Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman Part 20

"Sir," I answered, fully as furious as he, "you have so lorded it over Frenchmen, panins and Indians, that you seem to have forgotten the respect due a comrade--your equal in all save military rank. Your challenge, Colonel Clark, I accept with pleasure!" I bowed to him, drew my sword and stood at guard.

Neither of us were practiced swordsmen, but both were lithe, active, and possessed of trained eyes, and arms. We fought with small science, yet with some skill, and in deadly earnest. Without doubt one or the other of us would have been killed or badly wounded, had not a startling interruption paralyzed the arm of each, just when both were wrought up to the killing frenzy. I was fighting desperately and so was Clark, when, suddenly, Ellen's voice rang above the clash of our swords, and the panting emission of our breath:

"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" she called sharply, and each lowered his weapon and turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her eyes glowing, her face quite pale, and Father Gibault stood behind her, looking more perturbed than I had ever seen him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "COUSIN DONALD! COLONEL CLARK!" SHE CALLED SHARPLY.]

"I know not whose the fault," she added scornfully, "but each is less the knight and patriot, in my esteem, for this rash deed. You would kill each other and bring destruction upon your patriotic enterprise, and death to these men, whose lives are in your keeping? Bah! Men are children; their pa.s.sions rule them! Father Gibault, will you stay with Colonel Clark and soothe his anger? You have hurt me grievously, Colonel Clark, and I thought you my friend--" and now was heard the break in Ellen's voice which tugged always at one's heartstrings.

"Forgive me, Miss Ellen!" stammered Clark; "I have no quarrel with your cousin; it was, as you say, foolish anger and rashness. But in justice I must confess that I forced this fight upon McElroy," and my generous comrade looked frankly at me.

"Nor have I just grounds of quarrel with you, Colonel Clark," I responded. "I was disrespectful in my words and manner. Will you accept my apology?" and I held out my hand.

Clark took and shook it warmly, while Ellen smiled upon us, and Father Gibault blessed us with low spoken benediction.

"Come with me, Cousin Donald!" commanded Ellen; "I have something I would say to you."

We walked together toward the town, for some time in silence, then Ellen said, blushing as she spoke:

"Father Gibault tells me that you and Colonel Clark quarreled about me, Cousin Donald. It was not kind, nor respectful, and it was very foolish, if jealousy prompted you, for I shall never marry."

"Never marry, Ellen, and why?" I asked in great astonishment.

"Did not I tell you, Cousin, that I had set before myself a high and holy purpose? I have sworn a vow of consecration. As soon as I have reached my majority, I shall take the veil, and pa.s.s the remainder of my life in prayer, and G.o.d's holy service. Will you tell Colonel Clark this for me? And neither of you, I beg, will ever again couple me, even in your thoughts with love and marriage. I shall be the bride of the Church, I trust, but never the bride of mortal. G.o.d saved me from an awful fate in answer to my vow of consecration. To choose a life of worldly pleasure would be in me dishonesty in its worst form. Help me to keep my vow, Cousin Donald; make me strong to do the right."

The touching appeal of her voice and manner as she spoke thus, it is not possible to describe. She seemed to throw herself upon my strength, to implore me to help her to sacrifice herself. I saw how strongly she felt all she said, how impossible it would be to make her see now the folly of her purpose, and the illogic of her thoughts. She wanted my sympathy and encouragement--yet how could I give it to her, at risk of forfeiting my happiness, and possibly hers! Yet I could not fail her.

"Dear Ellen," I said, with all the deep tenderness of my heart for her trembling in my words, "whatever you finally conclude is your duty, that I shall help you to do, with all the sympathy and courage I can give you. But take no step rashly, nor without consulting Father Gibault. Our heavenly Father has, I truly believe, guided you thus far; let us look to Him for further guidance."

CHAPTER XX

There was no lack of volunteers to convey Colonel Clark's dispatches to Virginia. More than half of the men it appeared were anxious to return to their homes at the expiration of their term of enlistment. In that case, but a handful of us would be left, after October, to hold the three forts, and keep down the Indians. Colonel Clark resorted to entreaties and promises, and at last induced about three hundred of the men to consent to reenlist for six months more. Thirty-five were determined to go, and even the prospect of being rewarded, by the grat.i.tude of Virginia, with royal land grants in the new territory, could not keep them longer.

"If Virginia did not choose to send recruits to hold the territory, we had won for her," they argued, "she deserved to lose it. Meantime their own families might be suffering privation or danger, and their own lands be lapsing again into the state of wilderness from which they had so lately rescued them. They could risk no more, sacrifice no further--not even for Virginia." One was forced to admit there was reason in their excuses.

