Part 8 (2/2)
Roussillon's voice rose loud above the rest. He roared like a lion.”
”Ah, he was speaking to us; he was very eloquent,” Rene replied. ”But now they are waiting at the fort for the new flag. I have come for it.”
”It is ready,” said Madame G.o.dere.
With flying fingers Alice sewed it to the staff.
”Voici!” she cried, ”vive la republique Americaine!” She lifted the staff and let the flag droop over her from head to foot.
”Give it to me,” said Rene, holding forth a hand for it, ”and I'll run to the fort with it.”
”No,” said Alice, her face suddenly lighting up with resolve. ”No, I am going to take it myself,” and without a moment's delay off she went.
Rene was so caught by surprise that he stood gazing after her until she pa.s.sed behind a house, where the way turned, the s.h.i.+ning flag rippling around her, and her moccasins twinkling as she ran.
At the blockhouse, awaiting the moment when the symbol of freedom should rise like a star over old Vincennes the crowd had picturesquely broken into scattered groups. Alice entered through a rent in the stockade, as that happened to be a shorter route than through the gate, and appeared suddenly almost in their midst.
It was a happy surprise, a pretty and catching spectacular apparition of a sort to be thoroughly appreciated by the lively French fancy of the audience. The caught the girl's spirit, or it caught them, and they made haste to be noisy.
”V'la! V'la! l'p't.i.te Alice et la bannlere de Zhorzh Vasinton! (Look, look, little Alice and George Was.h.i.+ngton's flag!)” shouted Oncle Jazon.
He put his wiry little legs through a sort of pas de zephyr and winked at himself with concentrated approval.
All the men danced around and yelled till they were hoa.r.s.e.
By this time Rene had reached Alice's side; but she did not see him; she ran into the blockhouse and climbed up a rude ladder-way; then she appeared on the roof, still accompanied by Rene, and planted the staff in a crack of the slabs, where it stood bravely up, the colors floating free.
She looked down and saw M. Roussillon, Father Gibault and Father Beret grouped in the centre of the area. They were waving their hands aloft at her, while a bedlam of voices sent up applause which went through her blood like strong wine. She smiled radiantly, and a sweet flush glowed in her cheeks.
No one of all that wild crowd could ever forget the picture sketched so boldly at that moment when, after planting the staff, Alice stepped back a s.p.a.ce and stood strong and beautiful against the soft blue sky.
She glanced down first, then looked up, her arms folded across her bosom. It was a pose as unconsciously taken as that of a bird, and the grace of it went straight to the hearts of those below.
She turned about to descend, and for the first time saw that Rene had followed her. His face was beaming.
”What a girl you are!” he exclaimed, in a tone of exultant admiration.
”Never was there another like you!”
Alice walked quickly past him without speaking; for down in the s.p.a.ce where some women were huddled aside from the crowd, looking on, she had seen little Adrienne Bourcier. She made haste to descend. Now that her impulsively chosen enterprise was completed her boldness deserted her and she slipped out through a dilapidated postern opposite the crowd.
On her right was the river, while southward before her lay a great flat plain, beyond which rose some hillocks covered with forest. The sun blazed between ma.s.ses of slowly drifting clouds that trailed creeping fantastic shadows across the marshy waste.
Alice walked along under cover of the slight landswell which then, more plainly marked than it is now, formed the contour line of hummock upon which the fort and village stood. A watery swale grown full of tall aquatic weeds meandered parallel with the bluff, so to call it, and there was a soft melancholy whispering of wind among the long blades and stems. She pa.s.sed the church and Father Beret's hut and continued for some distance in the direction of that pretty knoll upon which the cemetery is at present so tastefully kept. She felt shy now, as if to run away and hide would be a great relief. Indeed, so relaxed were her nerves that a slight movement in the gra.s.s and cat-tail flags near by startled her painfully, making her jump like a fawn.
”Little friend not be 'fraid,” said a guttural voice in broken French.
”Little friend not make noise.”
At a glance she recognized Long-Hair, the Indian, rising out of the matted marsh growth. It was a hideous vision of embodied cunning, soullessness and murderous cruelty.
”Not tell white man you see me?” he grunted interrogatively, stepping close to her. He looked so wicked that she recoiled and lifted her hands defensively.
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