CHAPTER XVII.
A MARCH THROUGH COLD WATER
On the fifth day of February, 1779, Colonel George Rogers Clark led anarmy across the Kaskaskia River and camped. This was the first step inhis march towards the Wabash. An army! Do not smile. Fewer than twohundred men, it is true, answered the roll-call, when Father Gibaultlifted the Cross and blessed them; but every name told off by thecompany sergeants belonged to a hero, and every voice making responsestruck a full note in the chorus of freedom's morning song.
It was an army, small indeed, but yet an army; even though so rudelyequipped that, could we now see it before us, we might wonder of whatuse it could possibly be in a military way.
We should nevertheless hardly expect that a hundred and seventy of ourbest men, even if furnished with the latest and most deadly engines ofdestruction, could do what those pioneers cheerfully undertook andgloriously accomplished in the savage wilderness which was to be thegreat central area of the United States of America.
We look back with a shiver of awe at the three hundred Spartans forwhom Simonides composed his matchless epitaph. They wrought and diedgloriously; that was Greek. The one hundred and seventy men, who, ledby the backwoodsman, Clark, made conquest of an empire's area forfreedom in the west, wrought and lived gloriously; that was American.It is well to bear in mind this distinction by which our civilizationseparates itself from that of old times. Our heroism has always been oflife--our heroes have conquered and lived to see the effect ofconquest. We have fought all sorts of wars and have never yet feltdefeat. Washington, Jackson, Taylor, Grant, all lived to enjoy, aftersuccessful war, a triumphant peace. "These Americans," said a wittyFrenchman, "are either enormously lucky, or possessed of miraculousvitality. You rarely kill them in battle, and if you wound them theirwounds are never mortal. Their history is but a chain ofimpossibilities easily accomplished. Their undertakings have beenwithout preparation, their successes in the nature of stupendousaccidents." Such a statement may appear critically sound from a Gallicpoint of view; but it leaves out the dominant element of Americancharacter, namely, heroic efficiency. From the first we have had thecourage to undertake, the practical common sense which overcomes thelack of technical training, and the vital force which never flags underthe stress of adversity.
Clark knew, when he set out on his march to Vincennes, that he was notindulging a visionary impulse. The enterprise was one that called forall that manhood could endure, but not more. With the genius of a bornleader he measured his task by his means. He knew his own courage andfortitude, and understood the best capacity of his men. He had genius;that is, he possessed the secret of extracting from himself and fromhis followers the last refinement of devotion to purpose. There was acertainty, from first to last, that effort would not flag at any pointshort of the top-most possible strain.
The great star of America was no more than a nebulous splendor on thehorizon in 1779. It was a new world forming by the law of youth. Themen who bore the burdens of its exacting life were mostly stalwartstriplings who, before the down of adolescence fairly sprouted on theirchins, could swing the ax, drive a plow, close with a bear or kill anIndian. Clark was not yet twenty-seven when he made his famouscampaign. A tall, brawny youth, whose frontier experience had enricheda native character of the best quality, he marched on foot at the headof his little column, and was first to test every opposing danger. Wasthere a stream to wade or swim? Clark enthusiastically shouted, "Comeon!" and in he plunged. Was there a lack of food? "I'm not hungry," hecried. "Help yourselves, men!" Had some poor soldier lost his blanket?"Mine is in my way," said Clark. "Take it, I'm glad to get rid of it!"His men loved him, and would die rather than fall short of hisexpectations.
The march before them lay over a magnificent plain, mostly prairie,rich as the delta of the Nile, but extremely difficult to traverse. Thedistance, as the route led, was about a hundred and seventy miles. Onaccount of an open and rainy winter all the basins and flat lands wereinundated, often presenting leagues of water ranging in depth from afew inches to three of four feet. Cold winds blew, sometimes with spitsof snow and dashes of sleet, while thin ice formed on the ponds andsluggish streams. By day progress meant wading ankle-deep, knee-deep,breast-deep, with an occasional spurt of swimming. By night the bravefellows had to sleep, if sleep they could, on the cold ground in soakedclothing under water-heavy blankets. They flung the leagues behindthem, however, cheerfully stimulating one another by joke andchallenge, defying all the bitterness of weather, all the bitings ofhunger, all the toil, danger and deprivation of a trackless andhouseless wilderness, looking only eastward, following their youthfuland intrepid commander to one of the most valuable victories gained byAmerican soldiers during the War of the Revolution.
