Alice of Old Vincennes

  CHAPTER XII

  MANON LESCAUT. AND A RAPIER-THRUST

  Beverley's absence was not noticed by Hamilton until late on thefollowing day, and even then he scouted Helm's suggestion that theyoung man was possibly carrying out his threat to disregard his parole.

  "He would be quite justified in doing it; you know that very well,"said Helm with a laugh, "and he's just the man to undertake what isimpossible. Of course, however, he'll get scalped for his trouble, andthat will cost you something, I'm happy to say."

  "It's a matter of small importance," Hamilton replied; "but I'll wageryou the next toddy that he's not at the present moment a half-mile fromthis spot. He may be a fool, I readily grant that he is, but even afool is not going to set out alone in this kind of weather to go towhere your rebel friends are probably toasting their shins by a fire ofgreen logs and half starving over yonder on the Mississippi."

  "Joking aside, you are doubtless right. Beverley is hot-headed, and ifhe could he'd get even with you devilish quick; but he hasn't leftVincennes, I think. Miss Roussillon would keep him here if the placewere on fire!"

  Hamilton laughed dryly. He had thought just what Helm was saying.Beverley's attentions to Alice had not escaped his notice.

  "Speaking of that girl," he remarked after a moment's silence, "what amI do to do with her? There's no place to keep her, and Farnsworthinsists that she wasn't to blame." He chuckled again and added:

  "It's true as gospel. He's in love with her, too. Seems to be glad sheshot him. Says he's ashamed of himself for ever suspecting her ofanything but being a genuine angel. Why, he's got as flabby as a rabbitand mumbles like a fool!"

  "Same as you or I at his age," said Helm, taking a chew of tobacco."She IS a pretty thing. Beverley don't know his foot from hisshoulder-blade when she's anywhere near him. Boys are boys. I'm a sortof a boy myself."

  "If she'd give up that flag he'd let her go," said Hamilton. "I hatelike the devil to confine her; it looks brutal, and makes me feel likea tyrant."

  "Have you ever happened to notice the obvious fact, Governor Hamilton,that Alice Roussillon and Father Beret are not all the French inVincennes?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that I don't for a moment believe that either the girl or thepriest knows a thing about where that flag is. They are both astruthful and honorable as people ever get to be. I know them. Somebodyelse got that flag from under the priest's floor. You may depend uponthat. If Miss Roussillon knew where it is she'd say so, and then dareyou to make her tell where it's hidden."

  "Oh, the whole devilish town is rotten with treason; that's very clear.There's not a loyal soul in it outside of my forces."

  "Thank you for not including me among the loyalists."

  "Humph, I spoke of these French people; they pretend to be true; but Ibelieve they are all traitors."

  "You can manage them if you try. A little jolly kindness goes a longway with 'em. _I_ had no trouble while _I_ held the town."

  Hamilton bit his lip and was silent. Helm was exasperatingly goodtempered, and his jocularity was irresistible. While he was yetspeaking a guard came up followed by Jean, the hunchback, and salutingsaid to Hamilton:

  "The lad wants to see the young lady, sir."

  Hamilton gazed quizzically at Jean, who planted himself in his habitualattitude before him and stared up into his face with the grotesqueexpression which seems to be characteristic of hunchbacks and unfledgedbirds--the look of an embodied and hideous joke.

  "Well, sir, what will you have?" the Governor demanded.

  "I want to see Alice, if you please."

  "What for?"

  "I want to give her a book to read."

  "Ah, indeed. Where is it? Let me see it."

  Jean took from the breast of his loose jerkin a small volume, dog-earedand mildewed, and handed it to Hamilton. Meantime he stood first on onefoot, then the other, gnawing his thumb-nail and blinking rapidly.

  "Well, Helm, just look here!"

  "What?"

  "Manon Lescaut."

  "And what's that?"

  "Haven't you ever read it?"

  "Read what?"

  "This novel--Manon Lescaut."

  "Never read a novel in my life. Never expect to."

  Hamilton laughed freely at Helm's expense, then turned to Jean and gavehim back the book.

  It would have been quite military, had he taken the precaution toexamine between the pages for something hidden there, but he did not.

