel like hugging him.
Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and, with afile of men, separated himself from the line, now stationary, andapproached the stockade. At a hundred yards he halted the file and cameon alone, waving the white clout. He boldly advanced to within easyspeaking distance and shouted:
"I demand the surrender of this fort."
"Well, you'll not get it, young man," roared Helm, his profanity wellmixed in with the words, "not while there's a man of us left!"
"Ye'd better use sof' soap on 'im, Cap'n," said Oncle Jazon in English,"cussin' won't do no good." While he spoke he rubbed the doughtyCaptain's arm and then patted it gently.
Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew thatOncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was not
yetready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper called "softsoap."
"Are you the British commander?" he demanded.
"No," said the officer, "but I speak for him."
"Not to me by a damned sight, sir. Tell your commander that I will hearwhat he has to say from his own mouth. No understrapper will berecognized by me."
That ended the conference. The young officer, evidently indignant,strode back to his line, and an hour later Hamilton himself demandedthe unconditional surrender of the fort and garrison.
"Fight for it," Helm stormed forth. "We are soldiers."
Hamilton held a confab with his officers, while his forces, under coverof the town's cabins, were deploying so as to form a half circle aboutthe stockade. Some artillery appeared and was planted directly oppositethe gate, not three hundred yards distant. One blast of that batterywould, as Helm well knew, level a large part of the stockade.
"S'posin' I hev' a cannon, too, seein' it's the fashion," said OncleJazon. "I can't shoot much, but I might skeer 'em. This little one'lldo me."
He set his rifle against the wall and with Beverley's help rolled oneof the swivels alongside the guns already in position.
In a few minutes Hamilton returned under the white flag and shouted:
"Upon what terms will you surrender?"
"All the honors of war," Helm firmly replied. "It's that or fight, andI don't care a damn which!"
Hamilton half turned away, as if done with the parley, then facing thefort again, said:
"Very well, sir, haul down your flag."
Helm was dumfounded at this prompt acceptance of his terms. Indeed theincident is unique in history.
As Hamilton spoke he very naturally glanced up to where la banniered'Alice Roussillon waved brilliantly. Someone stood beside it on thedilapidated roof of the old blockhouse, and was already taking it fromits place. His aid, Captain Farnsworth, saw this, and the vision madehis heart draw in a strong, hot flood It was a girl in short skirts andmoccasins, with a fur hood on her head, her face, thrillinglybeautiful, set around with fluffs of wind-blown brown-gold hair.Farnsworth was too young to be critical and too old to let his eyesdeceive him. Every detail of the fine sketch, with its steel-bluebackground of sky, flashed into his mind, sharp-cut as a cameo.Involuntarily he took off his hat.
Alice had come in by way of the postern. She mounted to the roofunobserved, and made her way to the flag, just at the moment when Helm,glad at heart to accept the easiest way out of a tight place, askedOncle Jazon to lower it.
Beverley was thinking of Alice, and when he looked up he could scarcelyrealize that he saw her; but the whole situation was plain the instantshe snatched the staff from its place; for he, too, recollected whatshe had said at the river house. The memory and the present sceneblended perfectly during the fleeting instant that she was visible. Hesaw that Alice was smiling somewhat as in her most mischievous moods,and when she jerked the staff from its fastening she lifted it high andwaved it once, twice, thrice defiantly toward the British lines, thenfled down the ragged roof-slope with it and disappeared. The visionremained in Beverley's eyes forever afterward. The English troops,thinking that the flag was taken down in token of surrender, broke intoa wild tumult of shouting.
Oncle Jazon intuitively understood just what Alice was doing, for heknew her nature and could read her face. His blood effervesced in aninstant.
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!" hescreamed, waving his disreputable cap round his scalpless head. "Hurrahfor George Washington! Hurrah for Alice Roussillon's flag!"
It was all over soon. Helm surrendered himself and Beverley with fullhonors. As for Oncle Jazon, he disappeared at the critical moment. Itwas not just to his mind to be a prisoner of war, especially underexisting conditions; for Hamilton's Indian allies had some old warpathscores to settle with him dating back to the days when he and SimonKenton were comrades in Kentucky.
When Alice snatched the banner and descended with it to the ground, sheran swiftly out through the postern, as she had once before done, andsped along under cover of the low bluff or swell, which, terrace-like,bounded the flat "bottom" lands southward of the stockade. She kept onuntil she reached a point opposite Father Beret's hut, to which shethen ran, the flag streaming bravely behind her in the wind, her heartbeating time to her steps.
It was plainly a great surprise to Father Beret, who looked up from hisprayer when she rushed in, making a startling clatter, the loosepuncheons shaking together under her reckless feet.
"Oh, Father, here it is! Hide it, hide it, quick!"
She thrust the flag toward him.
"They shall not have it! They shall never have it!"
He opened wide his shrewd, kindly eyes; but did not fairly comprehendher meaning.
She was panting, half laughing, half crying. Her hair, wildlydisheveled, hung in glorious masses over her shoulders. Her face beamedtriumphantly.
"They are taking the fort," she breathlessly added, again urging theflag upon him, "they're going in, but I got this and ran away with it.Hide it, Father, hide it, quick, quick, before they come!"