Colonel Clark understood perfectly the strategic importance ofVincennes as a post commanding the Wabash, and as a base ofcommunication with the many Indian tribes north of the Ohio and east ofthe Mississippi. Francis Vigo (may his name never fade!) had broughthim a comprehensive and accurate report of Hamilton's strength and thecondition of the fort and garrison. This information confirmed hisbelief that it would be possible not only to capture Vincennes, butDetroit as well.
Just seven days after the march began, the little army encamped for anight's rest at the edge of a wood; and here, just after nightfall,when the fires were burning merrily and the smell of broiling buffalosteaks burdened the damp air, a wizzened old man suddenly appeared, howor from where nobody had observed He was dirty and in every waydisreputable in appearance, looking like an animated mummy, bearing along rifle on his shoulder, and walking with the somewhat haltingactivity of a very old, yet vivacious and energetic simian. Of courseit was Oncle Jason, "Oncle Jazon sui generis," as Father Beret haddubbed him.
"Well, here I am!" he cried, approaching the fire by which ColonelClark and some of his officers were cooking supper, "but ye can't guessin a mile o' who I am to save yer livers and lights."
He danced a few stiff steps, which made the water gush out of histattered moccasins, then doffed his nondescript cap and nodded hisscalpless head in salutation to the commander.
Clark looked inquiringly at him, while the old fellow grimaced andrubbed his shrunken chin.
"I smelt yer fat a fryin' somepin like a mile away, an' it set myin'ards to grumblin' for a snack; so I jes thought I'd drap in on yean' chaw wittles wi' ye."
"Your looks are decidedly against you," remarked the Colonel with a drysmile. He had recognized Oncle Jazon after a little sharp scrutiny. "Isuppose, however, that we can let you gnaw the bones after we've gotoff the meat."
"Thank 'ee, thank 'ee, plenty good. A feller 'at's as hongry as I amkin go through a bone like a feesh through water."
Clark laughed and said:
"I don't see any teeth that you have worth mentioning, but your gumsmay be unusually sharp."
"Ya-a-s, 'bout as sharp as yer wit, Colonel Clark, an' sharper'n yereyes, a long shot. Ye don't know me, do ye? Take ernother squint at me,an' see'f ye kin 'member a good lookin' man!"
"You have somewhat the appearance of an old scamp by the name of Jazonthat formerly loafed around with a worthless gun on his shoulder, andused to run from every Indian he saw down yonder in Kentucky." Clarkheld out his hand and added cordially:
"How are you, Jazon, my old friend, and where upon earth have you comefrom?"
Oncle Jazon pounced upon the hand and gripped it in his own knottedfingers, gazing delightedly up into Clark's bronzed and laughing face.
"Where'd I come frum? I come frum ever'wheres. Fust time I ever gotlost in all my born days. Fve been a trompin' 'round in the water seemslike a week, crazy as a pizened rat, not a knowin' north f'om south,ner my big toe f'om a turnip! Who's got some tobacker?"
Oncle Jazon's story, when presently he told it, interested Clarkdeeply. In the first place he was glad to hear that Simon Kenton hadonce more escaped from the Indians; and the news from Beverley,although bad enough, left room for hope. Frontiersmen always regardedthe chances better t
han even, so long as there was life. Oncle Jazon,furthermore, had much to tell about the situation at Vincennes, thetrue feeling of the French inhabitants, the lukewarm friendship of thelarger part of the Indians for Hamilton, and, indeed, everything thatClark wished to know regarding the possibilities of success in hisarduous undertaking. The old man's advent cheered the whole camp. Hesoon found acquaintances and friends among the French volunteers fromKaskaskia, with whom he exchanged creole gestures and chatter with avivacity apparently inexhaustible. He and Kenton had, with wisejudgement, separated on escaping from the Indian camp, Kenton strikingout for Kentucky, while Oncle Jazon went towards Kaskaskia.
The information that Beverley would be shot as soon as he was returnedto Hamilton, caused Colonel Clark serious worry of mind. Not only thefact that Beverley, who had been a charming friend and a most gallantofficer, was now in such imminent danger, but the impression (given byOncle Jazon's account) that he had broken his parole, was deeplypainful to the brave and scrupulously honorable commander. Still,friendship rose above regret, and Clark resolved to push his littlecolumn forward all the more rapidly, hoping to arrive in time toprevent the impending execution.
Next morning the march was resumed at the break of dawn; but a swollenstream caused some hours of delay, during which Beverley himselfarrived from the rear, a haggard and weirdly unkempt apparition. He hadbeen for three days following hard on the army's track, which he cameto far westward. Oncle Jazon saw him first in the distance, and his oldbut educated eyes made no mistake.