  "Go, give it to her," he said, "and tell her I send my compliments,with great admiration of her taste in literature." He motioned thesoldier to show Jean to Alice. "It's a beastly French story," he added,addressing Helm; "immoral enough to make a pirate blush. That's thesort of girl Mademoiselle Roussillon is!"

  "I don't care what kind of a book she reads," blurted Helm, "she's afine, pure, good girl. Everybody likes her. She's the good angel ofthis miserable frog-hole of a town. You'd like her yourself, if you'dstraighten up and quit burning tow in your brain all the time. You'realways so furious about something that you never have a chance to bejust to yourself, or pleasant to anybody else."

  Hamilton turned fiercely on Helm, but a glimpse of the Captain's broadgood-humored face heartily smiling, dispelled his anger. There was noground upon which to maintain a quarrel with a person so persistentlygenial and so absurdly frank. And in fact Hamilton was not half so badas his choleric manifestations seemed to make him out. Besides, Helmknew just how far to go, just when to stop.

  "If I had got furious at you every time there was overwhelmingprovocation for it," Hamilton said, "you'd have been long since hangedor shot. I fancy that I have shown angelic forbearance. I've given yousomewhat more than a prisoner's freedom."

  "So you have, so you have," assented Helm. "I've often been surprisedat your generous partiality in my case. Let's have some hot water withsomething else in it, what do you say? I won't give you any more advicefor five minutes by your watch."

  "But I want some advice at once."

  "What about?"

  "That girl."

  "Turn her loose. That's easy and reputable."

  "I'll have to, I presume; but she ought to be punished."

  "If you'll think less about punishment, revenge and getting even witheverybody and everything, you'll soon begin to prosper."

  Hamilton winced, but smiled as one quite sure of himself.

  Jean followed the soldier to a rickety log pen on the farther side ofthe stockade, where he found the prisoner restlessly moving about likea bird in a rustic cage. It had no comforts, that gloomy little room.There was no fireplace, the roof leaked, and the only furnitureconsisted of a bench to sit on and a pile of skins for bed. Alicelooked charmingly forlorn peeping out of the wraps in which she wasbundled against the cold, her hair fluffed and rimpled in shiningdisorder around her face.

  The guard let Jean in and closed the door, himself staying outside.

  Alice was as glad to see the poor lad as if they had been parted for ayear. She hugged him and kissed his drawn little face.

  "You dear, good Jean!" she murmured, "you did not forget me."

  "I brought you something," he whispered, producing the book.

  Alice snatched it, looked at it, and then at Jean.

  "Why, what did you bring this for? you silly Jean! I didn't want this.I don't like this book at all. It's hateful. I despise it. Take itback."

  "There's something in it for you, a paper with writing on it;Lieutenant Beverley wrote it on there. It's shut up between the leavesabout the middle."

  "Sh-s-sh! not so loud, the guard'll hear you," Alice breathlesslywhispered, her whole manner changing instantly. She was trembling, andthe color had been whisked from her face, as the flame from a candle ina sudden draught.

  She found the note and read it a dozen times without a pause, her eyesleaping along the lines back and forth with pathetic eagerness andconcentration. Presently she sat down on the bench and covered her facewith her hands. A tremor first,
then a convulsive sobbing, shook hercollapsed form. Jean regarded her with a drolly sympathetic grimace,elevating his long chin and letting his head settle back between hisshoulders.

  "Oh, Jean, Jean!" she cried at last, looking up and reaching out herarms; "O Jean, he is gone, gone, gone!"

  Jean stepped closer to her while she sobbed again like a little child.

  She pulled him to her and held him tightly against her breast while sheonce more read the note through blinding tears. The words were few, butto her they bore the message of desolation and despair. A great,haunting, hollow voice in her heart repeated them until they echoedfrom vague distance to distance.

  It was written with a bit of lead on the half of a mildewed fly-leaftorn from the book:

  "Dear Alice:

  "I am going away. When you read this, think of me as hurrying throughthe wilderness to reach our army and bring it here. Be brave, as youalways have been; be good, as you cannot help being; wait and watch forme; love me, as I love you. I will come. Do not doubt it, I will come,and I will crush Hamilton and his command. Courage, Alice dear;courage, and wait for me.

  "Faithfully ever, "Beverley."

  She kissed the paper with passionate fervor, pouring her tears upon itin April showers between which the light of her eyes played almostfiercely, so poignant was her sense of a despair which bordered upondesperation. "Gone, gone!" It was all she could think or say. "Gone,gone."

  Jean took the offending novel back home with him, hidden under hisjerkin; but Beverley's note lay upon Alice's heart, a sweet comfort anda crushing weight, when an hour later Hamilton sent for her and she wastaken before him. Her face was stained with tears and she lookedpitifully distressed and disheveled; yet despite all this her beautyasserted itself with subtle force.

  Hamilton felt ashamed looking at her, but put on sternness and spokewithout apparent sympathy:

  "Miss Roussillon, you came near committing a great crime. As it is, youhave done badly enough; but I wish not to be unreasonably severe. Ihope you are sorry for your act, and feel like doing better hereafter."

  She was trembling, but her eyes looked steadily straight into his. Theywere eyes of baby innocence, yet they irradiated a strong womanlyspirit just touched with the old perverse, mischievous light which shecould neither banish nor control. When she did not make reply, Hamiltoncontinued:

  "You may go home now, and I shall expect to have no more trouble onyour account." He made a gesture indicative of dismissal; then, as sheturned from him, he added, somewhat raising his voice:

  "And further, Miss Roussillon, that flag you took from here mustpositively be returned. See that it is done."

  She lifted her head high and walked away, not deigning to give him aword.

  "Humph! what do you think now of your fine young lady?" he demanded,turning to Helm with a sneering curl of his mouth. "She gives thankscopiously for a kindness, don't you think?"

  "Poor girl, she was scared nearly out of her life," said Helm. "She gotaway from you, like a wounded bird from a snare. I never saw a facemore pitiful than hers."

  "Much pity she needs, and greatly like a wounded bird she acts, I mustsay; but good riddance if she'll keep her place hereafter. I despisemyself when I have to be hard with a woman, especially a pretty one.That girl's a saucy and fascinating minx, and as dangerous as twentymen. I'll keep a watch on her movements from this on, and if she getsinto mischief again I'll transport her to Detroit, or give her away tothe Indians, She must stop her high-handed foolishness."

  Helm saw that Hamilton was talking mere wind, VOX ET PRAETEREA NIHIL,and he furthermore felt that his babbling signified no harm to Alice;but Hamilton surprised him presently by saying:

  "I have just learned that Lieutenant Beverley is actually gone. Did youknow of his departure?"

  "What are you saying, sir?"

  Helm jumped to his feet, not angry, but excited.

  "Keep cool, you need not answer if you prefer silence or evasion. Youmay want to go yourself soon."

  Helm burst out laughing, but quickly growing serious said:

  "Has Beverley been such a driveling fool as that? Are you in earnest?"

  "He killed two of my scouts, wounded another, and crossed the Wabash intheir canoe. He is going straight towards Kaskaskia."

  "The idiot! Hurrah for him! If you catch your hare you may roast him,but catch him first, Governor!"

  "You'll joke out of the other corner of your mouth, Captain Helm, if Ifind out that you gave him aid or countenance in breaking his parole."

  "Aid or countenance! I never saw him after he walked out of this room.You gave him a devil of a sight more aid and countenance than I did.What are you talking about! Broke his parole! He did no such thing. Hereturned it to you fairly, as you well know. He told you he was going."

  "Well, I've sent twenty of my swiftest Indians after him to bring himback. I'll let you see him shot. That ought to please you."

  "They'll never get him, Governor. I'll bet high on him against yourtwenty scalp-lifters any day. Fitzhugh Beverley is the best Indianfighter, Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton excepted, in the Americancolonies."

  On her way home Alice met Father Beret, who turned and walked besideher. He was so overjoyed at her release that he could scarcely speak;but held her hand and stroked it gently while she told him her story.It was beginning to rain, a steady, cold shower, when they reached thehouse, and for many days and nights thereafter the downfall continuedalmost incessantly.

  "Dear child," said Father Beret, stopping at the gate and lookingbeseechingly into Alice's face, "you must stay at home now--stay in thehouse--it will be horribly dangerous for you to pass about in thevillage after your--after what has happened."

  "Do not fear, Father, I will be careful. Aren't you coming in? I'llfind you a cake and a glass of wine."