Thomas, to my small surprise, was one of those who could not be persuaded to remain. Clark asked me to remonstrate with him, and I did so but without success.

"I've nothing to stay for," he answered; "Ellen rejects my love, and it is only what I deserve for my stubborn following of my own will, and my disrespect to my mother. Since neither Ellen's death nor her misery lies at our door; since she has reached a safe and pleasant harborage among people of her own religion, and can take her choice between a nunnery in Quebec, or a husband--who may be either military hero, or French Catholic as she will--I feel that my responsibility is ended. I shall go home, Donald, beg my parents' pardon, renew my vows, and resume the work to which I was called, and upon which I wickedly turned my back to pursue a foolish course."

"I cannot understand your feelings, Thomas," I replied, out of patience with what sounded to me like spiteful cant; "you joined our expedition with two specific objects in view:--to regain your lost health, and possibly find trace of Ellen. You have accomplished both objects; besides, have done your share toward our fortunate achievement. To abandon us now, before our success is permanently a.s.sured, and Ellen safely settled, seems to me to be an act of childishness."

"Yours, Donald, is the soldier's point of view, and I cannot complain of your disapproval. I see it all differently, however. It was wrong of me to come, in the first place, with the motives that brought me; the only reparation I can make is to go back as soon as possible, confess humbly, and reconsecrate to G.o.d and duty all my future life."

I said no more, for I saw Thomas' will was set; his present state of mind was as unreasonable as that I had found him in eight months before.

There are men to whom a medium course is not possible--they are born fanatics; Thomas was one of these, but, in justice to him, I must add here, that he grew saner as he grew older, and that, with the coming of maturity, what fanaticism was left took the form of humble service in G.o.d's name, to his fellow men.

Colonel Clark's force now numbered barely a hundred men, including officers. A score were left at Cahokia; the rest were with him at Kaskaskia. It seemed wise to preserve a show of strength at both places, since Indian deputations were coming to one or the other of the two forts, all through the fall, to tender to Colonel Clark the allegiance or submission of their tribes. Being but half a day's march apart, our force could quickly be ma.s.sed at either of these points.

Captain Helm, backed chiefly by his high sounding t.i.tle of "Governor-general of Indian Affairs on the Wabash," with a garrison of five, held Vincennes! Should an English force march against it there would be no chance for defense; for that reason, that Vincennes might be strongly garrisoned, it seemed imperative for us to have speedy reenforcements from Virginia. It was from Vincennes that Colonel Clark was planning to advance on Detroit, but I had never any hope of sufficient reenforcements to make such advance feasible, even in Clark's daring estimation, so gave myself no anxiety as to that rash project.

A rumor that Vincennes had been taken by the British reached us about the middle of December, but a few weeks after the thirty-six had departed for Virginia. The rumor lacked confirmation, however, and Colonel Clark eagerly awaited the confidently expected reenforcements.

After the cold autumn rains set in, visits from the Indian tribes were less frequent, and presently with the coming of winter they ceased. The arrival on Christmas eve, therefore, of a large deputation of much befeathered warriors, and their chief, caused some excitement,--the more so as they were reported to be Miamis from Lake Michigan. This tribe so far had held aloof from us, and was said to be faithful to the English.

They demanded an interview with the white chief, Long-Knife, and asked that he bring only his most trusted warriors to the council chamber, since they had secret matters of weight and importance to discuss.

Colonel Clark summoned his officers, and five others, and the conference began in the large room of the fort--where Clark and I had indulged in our sword play some days before. The chief was, I thought, not past middle age, though it is difficult to guess the age of a redskin. He had a countenance of unusual cruelty and subtlety. His tall frame was powerfully built, and his tongue was both eloquent and cunning.

"Long-Knife and his warriors had come," he said, "as strangers to the land of the Algonquins; they had come to bid the great tribes of the red men, whose fathers had owned the plains washed by the fresh seas, and the great Father-of-Waters, from the beginning, to declare war against their powerful English father, who had given them their guns, and had protected them against their hereditary enemies, the Hurons and the Iroquois. It was said that the warriors of the white chief, Big-Knife, were about to conquer the warriors of the great English father, but were willing to protect the Miamis, and to leave them in peaceful possession of their lands. He and his braves had come to ask if these things were true, and if the Big-Knives sought peace and friendship with the tribes of the Miami."