"Yander's that youngster Beverley," he exclaimed. "Ef it ain't I'm asquaw!"
Nor did he parley further on the subject; but set off at a rickety trotto meet and assist the fagged and excited young man.
Clark had given Oncle Jazon his flask, which contained a few gills ofwhisky. This was the first thing offered to Beverley; who wisely tookbut a swallow. Oncle Jazon was so elated that he waved his cap on high,and unconsciously falling into French, yelled in a piercing voice:
"VIVE ZHORSH VASINTON! VIVE LA BANNIERE D'ALICE ROUSSILLON!"
Seeing Beverley reminded him of Alice and the flag. As for Beverley,the sentiment braced him, and the beloved name brimmed his heart withsweetness.
Clark went to meet them as they came in. He hugged the gaunt Lieutenantwith genuine fervor of joy, while Oncle Jazon ran around them making aseries of grotesque capers. The whole command, hearing Oncle Jazon'spatriotic words, set up a wild shouting on the spur of a generalimpression that Beverley came as a messenger bearing glorious news fromWashington's army in the east.
It was a great relief to Clark when he found out that his favoriteLieutenant had not broken his parole; but had instead boldlyresurrendered himself, declaring the obligation no longer binding, andnotifying Hamilton of his intention to go away with the purpose ofreturning and destroying him and his command. Clark laughed heartilywhen this explanation brought out Beverley's tender interest in Alice;but he sympathized cordially; for he himself knew what love is.
Although Beverley was half starved and still suffering from the kicksand blows given him by Long-Hair and his warriors, his exhausting runon the trail of Clark aad his band had not worked him serious harm. Allof the officers and men did their utmost to serve him. He was feastedwithout stint and furnished with everything that the scant supply ofclothing on the pack horses could afford for his comfort. He promptlyasked for an assignment to duty in his company and took his place withsuch high enthusiasm that his companions regarded him with admiringwonder. None of them save Clark and Oncle Jazon suspected that love fora fair-haired girl yonder in Vincennes was the secret of his amazingzeal and intrepidity.
In one respect Clark's expedition was sadly lacking in its equipmentfor the march. It had absolutely no means of transporting adequatesupplies. The pack-horses were not able to carry more than a littleextra ammunition, a few articles of clothing, some simple cookingutensils and such tools as were needed in improvising rafts and canoes.Consequently, although buffalo and deer were sometimes plentiful, theyfurnished no lasting supply of meat, because it could not betransported; and as the army neared Vincennes wild animals becamescarce, so that the men began to suffer from hunger when within but afew days of their journey's end.
Clark made almost superhuman efforts in urging forward his chilled,water-soaked, foot-sore command; and when hunger added its torture tothe already disheartening conditions, his courage and energy seemed toburn stronger and brighter. Beverley was always at his side ready toundertake any task, accept any risk; his ardor made his face glow, andhe seemed to thrive upon hardships. The two men were a source ofinspiration--their followers could not flag and hesitate while underthe influence of their example.
Toward the end of the long march a decided fall of temperature addedice to the water through which our dauntless patriots waded and swamfor miles. The wind shifted northwesterly, taking on a searching chill.Each gust, indeed, seemed to shoot wintry splinters into the verymarrow of the men's bones. The weaker ones began to show the approachof utter exhaustion just at the time when a final spurt of unflinchingpower was needed. True, they struggled heroically; but nature wasnearing the inexorable limit of endurance. Without food, which therewas no prospect of getting, collapse was sure to come.
Standing nearly waist-deep in freezing water and looking out upon themuddy, sea-like flood that stretched far away to the channel of theWabash and beyond, Clark turned to Beverley and said, speaking low, soas not to be overheard by any other of his officers or men:
"Is it possible, Lieutenant Beverley, that we are to fail, withVincennes almost in sight of us?"
"No, sir, it is not possible," was the firm reply. "Nothing must,nothing can stop us. Look at that brave child! He sets the heroicexample."
Beverley pointed, as he spoke, at a boy but fourteen years old, who wasusing his drum as a float to bear him up while he courageously swambeside the men.
Clark's clouded face cleared once more. "You are right," he said, "comeon! we must win or die."
"Sergeant Dewit," he added, turning to an enormously tall and athleticman near by, "take that little drummer and his drum on your shoulderand lead the way. And, sergeant, make him pound that drum like thedevil beating tan-bark!"
The huge man caught the spirit of his commander's order. In a twinklinghe had the boy astride of his neck with the kettle-drum resting on hishead, and then the rattling music began. Clark followed, pointingonward with his sword. The half frozen and tottering soldiers sent up ashout that went back to where Captain Bowman was bringing up the rearunder orders to shoot every man that straggled or shrank from duty.
