Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman Part 19

"None other than the forlorn little Irish la.s.s you used to be kind to,"

and she flashed upon me an irradiating smile, and drew her hands out of mine with an air of gentle dignity that somehow embarra.s.sed me. "But you did not know me in riflemen's uniform--my heart need not have fluttered so that day in the forest when you planted yourself before me, and looked me straight in the eye."

"It makes me tremble even yet, Ellen," I answered, "to think of your rash conduct during the last few months."

"All has turned out beautifully, Cousin Donald, and I would do it all over again," and she spoke gaily, but with more seriousness, as she added: "Are you not risking all for freedom; and is not liberty as dear to a woman as to a man? I took the risk and I have won. Had I died in the attempt 'twould have been better than the life of slavery and persecution. Besides, cousin, though your narrow Protestantism may find it hard to grant such grace to Catholics, we, too, have faith in an overruling Providence, believe in a power that can protect the helpless, and guide the orphan. I rode away from my Uncle Thomas' house that night, unguarded by man, but guided by the holy Christ and the gentle Virgin,"--Ellen's face shone with uplifted rapture as she spoke thus--"By them I have been brought in safety to this peaceful village of kindly, cheerful people, to the care of holy Father Gibault, kind Madame Rocheblave, and faithful Angelique. I shall not again lack friends nor suffer persecution for my religion. You are a distant kinsman, 'tis true, Cousin Donald, and I hold you in grateful affection for past kindnesses--but I will not be scolded nor upbraided. I am done with that, for always. Nor have I any apologies to make to any one. I was driven to what I did by those who were called to give me a home and affection. I repeat I would do over again what I have done. If you wish to treat me with a kinsman's kindness upon these terms I shall be glad--otherwise you must say farewell, and leave me to my new found friends."

Never was I so completely cowed by speech from the lips of any one, as by 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 be my friend and comrade always?" I answered, "and have not friends and comrades 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 never again act upon impulse without taking counsel of Thomas or me who are your loyal kinsmen, and would risk our lives for you. I speak not to disapprove, but to warn; the dangers, the risks your independent, confident spirit may lead you into, frighten me. And, Ellen," I went on rapidly, lest I should never again be able to summon up the needful courage to say it--"you must not include Uncle Thomas, nor my mother, in your just condemnation of Aunt Martha; both are sincerely grieved, and Uncle Thomas half distracted with apprehension and remorse; neither had a thought that you were so very unhappy."

"Uncle Thomas had not the courage to take my side, nor your mother to offer me a refuge--both preferred family peace, and their own comfort to my salvation; they left no other course open to me than that I took. Not even Cousin Thomas, though he wished to befriend me, had the bravery to make a stand on my side against his mother; he, too, was cowed by her domineering spirit--were I a man, I would cringe to no one, not even to the woman that I love."

That last sentence I remembered, and afterwards it helped me to hold my own a little better against Ellen's growing power over me.

"You were most unkindly treated, Ellen, and it will always be a reproach upon us, something for which we must all hang our heads in shame,--but will you not try to forgive them? They have bitterly atoned for the wrong they did you, if unhappiness, and self reproach, can atone."

"Father Gibault says I must freely forgive them ere he can absolve me from the wrong thoughts, and actions of which I too have been guilty,"

answered Ellen--that catch in her voice, which so often I had recalled to mind, and had never heard in any other woman's--"but I find no consolation in their remorse. In you, Cousin Donald, I have nothing to forgive, you have always been good to me. I am still your friend and comrade, if you wish--though already you are a great and n.o.ble man, as I foresaw you would be," and again she gave me that flas.h.i.+ng smile which made 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 think of nothing but hard work, and long doleful prayers. As yet I have heard ma.s.s but twice, and only once have I been to confession; it seemed to me that the spirit of my dead parents were with me, and it brought me such joy and peace as you cannot conceive. I can never be separated again from the exercise of my religion. In truth I have a solemn and holy purpose set before me, of which I shall tell you, some day. Meantime let us not talk upon this painful subject, Cousin Donald,--life is so good to me now, so full of pure joy, and perfect happiness that I like not to recall the past five years."

CHAPTER XIX

During the months of August and September, Clark was kept busy receiving the Indian deputations which came weekly to Kaskaskia to sue for peace and alliance, with the famed Big-Knives and his warriors. Each visit was an affair of state, and must be received with due ceremony. Did the deputation consist only of the chief of some petty sub-tribe, and two or three warriors, they must have audience at the fort with Colonel Clark himself, surrounded by an armed body-guard; speeches, presents, and wampum belts must be ceremoniously exchanged, and the peace pipe smoked solemnly, after which Clark must tender them a feast.

Born to administer large affairs, Colonel Clark showed in his pacification of the Northwest Indians, a remarkable shrewdness, and knowledge of human nature. He used much the same tactics as those found so successful in dealing with the French:--he over-awed them by dauntlessness of spirit, and a show of far greater strength than he really possessed. When the desired impression had been made upon them, and they had offered alliance, he would adroitly win them to his purposes by friendliness and flattery. He could meet them with a counter stoicism and subtlety that confounded them, and sent them back to their tribes to tell marvelous stories of the great white warrior chief, the redoubtable Big-Knife, whose course of conquest had started at the rising sun, and would be stopped only by the big river towards the sun's lodge. One edict of Colonel Clark well serves to ill.u.s.trate his far-seeing wisdom, and the extent of his power. He forbade any soldier, any citizen of Kaskaskia, or trader on the river, to sell or to give a single gill of liquor to an Indian within so many miles of the town and fort, under heavy penalties; and the few infringements of this rule were severely punished. Ceremony, presents and feasting were dealt out generously to the savages, but their expectations of fire-water were invariably disappointed. Some of them went away sullen, but there was no rioting in Kaskaskia, and no more b.l.o.o.d.y fights such as had been customary between panins and Indians.

Between these and other duties, Colonel Clark found some leisure for diversion, and sought it usually in the long room of the Commandant's house, where Ellen held her court with a constantly increasing number of subjects. Madame Rocheblave had left Kaskaskia soon after Ellen's recovery, to visit friends in Detroit, while awaiting the release of M.

Rocheblave, who had been sent to Virginia with several other prisoners.

But Angelique had consented to accept services as Ellen's maid, and was in constant attendance upon her.

Among Ellen's admirers the most indefatigable and determined were Monsieur Legere, Colonel Clark, Thomas and I; and for each of us she had a special course of treatment that kept us hovering between hope and despair. Monsieur Legere's manner of attack was nightly to serenade Ellen with voice and guitar, and daily to present her with pa.s.sionate love poems, hidden in bunches of gorgeous wild flowers, which he had gathered at risk of limb and life from the most inaccessible spurs of the bluff across the river. These offerings she would receive with just enough appearance of pleasure, and expression of appreciation to prevent that emotional youth from committing suicide. Thomas, she treated as she would a brother, took him to ma.s.s with her, and alternately commanded, scolded, and coaxed him. He alone failed to see that there was naught but cousinly regard, and a degree of grat.i.tude and pity in her heart for him.

Colonel Clark sued, as he did everything else, masterfully. It was plain, too, that this had a certain effect upon Ellen, who moreover, could not fail to be attracted by his handsome person and winning manners. That personal charm felt so strongly by men, even by savages and foreigners must produce a more sure effect upon the feelings of the woman whom he condescended to woo. Yet Ellen did not acknowledge his power, but rather took pleasure in making him yield to her. There was almost daily warfare of words between them. She would be starting to vespers with Thomas perhaps, just as Clark would be mounting the porch steps.

"You are not going this afternoon, Miss Ellen," in his firm tone of command; "I want you to stay and talk to me."

"But I always go to vespers, Colonel Clark."

"Except when I come to see you."

"No matter who comes to see me."

"You need make exception in my case only; I have many duties, and can not choose my hours of recreation; you can say your prayers all day, if you wish."

"Vesper hour is sacred; I cannot profane it by staying away from service to amuse even _you_, Colonel Clark. Moreover I am neither Frenchman, Indian, nor soldier; I do not take orders from the Long-Knives," and she would flash upon him a look of smiling defiance, and pa.s.s on.

"You are as cruel as fair, Miss Ellen," in hurt, gentle tones; "you cannot guess how weary, and heart-hungry I am, or you would be more merciful. Are you not the one bit of home, and comfort, and cheer we soldiers have in this wilderness? Now, after a day of toil, with the prospect of an hour of delight with you as my only recompense, you leave me thus without a word of regret."

"I must to vespers, Colonel Clark, but I shall hasten back; you can wait here for me."

And Clark would wait impatiently, Ellen returning promptly, as she had promised, to put forth for him, during the rest of the evening, the utmost of her powers of fascination.

Her treatment of me was less flattering, I thought, than that she accorded any of the others. I was no more her best friend, her openly favored comrade. On the contrary, she treated me with alternate indifference, haughtiness and patronage; she would seem to seek occasions of difference, and then, when I was lashed into answering her, would flaunt me angrily, or mock me with sarcasms. Afterwards she would repent her rudeness, and beg my pardon with the sweetest humility and gentleness. But this playing hot and cold on her part kept me in a sort of inward fever, and made me what I had never been in my life before, irritable and quarrelsome. To the men under me, I was peremptory; I was testy with Thomas, and often almost rude with Clark. In truth I was half frenzied with jealousy. A score of times in the day, I would compare myself with Clark--set my appearance and qualities over against his, and cast up the balance between us; but, with all my leaning to my own side, I could not blind myself that neither in manner, person, nor gifts could I rival him. There could be little doubt as to which one of us Ellen would choose when a final choice was forced upon her.

The wild grape vintage was a customary festival with the Kaskaskians.

The woods along the river were wreathed with the vines, which looped from branch to branch, or from tree to tree, and even the berry thickets had become trellises to support their luxuriant meanderings. These wild grapes made a rich, delicious wine, much prized by the people as a beverage, and by the priests as an antidote to the far less innocent fire water, peddled by the traders, in boat loads, up and down the river. Colonel Clark not only consented to the celebration of this one of their frequent holidays, but agreed that the soldiers might take part on condition that no liquors be dispensed.

All a.s.sisted in the morning's work of gathering the grapes, and piling them in the caleches, or two-wheeled carts, to be hauled to the wine vats, then the afternoon was given up to pleasure and feasting. Games were interspersed with trials of strength and skill, upon the public square of the village; shooting at a mark, hurling the tomahawk, wrestling and racing were the chief contests, which were partic.i.p.ated in by Frenchmen and soldiers on equal terms. Colonel Clark, Captain Montgomery, and myself were the chosen judges, and we were careful to distribute the prizes equally, with no very strict regard to merit.

The free half-breeds and the panins, with a few straggling Indians, had also their games apart, presided over by three of our men from the fort, who acted as judges. The supper was provided by Colonel Clark, and besides the usual pancakes and maple syrup, served at nearly all their feasts, there were maize cakes, barbecued venison, corn parched, ground and sweetened, wild duck and plover eggs boiled and roasted, melons, pawpaws, mulberries and sangaree. This supper was served by the cheery matrons of Kaskaskia, from caleches backed in a circle around a part of the green. Later, smiling maidens bedecked with flowers, came out of the low eaved houses, and with the youths and gayer soldiers fell a dancing on the green to the sound of banjo and guitar, in the light of a bright full moon, beneath a star-studded dome of clearest azure. It was a picture of simple Arcadian happiness, which needed only the embellishments of nature to beautify it, only the impulses of nature to stimulate it.

Ellen had been named "Queen of the Festa" by Clark, and the day seemed diverted into an occasion to honor her. It was she who pressed with dainty fingers the juice from the first bunch of grapes, ere they were put into vats for trampling; she who presented the prizes to the victors, or crowned them gracefully with the laurel wreaths. And when the music sounded, Clark led her forth to tread a stately measure alone with him upon the green, ere the general dancing began. I did not know before that either of them could dance--for never had I seen such sport until Nelly Buford had shown me the latest steps at Colonel Morgan's.

But Ellen was a daily astonishment, and Clark had learned much in his adventurous life.

When they had thus inaugurated the evening's gayety as also they had presided over the day's festivities, Ellen and Clark wandered through the village together, in the moonlight, she leaning on his arm, and he bending over her like an accepted lover. Half an hour later I saw them seated side by side on the steps, under the nave of the church, absorbed in each other, and entirely unconscious of me, as I pa.s.sed them on the opposite side of the street. Ellen was all in white, save for a black lace scarf she wore Spanish fas.h.i.+on, about her head, and shoulders, and in the moonlight she was a radiant vision of girlish loveliness--as Clark by her side was a picture of handsome young manhood. "They would be well mated," I thought with a sigh as I pa.s.sed on, homesick and heartsick. In the darkness of the deserted barracks, I sought my soldier's couch, and lay a long time awake, thinking longingly of home and loved ones and wrestling with the demon of jealousy which threatened to master me.

A deep sigh aroused me after awhile, from the half dream into which I had slipped, and I heard Thomas' voice, praying in low tones. Poor Thomas. He was even more unhappy than I, for he had deserted home, parents, and religion for his idol, who but treated him with cousinly kindness. Yet I rejoiced, though I pitied him; there was hope for Thomas, since his sorrow and disappointment but drove him back to G.o.d, and his prayers.

Colonel Clark sent for me next morning, and began, in his most peremptory manner to announce that he desired me to make ready to start to Virginia immediately, to deliver certain dispatches to the Governor and the a.s.sembly. He wished his appointments confirmed, and the conquered territory of the Northwest formally annexed to Virginia. Also, he must have money, supplies, and reenforcements for a prompt advance on Detroit, and later on, Quebec. All Canada might be taken, with the aid of our French and Indian allies, had we but a nucleus of American soldiers, and sufficient means to forward the enterprise. I must not only deliver his request to that effect, but urge the members of the a.s.sembly, publicly and privately, as I had opportunity, to support the project, and to vote money and men for it.

When he had said all this, without asking my opinion, I stopped him by suggesting that perhaps I could not be earnest and eloquent enough in a cause my reason and judgment did not sanction; that I had once helped to storm Quebec, and knew the almost insurmountable difficulties of the attempt without a large army and plenty of cannon; that I did not believe our allies would be of any value in such an enterprise, and that in my opinion we would only be risking what we had secured, or abandoning it more probably, for a success dependent upon a hundred unlikely chances.

Colonel Clark had gazed at me haughtily as I spoke--a manner the more nettling because of his previous friendliness and comrades.h.i.+p with me--and now he reprimanded me sharply for having forgotten my position as a subordinate, whose business it was to obey, not to advise, and then added:

"Can you start, sir, to Virginia to-morrow, with my dispatches and commands?"

"No, Colonel Clark," I answered with a haughtiness that matched his own: "I remain in Kaskaskia till it is my pleasure to leave; my term of enlistment expires next week, after which I am no longer under orders.

Confine me if you please, in the guardhouse, while I am still in your service, but I shall not go to Virginia on this errand."

"And I know your reason for this act of disrespect and disobedience, sir. You are jealous of my suit to Ellen O'Neil."

"As my cousin's lawful protector, I stay by her side until she is safely placed with the guardian she shall choose upon reaching her legal majority."

"Your jealousy has been made evident before, Captain McElroy, but know this, I recognize not your right to interfere with me in any way, nor to dictate to Miss O'Neil upon any subject. I shall warn her, sir, and watch you," and Clark had grown so angry that he talked now half random foolishness, and glared at me savagely.

No less angry, I replied, "And I shall watch you, Colonel Clark. A man who can take advantage of his position of authority to send his rival across the continent with dispatches that a common courier might as well carry is capable of taking other and less honorable advantages, perhaps."

"No man dare insult me, McElroy, without knowing that he must apologize or fight. Take your choice; I am no longer your superior officer," and he threw aside his epauleted coat, and plumed hat, and drawing his sword, stood before me, pallid and rigid with anger.