Colonel Clark responded in his usual way, mixing adroitly with his parade of cool arrogance, and entire indifference, a tone of gracious condescension. "The Miamis might choose for themselves; he had no quarrel with the red man--did they wish the redoubtable warriors of Long-Knife, and the great and war-like nation they came from, on the sh.o.r.e of the eastern ocean, for their friends and brothers--did they wish, as so many of their brethren had done, to make alliance with us, it would be well with them, but we were used to war and liked it--if the Miamis preferred war--good; it was theirs to choose. But they must decide once for all, and war once begun the Long-Knives would not be the first to sue for peace."

A long silence followed Clark's speech, during which the Indians gazed fixedly before them, while the air grew dense with the strong tobacco smoke they exhaled, in great deliberate puffs. We also smoked stolidly on; and the chief's face was not more a mask than Clark's. In the midst of this silent ring of grim smokers--as an angelic apparition floats into the vision of a dream--glided Ellen. She came to my side with smiling countenance, on which was no other expression than that of idle curiosity, gazed calmly into the hideous faces of the savages, and pointing to the crimson aigrette among the head feathers of one, and the black heron quills worn by another asked me in English to buy them for her. Then without changing her expression, or looking again at me, she lowered her tones to a whisper, and scarcely moved her lips in saying,

"When I go out--wait--then follow," and even while she spoke thus, she was making gestures of admiration over the Indian's ornaments, continuing to do so, and to comment upon them to us, as a child might.

Presently the chief began again to speak. Ellen listened gravely for a few moments, shook her head, smiled, and pa.s.sed out. In doing so she walked behind Clark, and uttered a whisper like a sigh. "Beware! Be on your guard!"

Clark gave no sign to indicate that she had spoken, and after lingering at the door for a moment, Ellen went out, and we heard her singing gayly, on her way back to the town.

But for her words to me, I should have thought, as evidently the Indians did, that she had wandered into the council chamber, prompted by idle curiosity alone, and finding small amus.e.m.e.nt there, had wandered out again. The free customs among their own squaws, in regard to their comings and goings, made the incident seem natural to the Indians.

A meaning look from Clark, the barest glance of significance, made known to me that he too had been spoken to, and was on the watch for something unusual. Ellen was not found until I had gone all the way to her house, where she was walking the floor in the greatest excitement, awaiting my arrival.

"Cousin Donald," she whispered, as if the walls had really ears,--"the fort is surrounded by armed savages, they are lurking in the bushes and in the chimney corners, crouching under the steps, and behind trees--they are everywhere. Without doubt they await the signal for an attack; meantime the soldiers are scattered about the village, and ten went this morning, as you know, to carry the powder to Cahokia."

"We must take measures at once to collect the men. You have already warned Colonel Clark?"

"Yes; and I have sent Angelique to seek every soldier she can find loitering about the village, and to bid them all come here."

"Well done, Ellen! I shall muster them as quietly as possible and lead them to the fort. Have you thought of anything else that should be done?"

"M. Legere, who was walking on the bluff with me when I saw the Indians, with Colonel Clark's spy gla.s.s, has already started to Cahokia, mounted on the fleetest horse in the village. If only you can, by some strategy, delay the signal until the men from Cahokia can get here."

"They will, I imagine, wait for twilight. The savages seem to rely much upon the aid of surprise and confusion. If Legere's horse is fleet, and they have boats in readiness at Cahokia, reenforcements should reach us by midnight; but that will be too late, I fear. It will hardly be possible to divert the Indians from their purpose so long. But, now that we are warned, we may find a way to outwit them."

Having disposed my men in the neighborhood of the fort, in a convenient clump of trees, I told them to wait in absolute silence for the sound of my turkey call within the fort and then to surround the council chamber with a rush, making, as they did so, all the hideous noises possible.

The chief was still speaking when I returned to the council chamber, but his manner and his words were less conciliatory and his warriors were scowling ominously.

"Let my friend, and brother chief, speak for the great American father, General Washington, since you profess to doubt my word," said Colonel Clark, as, a moment later, the chief concluded his second wordy and pointless harangue. "Tell the chief, Captain McElroy, since you were present on the day it happened, how the warriors of Chief Washington defeated the warriors of the English father, on the great battlefield west of the Alleghanies, and how you took prisoners a whole tribe of them at Saratoga."

Stepping into the midst of the circle, I told them of the surrender of Saratoga, vaunting much the courage of my tribe, and the war-like skill of our chiefs, and ending thus: "Before many more moons have waxed and waned, the English will mount again their white winged birds, their great ships, and sail back across the wide waters to their own land, leaving all this country subject to the great confederation of the white American tribes. And when the English are gone, and our great chief Washington shall march his armies against the still hostile Indians, woe to those who have refused our friendship! They shall be shaken as ripe fruit from the boughs; scattered to the four corners of the earth, as fruit blossoms by the wind of an April storm."