Now came a time when not a mouthful of food was left. A whole day theyfloundered on, starving, growing fainter at every step, the temperaturefalling, the ice thickening. They camped on high land; and next morningthey heard Hamilton's distant sunrise gun boom over the water.
"One half-ration for the men," said Clark, looking disconsolately inthe direction whence the sound had come. "Just five mouthfuls apiece,even, and I'll have Hamilton and his fort within forty-eight hours."
"We will have the provisions, Colonel, or I will die trying to getthem," Beverley responded "Depend upon me."
They had constructed some canoes in which to transport the weakest ofthe men.
"I will take a dugout and some picked fellows. We will pull to the woodyonder, and there we shall find some kind of game which has been forcedto shelter from the high water."
It was a cheerful view of a forlorn hope. Clark grasped the handextended by Beverley and they looked encouragement into each other'seyes.
Oncle Jazon volunteered to go in the pirogue. He was ready foranything, everything.
"I can't shoot wo'th a cent," he whined, as they took their places inthe cranky pirogue; "but I might jes' happen to kill a squir'l or aelephant or somepin 'nother."
"Very well," shouted Clark in a loud, cheerful voice, when they hadpaddled away to a considerable distance, "bring the meat to the woodson the hill yonder," pointing to a di
stant island-like ridge far beyondthe creeping flood. "We'll be there ready to eat it!"
He said this for the ears of his men. They heard and answered with astraggling but determined chorus of approval. They crossed the rollingcurrent of the Wabash by a tedious process of ferrying, and at lastfound themselves once more wading in back-water up to their armpits,breaking ice an inch thick as they went. It was the closing struggle toreach the high wooded lands. Many of them fell exhausted; but theirstronger comrades lifted them, holding their heads above water, anddragged them on.
Clark, always leading, always inspiring, was first to set foot on dryland. He shouted triumphantly, waved his sword, and then fell tohelping the men out of the freezing flood. This accomplished, heordered fires built; but there was not a soldier of them all whosehands could clasp an ax-handle, so weak and numbed with cold were they.He was not to be baffled, however. If fire could not be had, exercisemust serve its purpose. Hastily pouring some powder into his hand hedampened it and blacked his face. "Victory, men, victory!" he shouted,taking off his hat and beginning to leap and dance. "Come on! We'llhave a war dance and then a feast, as soon as the meat arrives that Ihave sent for. Dance! you brave lads, dance! Victory! victory!"
The strong men, understanding their Colonel's purpose, took hold of thedelicate ones; and the leaping, the capering, the tumult of voices andthe stamping of slushy moccasins with which they assaulted that statelyforest must have frightened every wild thing thereabout into a deadlyrigor, dark's irrepressible energy and optimism worked a veritablecharm upon his faithful but almost dying companions in arms. Theirtrust in him made them feel sure that food would soon be forthcoming.The thought afforded a stimulus more potent than wine; it drove theminto an ecstasy of frantic motion and shouting which soon warmed themthoroughly.
It is said that fortune favors the brave. The larger meaning of thesentence may be given thus: God guards those who deserve Hisprotection. History tells us that just when Clark halted his commandalmost in sight of Vincennes--just when hunger was about to prevent thevictory so close to his grasp--a party of his scouts brought in thehaunch of a buffalo captured from some Indians. The scouts wereLieutenant Beverley and Oncle Jazon. And with the meat they broughtIndian kettles in which to cook it.
With consummate forethought Clark arranged to prevent his men doingthemselves injury by bolting their food or eating it half-cooked. Brothwas first made and served hot; then small bits of well broiled steakwere doled out, until by degrees the fine effect of nourishment set in,and all the command felt the fresh courage of healthy reaction.
"I ain't no gin'ral, nor corp'ral, nor nothin'," remarked Oncle Jazonto Colonel Clark, "but 'f I's you I'd h'ist up every dad dinged oleflag in the rig'ment, w'en I got ready to show myself to 'em, an' I'dmake 'em think, over yander at the fort, 'at I had 'bout ninetythousan' men. Hit'd skeer that sandy faced Gov'nor over there till he'dthink his back-bone was a comin' out'n 'im by the roots."
Clark laughed, but his face showed that the old man's suggestion struckhim forcibly and seriously.
"We'll see about that presently, Oncle Jazon. Wait till we reach thehill yonder, from which the whole town can observe our manoeuvres, thenwe'll try it, maybe."
