Alice of Old Vincennes Part 18

The greasy old sinner looked as if he had not been washed since he was born. 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, lolling out his tongue and peeping past Helm so as to get a glimpse of the English line. "Where's yer garrison? Have they all gone to breakfas'?"

The last question set Helm off again cursing and swearing in the most melodramatic rage.

Oncle Jazon turned to Beverley and said in rapid French: "Surely the man's not going to fight those fellows yonder?"

Beverley nodded rather gloomily.

"Well," added the old man, fingering his rifle's stock and taking another 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. I might accidentally hit one of 'em."

When a man is truly brave himself there is nothing that touches him like an exhibition of absolutely unselfish gameness in another. A rush of admiration for Oncle Jazon made Beverley feel like hugging him.

Meantime the young British officer showed a flag of truce, and, with a file of men, separated himself from the line, now stationary, and approached the stockade. At a hundred yards he halted the file and came on alone, waving the white clout. He boldly advanced to within easy speaking distance and shouted:

"I demand the surrender of this fort."

"Well, you'll not get it, young man," roared Helm, his profanity well mixed 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 doughty Captain's arm and then patted it gently.

Helm, who was not half as excited as he pretended to be, knew that Oncle Jazon's remark was the very essence of wisdom; but he was not yet ready for the diplomatic language which the old trooper called "soft soap."

"Are you the British commander?" he demanded.

"No," said the officer, "but I speak for him."

"Not to me by a d.a.m.ned sight, sir. Tell your commander that I will hear what he has to say from his own mouth. No understrapper will be recognized by me."

That ended the conference. The young officer, evidently indignant, strode back to his line, and an hour later Hamilton himself demanded the 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 cover of the town's cabins, were deploying so as to form a half circle about the stockade. Some artillery appeared and was planted directly opposite the gate, not three hundred yards distant. One blast of that battery would, as Helm well knew, level a large part of the stockade.

"S'posin' I hev' a cannon, too, seein' it's the fashion," said Oncle Jazon. "I can't shoot much, but I might skeer 'em. This little one'll do me."

He set his rifle against the wall and with Beverley's help rolled one of 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, and I don't care a d.a.m.n which!"

Hamilton half turned away, as if done with the parley, then facing the fort again, said:

"Very well, sir, haul down your flag."

Helm was dumfounded at this prompt acceptance of his terms. Indeed the incident is unique in history.

As Hamilton spoke he very naturally glanced up to where la banniere d'Alice Roussillon waved brilliantly. Someone stood beside it on the dilapidated roof of the old blockhouse, and was already taking it from its place. His aid, Captain Farnsworth, saw this, and the vision made his heart draw in a strong, hot flood It was a girl in short skirts and moccasins, with a fur hood on her head, her face, thrillingly beautiful, set around with fluffs of wind-blown brown-gold hair.

Farnsworth was too young to be critical and too old to let his eyes deceive him. Every detail of the fine sketch, with its steel-blue background 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 roof un.o.bserved, 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, asked Oncle Jazon to lower it.

Beverley was thinking of Alice, and when he looked up he could scarcely realize that he saw her; but the whole situation was plain the instant she s.n.a.t.c.hed the staff from its place; for he, too, recollected what she had said at the river house. The memory and the present scene blended perfectly during the fleeting instant that she was visible. He saw that Alice was smiling somewhat as in her most mischievous moods, and when she jerked the staff from its fastening she lifted it high and waved it once, twice, thrice defiantly toward the British lines, then fled down the ragged roof-slope with it and disappeared. The vision remained in Beverley's eyes forever afterward. The English troops, thinking that the flag was taken down in token of surrender, broke into a wild tumult of shouting.

Oncle Jazon intuitively understood just what Alice was doing, for he knew her nature and could read her face. His blood effervesced in an instant.

"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!" he screamed, waving his disreputable cap round his scalpless head. "Hurrah for George Washington! Hurrah for Alice Roussillon's flag!"

It was all over soon. Helm surrendered himself and Beverley with full honors. As for Oncle Jazon, he disappeared at the critical moment. It was not just to his mind to be a prisoner of war, especially under existing conditions; for Hamilton's Indian allies had some old warpath scores to settle with him dating back to the days when he and Simon Kenton were comrades in Kentucky.

When Alice s.n.a.t.c.hed the banner and descended with it to the ground, she ran swiftly out through the postern, as she had once before done, and sped along under cover of the low bluff or swell, which, terrace-like, bounded the flat "bottom" lands southward of the stockade. She kept on until she reached a point opposite Father Beret's hut, to which she then ran, the flag streaming bravely behind her in the wind, her heart beating time to her steps.

It was plainly a great surprise to Father Beret, who looked up from his prayer when she rushed in, making a startling clatter, the loose puncheons 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 comprehend her meaning.

She was panting, half laughing, half crying. Her hair, wildly disheveled, hung in glorious ma.s.ses over her shoulders. Her face beamed triumphantly.

"They are taking the fort," she breathlessly added, again urging the flag 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, the madcap air intensified by her att.i.tude and the excitement of the violent exercise just ended--something compounded of all these and more--affected the good priest strangely. Involuntarily he crossed himself, as if against a dangerous charm.

"Mon Dieu, Father Beret," she exclaimed with impatience, "haven't you a grain of sense left? Take this flag and hide it, I tell you! Don't stay there gazing and blinking. Here, quick! They saw me take it, they may be following me. Hurry, hide it somewhere!"

He comprehended now, rising from his knees with a queer smile broadening on his face. She put the banner into his hands and gave him a 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, until the flag was closely wrapped around it, then stooping he lifted a puncheon 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 George Washington."

She gave him a strong squeeze.