He put his hand on my head.``You will remember this when I am dead and gone,'' he said.
I was silent, awed by the power of his words.
Darkness fell, and still we waited, impatient for the order.And when at last it came the men bustled hither and thither to find their commands, and we picked our way on the unseen road that led down the bluff, our hearts thumping.The lights of the village twinkled at our feet, and now and then a voice from below was caught and borne upward to us.Once another noise startled us, followed by an exclamation, ``Donnerblitzen'' and a volley of low curses from the company.Poor Swein Poulsson had loosed a stone, which had taken a reverberating flight riverward.
We reached the bottom, and the long file turned and hurried silently northward, searching for a crossing.Itry to recall my feelings as I trotted beside the tall forms that loomed above me in the night.The sense of protection they gave me stripped me of fear, and I was not troubled with that.My thoughts were chiefly on Polly Ann and the child we had left in the fort now so far to the south of us, and in my fancy I saw her cheerful, ever helpful to those around her, despite the load that must rest on her heart.I saw her simple joy at our return.But should we return? My chest tightened, and I sped along the ranks to Harrod's company and caught Tom by the wrist.
``Davy,'' he murmured, and, seizing my hand in his strong grip, pulled me along with him.For it was not given to him to say what he felt; but as I hurried to keep pace with his stride, Polly Ann's words rang in my ears, ``Davy, take care of my Tom,'' and I knew that he, too, was thinking of her.
A hail aroused me, the sound of a loud rapping, and Isaw in black relief a cabin ahead.The door opened, a man came out with a horde of children cowering at his heels, a volley of frightened words pouring from his mouth in a strange tongue.John Duff was plying him with questions in French, and presently the man became calmer and lapsed into broken English.
``Kaskaskia--yes, she is prepare.Many spy is gone out--cross la riviere.But now they all sleep.''
Even as he spoke a shout came faintly from the distant town.
``What is that?'' demanded Clark, sharply.
The man shrugged his shoulders.``Une fete des negres, peut-etre,--the negro, he dance maybe.''
``Are you the ferryman?'' said Clark.
``Oui--I have some boat.''
We crossed the hundred and fifty yards of sluggish water, squad by squad, and in the silence of the night stood gathered, expectant, on the farther bank.Midnight was at hand.Commands were passed about, and men ran this way and that, jostling one another to find their places in a new order.But at length our little force stood in three detachments on the river's bank, their captains repeating again and again the part which each was to play, that none might mistake his duty.The two larger ones were to surround the town, while the picked force under Simon Kenton himself was to storm the fort.
Should he gain it by surprise and without battle, three shots were to be fired in quick succession, the other detachments were to start the war-whoop, while Duff and some with a smattering of French were to run up and down the streets proclaiming that every habitan who left his house would be shot.No provision being made for the drummer boy (I had left my drum on the heights above), I chose the favored column, at the head of which Tom and Cowan and Ray and McCann were striding behind Kenton and Colonel Clark.Not a word was spoken.There was a kind of cow-path that rose and fell and twisted along the river-bank.This we followed, and in ten minutes we must have covered the mile to the now darkened village.The starlight alone outlined against the sky the houses of it as we climbed the bank.Then we halted, breathless, in a street, but there was no sound save that of the crickets and the frogs.Forward again, and twisting a corner, we beheld the indented edge of the stockade.Still no hail, nor had our moccasined feet betrayed us as we sought the river side of the fort and drew up before the big river gates of it.Simon Kenton bore against them, and tried the little postern that was set there, but both were fast.The spikes towered a dozen feet overhead.
``Quick!'' muttered Clark, ``a light man to go over and open the postern.''
Before I guessed what was in his mind, Cowan seized me.
``Send the lad, Colonel,'' said he.
``Ay, ay,'' said Simon Kenton, hoarsely.
In a second Tom was on Kenton's shoulders, and they passed me up with as little trouble as though I had been my own drum.Feverishly searching with my foot for Tom's shoulder, I seized the spikes at the top, clambered over them, paused, surveyed the empty area below me, destitute even of a sentry, and then let myself down with the aid of the cross-bars inside.As I was feeling vainly for the bolt of the postern, rays of light suddenly shot my shadow against the door.And next, as I got my hand on the bolt-head, I felt the weight of another on my shoulder, and a voice behind me said in English:--``In the devil's name!''
I gave the one frantic pull, the bolt slipped, and caught again.Then Colonel Clark's voice rang out in the night:--``Open the gate! Open the gate in the name of Virginia and the Continental Congress!''
Before I could cry out the man gave a grunt, leaned his gun against the gate, and tore my fingers from the bolt-handle.Astonishment robbed me of breath as he threw open the postern.
``In the name of the Continental Congress,'' he cried, and seized his gun.Clark and Kenton stepped in instantly, no doubt as astounded as I, and had the man in their grasp.
``Who are you?'' said Clark.
``Name o' Skene, from Pennsylvanya,'' said the man, ``and by the Lord God ye shall have the fort.''
``You looked for us?'' said Clark.
``Faith, never less,'' said the Pennsylvanian.``The one sentry is at the main gate.''
``And the governor?''
``Rocheblave?'' said the Pennsylvanian.``He sleeps yonder in the old Jesuit house in the middle.''
Clark turned to Tom McChesney, who was at his elbow.