The daring light in her eyes, the witching play of her dimples, themadcap air intensified by her attitude and the excitement of theviolent exercise just ended--something compounded of all these andmore--affected the good priest strangely. Involuntarily he crossedhimself, as if against a dangerous charm.
"Mon Dieu, Father Beret," she exclaimed with impatience, "haven't you agrain of sense left? Take this flag and hide it, I tell you! Don't staythere gazing and blinking. Here, quick! They saw me take it, they maybe following me. Hurry, hide it somewhere!"
He comprehended now, rising from his knees with a queer smilebroadening on his face. She put the banner into his hands and gave hima gentle push.
"Hide it, I tell you, hide it, you dear old goose!"
Without sneaking he turned the staff over and over in his hand, untilthe flag was closely wrapped around it, then stooping he lifted apuncheon and with it covered the gay roll from sight.
Alice caught him in her arms and kissed him vigorously on the cheek.Her warm lips made the spot tingle.
"Don't you dare to let any person have it! It's the flag of GeorgeWashington."
She gave him a strong squeeze.
He pushed her from him with both hands and hastily crossed himself; buthis eyes were laughing.
"You ought to have seen me; I waved the flag at them--at theEnglish--and one young officer took off his hat to me! Oh, FatherBeret, it was like what is in a novel. They'll get the fort, but notthe banner! Not the banner! I've saved it, I've saved it!"
Her enthusiasm gave a splendor to her countenance, heightening itsriches of color and somehow adding to its natural girlish expression anaudacious sweetness. The triumphant success of her undertaking lent thedignity of conscious power to her look, a dignity which always sitswell upon a young and somewhat immaturely beautiful face.
Father Beret could not resist her fervid eloquence, and he could notrun away from her or stop up his ears while she went on. So he had tolaugh when she said:
"Oh, if you had seen it all you would have enjoyed it. There was OncleJazon squatting behind the little swivel, and there were Captain Helmand Lieutenant Beverley holding their burning sticks over the bigcannon ready to shoot--all of them so intent that they didn't seeme--and yonder came the English officer and his army against the three.When they got close to the gate the officer called out: 'Surrender!'and then Captain Helm yelled back: 'Damned if I do! Come another stepand I'll blow you all to hell in a second!' I was mightily in hopesthat they'd come on; I wanted to see a cannon ball hit that Englishcommander right in the face; he looked so arrogant."
Father Beret shook his head and tried to look disapproving and solemn.
Meantime down at the fort Hamilton was demanding the flag. He had seenAlice take it down, and supposed that it was lowered officially andwould be turned over to him. Now he wanted to handle it as the besttoken of his blood
less but important victory.
"I didn't order the flag down until after I had accepted your terms,"said Helm, "and when my man started to obey, we saw a young lady snatchit and run away with it."
"Who was the girl?"
"I do not inform on women," said Helm.
Hamilton smiled grimly, with a vexed look in his eyes, then turned toCaptain Farnsworth and ordered him to bring up M. Roussillon, who, whenhe appeared, still had his hands tied together.
"Tell me the name of the young woman who carried away the flag from thefort. You saw her, you know every soul in this town. Who was it, sir?"
It was a hard question for M. Roussillon to answer. Although hishumiliating captivity had somewhat cowed him, still his love for Alicemade it impossible for him to give the information demanded byHamilton. He choked and stammered, but finally managed to say:
"I assure you that I don't know--I didn't look--I didn't see--It wastoo far off for me to--I was some-what excited--I--"
"Take him away. Keep him securely bound," said Hamilton. "Confine him.We'll see how long it will take to refresh his mind. We'll puncture thebig windbag."
While this curt scene was passing, the flag of Great Britain rose overthe fort to the lusty cheering of the victorious soldiers.
Hamilton treated Helm and Beverley with extreme courtesy. He was asoldier, gruff, unscrupulous and cruel to a degree; but he could nothelp admiring the daring behavior of these two officers who had wrungfrom him the best terms of surrender. He gave them full liberty, onparole of honor not to attempt escape or to aid in any way an enemyagainst him while they were prisoners.
Nor was it long before Helm's genial and sociable disposition won theEnglishman's respect and confidence to such an extent that the twobecame almost inseparable companions, playing cards, brewing toddies,telling stories, and even shooting deer in the woods together, as ifthey had always been the best of friends.
Hamilton did not permit his savage allies to enter the town, and heimmediately required the French inhabitants to swear allegiance toGreat Britain, which they did with apparent heartiness, all save M.Roussillon, who was kept in close confinement and bound like a felon,chafing lugubriously and wearing the air of a martyr. His prison was alittle log pen in one corner of the stockade, much open to the weather,its gaping cracks giving him a dreary view of the frozen landscapethrough which the Wabash flowed in a broad steel-gray current. Helm,who really liked him, tried in vain to procure his release; butHamilton was inexorable on account of what he regarded as duplicity inM. Roussillon's conduct.
"No, I'll let him reflect," he said; "there's nothing like a littletyranny to break up a bad case of self-importance. He'll soon find outthat he has over-rated himself!"