Part 42 (2/2)
on the Kentucky rifles, the matchless marksmen in Clark's band forced the British to close the embrasures and entirely cease trying to use their cannon; but the fight with small arms went merrily on until the middle of the forenoon.
Meantime Gaspard Roussillon had tied Francis Maisonville's hands fast and hard with the strap of his bullet-pouch.
”Now, I'll scalp you,” he said in a rumbling tone, terrible to hear.
And with his words out came his hunting knife from its sheath.
”O have mercy, my dear Monsieur Roussillon!” cried the panting captive; ”have mercy!”
”Mercy! yes, like your Colonel's, that's what you'll get. You stand by that forban, that scelerat, that bandit, and help him. Oh, yes, you'll get mercy! Yes, the same mercy that he showed to my poor little Alice!
Your scalp, Monsieur, if you please! A small matter; it won't hurt much!”
”But, for the sake of old friends.h.i.+p, