On that day, and for many days more, that street was thronged with warriors.Chiefs in gala dress strutted up and down, feathered and plumed and blanketed, smeared with paint, bedecked with rude jewellery,--earrings and bracelets.From the remote forests of the north they had come, where the cold winds blow off the blue lakes; from the prairies to the east; from the upper running waters, where the Mississippi flows clear and undefiled by the muddy flood; from the villages and wigwams of the sluggish Wabash; and from the sandy, piny country between the great northern seas where Michilimackinac stands guard alone,--Sacs and Foxes, Chippeways and Maumies and Missesogies, Puans and Pottawattomies, chiefs and medicine men.
Well might the sleep of the good citizens be disturbed, and the women fear to venture to the creek with their linen and their paddles!
The lives of these people hung in truth upon a slender thing--the bearing of one man.All day long the great chiefs sought an audience with him, but he sent them word that matters would be settled in the council that was to come.All day long the warriors lined the picket fence in front of the house, and more than once Tom McChesney roughly shouldered a lane through them that timid visitors might pass.Like a pack of wolves, they watched narrowly for any sign of weakness.As for Tom, they were to him as so many dogs.
``Ye varmints!'' he cried, ``I'll take a blizz'rd at ye if ye don't keep the way clear.''
At that they would give back grudgingly with a chorus of grunts, only to close in again as tightly as before.But they came to have a wholesome regard for the sun-browned man with the red hair who guarded the Colonel's privacy.
The boy who sat on the door-step, the son of the great Pale Face Chief (as they called me), was a never ending source of comment among them.Once Colonel Clark sent for me.The little front room of this house was not unlike the one we had occupied at Kaskaskia.It had bare walls, a plain table and chairs, and a crucifix in the corner.It served as dining room, parlor, bedroom, for there was a pallet too.Now the table was covered with parchments and papers, and beside Colonel Clark sat a grave gentleman of about his own age.As I came into the room Colonel Clark relaxed, turned toward this gentleman, and said:--``Monsieur Gratiot, behold my commissary-general, my strategist, my financier.'' And Monsieur Gratiot smiled.
He struck me as a man who never let himself go sufficiently to laugh.
``Ah,'' he said, ``Vigo has told me how he settled the question of paper money.He might do something for the Congress in the East.''
``Davy is a Scotchman, like John Law,'' said the Colonel, ``and he is a master at perceiving a man's character and business.
``What would you call me, at a venture, Davy?'' asked Monsieur Gratiot.
He spoke excellent English, with only a slight accent.
``A citizen of the world, like Monsieur Vigo,'' I answered at a hazard.
``Pardieu!'' said Monsieur Gratiot, ``you are not far away.Like Monsieur Vigo I keep a store here at Cahokia.
Like Monsieur Vigo, I have travelled much in my day.Do you know where Switzerland is, Davy?''
I did not.
``It is a country set like a cluster of jewels in the heart of Europe,'' said Monsieur Gratiot, ``and there are mountains there that rise among the clouds and are covered with perpetual snows.And when the sun sets on those snows they are rubies, and the skies above them sapphire.''
``I was born amongst the mountains, sir,'' I answered, my pulse quickening at his description, ``but they were not so high as those you speak of.''
``Then,'' said Monsieur Gratiot, ``you can understand a little my sorrow as a lad when I left it.From Switzerland I went to a foggy place called London, and thence I crossed the ocean to the solemn forests of the north of Canada, where I was many years, learning the characters of these gentlemen who are looking in upon us.''
And he waved his arm at the line of peering red faces by the pickets.Monsieur Gratiot smiled at Clark.``And there's another point of resemblance between myself and Monsieur Vigo.''
``Have you taken the paper money?'' I demanded.
Monsieur Gratiot slapped his linen breeches.``That Ihave,'' and this time I thought he was going to laugh.
But he did not, though his eyes sparkled.``And do you think that the good Congress will ever repay me, Davy?''
``No, sir,'' said I.
``Peste!'' exclaimed Monsieur Gratiot, but he did not seem to be offended or shaken.
``Davy,'' said Colonel Clark, ``we have had enough of predictions for the present.Fetch this letter to Captain Bowman at the garrison up the street.'' He handed me the letter.``Are you afraid of the Indians?''
``If I were, sir, I would not show it,'' I said, for he had encouraged me to talk freely to him.
``Avast!'' cried the Colonel, as I was going out.``And why not?''
``If I show that I am not afraid of them, sir, they will think that you are the less so.''
``There you are for strategy, Gratiot,'' said Colonel Clark, laughing.``Get out, you rascal.''
Tom was more concerned when I appeared.
``Don't pester 'em, Davy,'' said he; ``fer God's sake don't pester 'em.They're spoilin' fer a fight.Stand back thar, ye critters,'' he shouted, brandishing his rifle in their faces.
``Ugh, I reckon it wouldn't take a horse or a dog to scent ye to-day.Rank b'ar's oil! Kite along, Davy.''
Clutching the letter tightly, I slipped between the narrowed ranks, and gained the middle of the street, not without a quickened beat of my heart.Thence I sped, dodging this group and that, until I came to the long log house that was called the garrison.Here our men were stationed, where formerly a squad from an English regiment was quartered.I found Captain Bowman, delivered the letter, and started back again through the brown, dusty street, which lay in the shade of the great forest trees that still lined it, doubling now and again to avoid an idling brave that looked bent upon mischief.For a single mischance might set the tide running to massacre.
