Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman by Willie Walker Caldwell
CHAPTER XVIII
As soon as Colonel Clark's commands were delivered to Captain Bowman atCahokia, I obtained permission for Thomas and myself to return toKaskaskia, that we might await there the issue of Ellen's illness. Wetook turns of watching upon the porch of the commandant's house to be inreadiness for any instant service it was in our power to render.Meantime Madame Rocheblave and Angelique nursed Ellen assiduously andtenderly, and her physicians gave her faithful attention. This was myfirst acquaintance with people of French blood, and their unfailingcheerfulness and sympathy were a revelation to me. In truth the FrenchAmericans of the Northwest were the most simple natured and warm heartedrace I have ever known--they had not, however, the hardier qualities ofmy own people.
For seven days we had always the same answer to our questions given bythe little doctor, with cheery air, and sympathetic expression--"C'estimpossible a dire, Monsieur, il faut avoir la patience."
Late on the eighth night, Father Gibault came to me, his gentle facebeaming with pleasure, to announce that the crisis had been favorablypassed, and that with no relapse, Ellen would soon be as strong orstronger than before.
* * * * *
The most hazardous part of our enterprise lay yet before us--the takingof Vincennes, the real key to the Northwest, without which we could notlong hold our position at Kaskaskia and Cahokia. And every day theEnglish commandant, Abbott, might return from Detroit withreenforcements for the fort, which was far stronger and better equippedthan the almost abandoned one at Kaskaskia. Moreover we could not hopeso easily to overawe and win the larger and more mixed population of thetown of Vincennes, which had fallen more directly under Britishinfluence.
Colonel Clark had conceived that his best hope was to make theKaskaskians believe his riflemen the most formidable of warriors, and tolead them to think that he could summon from our recently establishedforts on the Ohio any number of reenforcements he might need. So wedrilled and mustered the men and made pretense of sending couriers toour forts, till the Kaskaskians imagined us to be but the vanguard of anarmy. Their fears were aroused for friends and relatives at Vincennes,and Father Gibault himself offered to proceed to that town under anescort of Colonel Clark's troops, to counsel submission and alliance.Clark accepted his offer with apparent indifference, but secret joy, putme in command of Father Gibault's escort, and bade me gather all theinformation possible, in regard to the condition of the fort, thefeeling of the people toward the English, and everything I thought mightbe useful in case we should have to storm or besiege the place.
Still our amazing good luck attended us. The logic of Father Gibault,and the natural preference of the people for peace--which made a changeof masters a matter of secondary importance--proved irresistible. Thecitizens assembled willingly in the church, swore allegiance toVirginia, elected a town officer favorable to our interests, and allowedus to garrison the fort, and raise our standards over it. Father Gibaultcarried the news of our third bloodless victory back to Clark, and aweek later Captain Helm arrived to take command of the garrison of fiveAmericans, and about a score of French recruits. Colonel Clark had givenhim the large sounding title of "Governor-General of Indian affairs onthe Wabash," and had charged him with a characteristic answer toTabac--the head chief of the Piankeshaws, who had visited us atVincennes, and arrogantly commanded us to convey a defiant message tothe chief of the Long-Knives.
"Take your choice," was Clark's answer--by the mouth of the interpreterGivens--"between the British and the Big-Knives. Choose peace or warwith the Long Knives and you will--but whichever you select, remember itis final and prepare to stand firmly by your choice. We are fighters bytrade, we object not to war, yet we have no present quarrel with the redmen, and seek none. We prefer to save our strength to make war upon theBritish king"--and then the ground of our quarrel with Great Britain wasexplained as well as Givens was able to do it by the use of such figuresof speech as the Indians could understand.
The negotiations lasted several days, nor could we gather from thestolid faces of Tabac and his warriors what their decision would be. Atlast Tabac announced that he had made up his mind,--then sat inSphinx-like silence for half an hour, smoking solemnly and lookingstraight before him into the dense smoke made by the pine knots, burningin the midst of our circle. His warriors did likewise. Instructed byGivens, we showed neither curiosity nor impatience, but remained asimpassive as they.