Once more the men were lined up, the roll-call gone through withsatisfactorily, and the question put: "Are we ready for another plungethrough the mud and water?"
The answer came in the affirmative, with a unanimity not to bemistaken. The weakest heart of them all beat to the time of the chargestep. Again Clark and Beverley clasped hands and took the lead.
When they reached the next high ground they gazed in silence across aslushy prairie plot to where, on a slight elevation, old Vincennes andFort Sackville lay in full view.
Beverley stood apart. A rush of sensations affected him so that heshook like one whose strength is gone. His vision was blurred. Fort andtown swimming in a mist were silent and still. Save the British flagtwinkling above Hamilton's headquarters, nothing indicated that theplace was not deserted. And Alice? With the sweet name's echoBeverley's heart bounded high, then sank fluttering at the recollectionthat she was either yonder at the mercy of Hamilton, or already thevictim of an unspeakable cruelty. Was it weakness for him to lift hisclasped hands heavenward and send up a voiceless prayer?
While he stood thus Oncle Jazon came softly to his side and touched hisarm. Beverley started.
"The nex' thing'll be to shoot the everlastin' gizzards outen 'em,won't it?" the old man inquired. "I'm jes' a eetchin' to git a griponto that Gov'nor. Ef I don't scelp 'em I'm a squaw."
Beverley drew a deep breath and came promptly back from his dream. Itwas now Oncle Jazon's turn to assume a reflective, reminiscent mood. Helooked about him with an expression of vague half tenderness on hisshriveled features.
"I's jes' a thinkin' how time do run past a feller," he presentlyremarked. "Twenty-seven years ago I camped right here wi' mywife--ninth one, ef I 'member correct--jes' fresh married to 'r; sorto' honey-moon. 'Twus warm an' sunshiny an' nice. She wus a poortysquaw, mighty poorty, an' I wus as happy as a tomtit on a sugar-trough.We b'iled sap yander on them nobs under the maples. It wus glor'us. Hadsome several wives 'fore an' lots of 'm sence; but she wus sweetes' of'm all. Strange how a feller 'members sich things an' feels sort o'lonesome like!"
The old man's mouth drooped at the corners and he hitched up hisbuckskin trousers with a ludicrous suggestion of pathos in every lineof his attitude. Unconsciously he sidled closer to Beverley, remotelyfeeling that he was giving the young man very effective sympathy, wellknowing that Alice was the sweet burden of his thoughts. It was thusOncle Jazon honestly tried to fortify his friend against what probablylay in store for him.
But Beverley failed to catch the old man's crude comfort thus flung athim. The analogy was not apparent. Oncle Jazon probably felt that hiskindness had been ineffectual, for he changed his tone and added:
"But I s'pose a young feller like ye can't onderstan' w'at it is tolove a 'oman an' 'en hev 'er quit ye for 'nother feller, an' him a buckInjin. Wall, wall, wall, that's the way it do go! Of all the livin'things upon top o' this yere globe, the mos' onsartin',crinkety-crankety an' slippery thing is a young 'oman 'at knows she'spoorty an' 'at every other man in the known world is blind stavin'crazy in love wi' 'er, same as you are. She'll drop ye like a hot tater'fore ye know it, an' 'en look at ye jes' pine blank like she neverknowed ye afore in her life. It's so, Lieutenant, shore's ye'r born. Iknow, for I've tried the odd number of 'em, an' they're all jes' thesame."
By this time Beverley's ears were deaf to Oncle Jazon's querulous,whining voice, and his thoughts once more followed his wistful gazeacross the watery plain to where the low roofs of the creole townappeared dimly wavering in the twilight of eventide, which was fastfading into night. The scene seemed unsubstantial; he felt a strangelethargy possessing his soul; he could not realize the situation. Intrying to imagine Alice, she eluded him, so that a sort of cloudy voidfell across his vision with the effect of baffling and benumbing it. Hemade vain efforts to recall her voice, things that she had said to him,her face, her smiles; all he could do was to evoke an elusive,tantalizing, ghostly something which made him shiver inwardly with ahaunting fear that it meant the worst, whatever the worst might be.Where was she? Could she be dead, and this the shadowy message of herfate?
Darkness fell, and a thin fog began to drift in wan streaks above thewater. Not a sound, save the suppressed stir of the camp, broke thewide, dreary silence. Oncle Jazon babbled until satisfied that Beverleywas unappreciative, or at least unresponsive.
"Got to hev some terbacker," he remarked, and shambled away in searchof it among his friends.
A little later Clark approached hastily and said:
"I have been looking for you. The march has begun. Bowman andCharleville are moving; come, there's no time to lose."