  "No, child, not now."

  "Then good-bye, good-bye," she said, turning from him to run into thehouse. "Come soon, I shall be so lonesome."

  On the veranda she suddenly stopped, running her fingers about her neckand into her bosom.

  "Oh, Father, Father Beret, I've lost my locket!" she cried. "See if Idropped it there."

  She went back to the gate, searching the ground with her eyes. Ofcourse she did not find the locket. It was miles and miles away closeto the heart of her lover. If she could but have known this, it wouldhave comforted her. Beverley had intended to leave it with Jean, but inhis haste and excitement he forgot; writing the note distracted hisattention; and so he bore Alice's picture on his breast and in hisheart while pursuing his long and perilous journey.

  Four of Hamilton's scouts came upon Beverley twenty miles south ofVincennes, but having the advantage of them, he killed two almostimmediately, and after a running fight, the other two attempted escapein a canoe on the Wabash. Here, firing from a bluff, he wounded athird. Both then plunged head-foremost into the water, and by keepingbelow the surface, got away. The adventure gave Beverley new spirit andself-reliance; he felt that he could accomplish anything necessary tohis undertaking. In the captured pirogue he crossed the river, and, tomake his trail hard to find, sent the little craft adrift down thecurrent.

  Then alone, in the dead of winter, he took his bearings and struckacross the dreary, houseless plain toward St. Louis.

  As soon as Hamilton's discomfited scouts reported to him, he sentLong-Hair with twenty picked savages, armed and supplied for continuousand rapid marching, in pursuit of Beverley. There was a large rewardfor bringing him in alive, a smaller one for his scalp.

  When Alice heard of all this, her buoyant and happy nature seemedentirely to desert her for a time. She was proud to find out thatBeverley had shown himself brave and capable; it touched her love ofheroism; but she knew too much about Indian warfare to hope that hecould hold his own against Long-Hair, the wiliest and boldest ofscalp-hunters, and twenty of the most experienced braves in Hamilton'sforces. He would almost certainly be killed and scalped, or capturedand brought back to be shot or hanged in Vincennes.
The thought chilledand curdled her blood.

  Both Helm and Father Beret tried to encourage and comfort her byrepresenting the probabilities in the fairest light.

  "It's like hunting for a needle in a haystack, going out to find a manin that wilderness," said Helm with optimistic cheerfulness; "andbesides Beverley is no easy dose for twenty red niggers to take. I'veseen him tried at worse odds than that, and he got out with a wholeskin, too. Don't you fret about him, Miss Roussillon."

  Little help came to her from attempts of this sort. She might brightenup for a while, but the dark dread, and the terrible gnawing at herheart, the sinking and despairing in her soul, could not be cured.

  What added immeasurably to her distress was the attention ofFarnsworth, whose wound troubled him but a short time. He seemed tohave had a revelation and a change of spirit since the unfortunaterencounter and the subsequent nursing at Alice's hands. He was grave,earnest, kindly, evidently striving to play a gentle and honorablepart. She could feel that he carried a load of regret, that he wantedto pay a full price in good for the evil that he had done; his sturdyEnglish heart was righting itself nobly, yet she but half understoodhim, until his actions and words began to betray his love; and then shehated him unreasonably. Realizing this, Farnsworth bore himself morelike a faithful dog than in the manner hitherto habitual to him. Hesimply shadowed Alice and would not be rebuffed.

  There can be nothing more painful to a finely sympathetic nature thanregret for having done a kindness. Alice experienced this to thefullest degree. She had nursed Farnsworth but a little while, yet itwas a while of sweet influence. Her tender woman nature felt theblessedness of doing good to her enemy lying helpless in her house andhurt by her own hand. But now she hated the man, and with all her soulshe was sorry that she had been kind to him; for out of her kindness hehad drawn the spell of a love under which he lived a new life, and allfor her. Yet deep down in her consciousness the pity and the pathos ofthe thing hovered gloomily and would not be driven out.