Meantime, partially to rest my eyes from the smoke and flame of the pinelogs, I gazed long and curiously at Tabac. How crafty and subtle theexpression about the thin close-lipped mouth, and long half-shut eyes!How savage the narrow sloping forehead, and the high fleshless cheekbones, smeared with fantastic daubs of paint, and surmounted withsuggestive scalp lock, conspicuously adorned with gay feathers and stiffquills. The noble red man indeed! I have no patience with this absurdsentiment of admiration and pity for the Indian--which seems now to becoming into fashion. The generation of pioneers, and frontiersmen notlong past, realize as others never can the inherent savagery of theIndians. Either we should never have come to America, or we mustexterminate the savages. Indians and civilization repel each other likethe opposite poles of a magnet.
When Tabac arose deliberately to his feet at last, his eyes roved aroundthe circle, and were fixed upon me with an expression of defiance,rather than upon Captain Helm, at whose left I sat, showing that he hadfelt, and resented my scrutiny.
"Warriors of the Big-Knife," he began in slow, measured tones, that madean impression of rude eloquence, though we understood not a word he saiduntil Givens had translated his speech; "I have reflected long--havetaken counsel of my warriors, and of the Great Spirit himself. I havemade my choice. I have reached a last decision. And when Tabac, chief ofthe brave and noble tribe of the Piankeshaws decides, it is theend--there is no more hesitation with him, nor with his people. We arefriends to the Big-Knife, and his warriors. We make alliance with thetribes of Virginia. We, too, are Big-Knives, we stand or fall with ourpale face brethren from the rising sun."
Captain Helm made gracious answer to this language, interspersed withmuch flattery of Tabac and his tribe, for their alliance was, really, ofthe greatest importance to us, and our apparent indifference but a partof the big game of bluff Clark was playing. Then the peace pipe waspassed around, presents interchanged, and after bidding our new alliesan elaborate farewell, we returned to the fort.
Just before he had sent me to Vincennes, Colonel Clark, as I neglectedto mention at the proper time, had raised me to my old rank of Captain,and given me a place on his staff, as special attache to himself--as themoving executive, so to speak, of the central authority. Clark remainedat Kaskaskia, where one Indian deputation after another flocked to himto make treaties of peace or alliance, while I moved up the river toCahokia, or across the prairies and marshes to Vincennes, carrying hisorders, making reports, and gathering information.
Upon my return to Kaskaskia after my first trip to Vincennes, I foundEllen more than convalescent. Her vigorous youth had quickly vanquishedthe disease after the first crisis was safely passed, and she had madesuch rapid recovery as caused Madame Rocheblave to lift her hands,elevate her eyebrows, and exclaim over the marvelous physical powers of"zeze so veery strong Ameerikans."
I found Ellen not only bright-eyed, but plump and rosy, as she had neverbeen before, and even gay among her new friends. They had already takenher to their hearts, partly, I suppose, because she was so devout aCatholic, partly because they had been called upon to befriend and carefor her, and partly too, as any one must recognize, for her own charmingpersonality. No wonder Thomas had been so infatuated! The thin, awkward,shy girl, I remembered, with the beautiful blue eyes, set in a slim,pale face, was become an indescribable compound of girlish roundness,bloom, and sparkle, of maidenly softness and brightness. Her new woman'sclothes, constructed by Angelique's deft fingers of the delicate huedsoft stuffs of the place, which were woven of home grown flax, or ofbuffalo wool, and dyed with na
She had been enrolled as "John Givens" in Captain Dillard's company, andthey laid now special claim to her; every one of the officers makinghimself the slave of her caprices, and vying one with another to flatterand to spoil her. Dr. Lafonte and young Legere, a distant kinsman of thecommandant, promptly surrendered, and, presently, Colonel Clark enrolledhimself among her devoted admirers. There were a dozen fresh faced,sweet voiced French girls of the peasant class in the village, but Ellenalone had qualities to attract men like Dillard, Clark, Thomas and me,who demanded more than rounded outlines, bright eyes, and soft skin.
If once I had patronized Ellen, it was her turn now, and she queened itover me ruthlessly. At our very first interview she proved her power. Ihad sought to see her alone, that I might give her in plain words myopinion of her late rashness, and insist that in future she take no stepwithout consulting Thomas, or me, in lieu of closer kinsman, with betterright to advise her. It seemed my duty to do this, since Thomas'infatuation made him dumb in her presence, and would allow him torecognize no fault in her.
After keeping me waiting a good fifteen minutes, she came, trailing apale yellow robe behind her, and bearing herself like a princess.
"Is this really Ellen O'Niel?" I asked, involuntarily, meeting her halfway down the long room, and taking both her hands in cousinly greeting.
"None other than the forlorn little Irish lass you used to be kind to,"and she flashed upon me an irradiating smile, and drew her hands out ofmine with an air of gentle dignity that somehow embarrassed me. "But youdid not know me in riflemen's uniform--my heart need not have flutteredso that day in the forest when you planted yourself before me, andlooked me straight in the eye."
"It makes me tremble even yet, Ellen," I answered, "to think of yourrash conduct during the last few months."
"All has turned out beautifully, Cousin Donald, and I would do it allover again," and she spoke gaily, but with more seriousness, as sheadded: "Are you not risking all for freedom; and is not liberty as dearto a woman as to a man? I took the risk and I have won. Had I died inthe attempt 'twould have been better than the life of slavery andpersecution. Besides, cousin, though your narrow Protestantism may findit hard to grant such grace to Catholics, we, too, have faith in anoverruling Providence, believe in a power that can protect the helpless,and guide the orphan. I rode away from my Uncle Thomas' house thatnight, unguarded by man, but guided by the holy Christ and the gentleVirgin,"--Ellen's face shone with uplifted rapture as she spokethus--"By them I have been brought in safety to this peaceful village ofkindly, cheerful people, to the care of holy Father Gibault, kind MadameRocheblave, and faithful Angelique. I shall not again lack friends norsuffer persecution for my religion. You are a distant kinsman, 'tistrue, Cousin Donald, and I hold you in grateful affection for pastkindnesses--but I will not be scolded nor upbraided. I am done withthat, for always. Nor have I any apologies to make to any one. I wasdriven to what I did by those who were called to give me a home andaffection. I repeat I would do over again what I have done. If you wishto treat me with a kinsman's kindness upon these terms I shall beglad--otherwise you must say farewell, and leave me to my new foundfriends."
Never was I so completely cowed by speech from the lips of any one, asby these quiet words from Ellen, as she sat before me in calm dignity.Scattered like summer smoke was my intent to reprimand her once for all,and set before her the suffering she had caused us.
"Did you not promise, the night we said good night at the spring, to bemy friend and comrade always?" I answered, "and have not friends andcomrades the right to speak the truth to one another? Once for all,Ellen, I must say I think you acted rashly, and beg that you will neveragain act upon impulse without taking counsel of Thomas or me who areyour loyal kinsmen, and would risk our lives for you. I speak not todisapprove, but to warn; the dangers, the risks your independent,confident spirit may lead you into, frighten me. And, Ellen," I went onrapidly, lest I should never again be able to summon up the needfulcourage to say it--"you must not include Uncle Thomas, nor my mother, inyour just condemnation of Aunt Martha; both are sincerely grieved, andUncle Thomas half distracted with apprehension and remorse; neither hada thought that you were so very unhappy."
"Uncle Thomas had not the courage to take my side, nor your mother tooffer me a refuge--both preferred family peace, and their own comfort tomy salvation; they left no other course open to me than that I took. Noteven Cousin Thomas, though he wished to befriend me, had the bravery tomake a stand on my side against his mother; he, too, was cowed by herdomineering spirit--were I a man, I would cringe to no one, not even tothe woman that I love."
That last sentence I remembered, and afterwards it helped me to hold myown a little better against Ellen's growing power over me.
"You were most unkindly treated, Ellen, and it will always be a reproachupon us, something for which we must all hang our heads in shame,--butwill you not try to forgive them? They have bitterly atoned for thewrong they did you, if unhappiness, and self reproach, can atone."
"Father Gibault says I must freely forgive them ere he can absolve mefrom the wrong thoughts, and actions of which I too have been guilty,"answered Ellen--that catch in her voice, which so often I had recalledto mind, and had never heard in any other woman's--"but I find noconsolation in their remorse. In you, Cousin Donald, I have nothing toforgive, you have always been good to me. I am still your friend andcomrade, if you wish--though already you are a great and noble man, as Iforesaw you would be," and again she gave me that flashing smile whichmade my head swim.
"And you will go home with Thomas and me when this business is ended?"
"I can never go back to that dreary, solemn valley, where people thinkof nothing but hard work, and long doleful prayers. As yet I have heardmass but twice, and only once have I been to confession; it seemed to methat the spirit of my dead parents were with me, and it brought me suchjoy and peace as you cannot conceive. I can never be separated againfrom the exercise of my religion. In truth I have a solemn and holypurpose set before me, of which I shall tell you, some day. Meantime letus not talk upon this painful subject, Cousin Donald,--life is so goodto me now, so full of pure joy, and perfect happiness that I like not torecall the past five years."