  The rain in mid-winter gave every prospect a sad, cold, sodden grayappearance. The ground was soaked, little rills ran in the narrowstreets, the small streams became great rivers, the Wabash overflowedits banks and made a sea of all the lowlands on either side. It washard on the poor dwellers in the thatched and mostly floorless cabins,for the grass roofs gradually let the water through and puddles formedon the ground inside. Fuel was distant and had to be hauled in thepouring rain; provisions were scarce and hunting almost impossible.Many people, especially children, were taken ill with colds and fever.Alice found some relief from her trouble in going from cabin to cabinand waiting upon the sufferers; but even here Farnsworth could not begot rid of; he followed her night and day. Never was a good soldier,for he was that from head to foot, more lovelorn and love-docile. Themaiden had completely subdued the man.

  About this time, deep in a rainy and pitch-black night, GaspardRoussillon came home. He tapped on the door again and again. Aliceheard, but she hesitated to speak or move. Was she growing cowardly?Her heart beat like a drum. There was but one person in all the worldthat she could think of--it was not M. Roussillon. Ah, no, she hadwell-nigh forgotten her gigantic foster father.

  "It is I, ma cherie, it is Gaspard, my love, open the door," came in abooming half-whisper from without. "Alice, Jean, it is your PapaRoussillon, my dears. Let me in."

  Alice was at the door in a minute, unbarring it. M. Roussillon entered,armed to the teeth, the water dribbling from his buckskin clothes.

  "Pouf!" he exclaimed, "my throat is like dust." His thoughts werediving into the stores under the floor. "I am famished. Dear children,dear little ones! They are glad to see papa! Where is your mama?"

  He had Alice in his arms and Jean clung to his legs. Madame Roussillon,to be sure of no mistake, lighted a lamp with a brand that smoldered onthe hearth and held it up, then, satisfied as to her husband'sidentity, set it on a shelf and flung herself into the affectionategroup with clumsy abandon, making a great noise.

  "Oh, my dear Gaspard!" she cried as she lunged forward. "Gaspard,Gaspard!" Her voice fairly lifted the roof; her great weight, hurledwith such force, overturned everybody, and all of them tumbled in aheap, the rotund and solid dame sitting on top.

  "Ouf! not so impetuous, my dear," puffed M. Roussillon, freeing himselffrom her unpleasant pressure and scrambling to his feet. "Really youmust have fared well in my absence, Madame, you are much heavier." Helaughed and lifted her up as if she had been a child, kissing herresonantly.

  His gun had fallen with a great clatter. He took it from the floor andexamined it to see if it had been injured, then set it in a corner.

  "I am afraid we have been making too much noise," said Alice, speakingvery low. "There is a patrol guard every night now. If they should hearyou--"

  "Shh!" whispered M. Roussillon, "we will be very still. Alice, is theresomething to eat and a drop of wine handy? I have come many miles; I amtired, hungry, thirsty,--ziff!"

  Alice brought some cold roast venison, a loaf, and a bottle of claret.These she set before him on a little table.

  "Ah, this is comfort," he said after he had gulped a full cup. "Haveyou all been well?"

  Then he began to tell where he had been, what he had seen, and the manythings he had done. A Frenchman must babble while he eats and drinks. Alittle wine makes him eloquent. He talks with his hands, shoulders,eyes. Madame Roussillon, Alice and Jean, wrapped in furs, huddledaround him to hear. He was very entertaining, and they forgot thepatrol until a noise startled them. It was the low of a cow. Theylaughed and the master of the house softened his voice.

  M. Roussillon had been the guest of a great Indian chieftain, who wascalled the "Gate of the Wabash," because he controlled the river. Thechief was an old acquaintance and treated him well.

  "But I wanted to see you all," Gaspard said. "I was afraid somethingmight have happened to you. So I came back just to peep in. I can'tstay, of course; Hamilton would kill me as if I were a wolf. I canremain but an hour and then slip out of town again before daylightconies. The rain and darkness are my friends."

  He had seen Simon Kenton, who said he had been in the neighborhood ofVincennes acting as a scout and spy for Clark. Presently and quitecasually he added:

  "And I saw Lieutenant Beverley, too. I suppose you know that he hasescaped from Hamilton, and--" Here a big mouthful of venison interfered.

  Alice leaned toward him white and breathless, her heart standing still.

  Then the door, which had been left unbarred, was flung open and, alongwith a great rush of wind and rain, the patrol guard, five in number,sprang in.

  M. Roussillon reached his gun with one hand, with the other swung atremendous blow as he leaped against the intruders. Madame Roussillonblew out the light. No cave in the depth of earth was ever darker thanthat room. The patrolmen could not see one another or know what to do;but M. Roussillon laid about him with the strength of a giant. Hisblows sounded as if they smashed bones. Men fell heavily thumping onthe floor where he rushed along. Some one fired a pistol and by itsflash they all saw him; but instantly the darkness closed again, andbefore they could get their bearings he was out and gone, his greathulking form making its way easily over familiar ground where hiswould-be captors could have proceeded but slowly, even with a light toguide them. There was furious cursing among the patrolmen as theytumbled about in the room, the unhurt ones trampling their prostratecompanions and striking wildly at each other in their blindness andconfusion. At last one of them bethought him to open a dark lanternwith which the night guards were furnished. Its flame was flutteringand gave forth a pale red light that danced weirdly on the floors andwalls.

  Alice had snatched down one of her rapiers when the guards firstentered. They now saw her facing them with her slender blade leveled,her back to the wall, her eyes shining dangerously. Madame Roussillonhad fled into the adjoining room. Jean had also disappeared. Theofficer, a subaltern, in charge of the guard, seeing Alice, and notquickly able to make out that it was a
woman thus defying him, crossedswords with her. There was small space for action; moreover the officerbeing not in the least a swordsman, played awkwardly, and quick as aflash his point was down. The rapier entered just below his thread witha dull chucking stab. He leaped backward, feeling at the same time apair of arms clasp his legs. It was Jean, and the Lieutenant, thusunexpectedly tangled, fell to the floor, breaking but not extinguishingthe guard's lantern as he went down. The little remaining oil spreadand flamed up brilliantly, as if eager for conflagration, sputteringalong the uneven boards.

  "Kill that devil!" cried the Lieutenant, in a strangling voice, whiletrying to regain his feet. "Shoot! Bayonet!"

  In his pain, rage and haste, he inadvertently set his hand in the midstof the blazing oil, which clung to the flesh with a seething grip.

  "Hell!" he screamed, "fire, fire!"

  Two or three bayonets were leveled upon Alice. Some one kicked Jeanclean across the room, and he lay there curled up in his hairynight-wrap looking like an enormous porcupine.

  At this point a new performer came upon the stage, a dark-robed thing,so active that its outlines changed elusively, giving it norecognizable features. It might have been the devil himself, or someterrible unknown wild animal clad somewhat to resemble a man, so far asthe startled guards could make out. It clawed right and left, hurledone of them against the wall, dashed another through the door intoMadame Roussillon's room, where the good woman was wailing at the topof her voice, and felled a third with a stroke like that of a bear'spaw.

  Consternation was at high tide when Farnsworth, who always slept withan ear open, reached Roussillon place and quickly quieted things. Hewas troubled beyond expression when he found out the true state of theaffair, for there was nothing that he could do but arrest Alice andtake her to Hamilton. It made his heart sink. He would have thoughtlittle of ordering a file of soldiers to shoot a man under the sameconditions; but to subject her again to the Governor's sterncruelty--how could he do it? This time there would be no hope for her.

  Alice stood before him flushed, disheveled, defiant, sword in hand,beautiful and terrible as an angel. The black figure, man or devil, haddisappeared as strangely as it had come. The sub-Lieutenant was havinghis slight wound bandaged. Men were raging and cursing under theirbreath, rubbing their bruised heads and limbs.

  "Alice--Mademoiselle Roussillon, I am so sorry for this," said CaptainFarnsworth. "It is painful, terrible--"

  He could not go on, but stood before her unmanned. In the feeble lighthis face was wan and his hurt shoulder, still in bandages, droopedperceptibly.

  "I surrender to you," she presently said in French, extending the hiltof her rapier to him. "I had to defend myself when attacked by yourLieutenant there. If an officer finds it necessary to set upon a girlwith his sword, may not the girl guard her life if she can?"

  She was short of breath, so that her voice palpitated with a touchingplangency that shook the man's heart.

  Farnsworth accepted the sword; he could do nothing less. His dutyadmitted of no doubtful consideration; yet he hesitated, feeling aroundin his mind for a phrase with which to evade the inevitable.

  "It will be safer for you at the fort, Mademoiselle; let me take youthere."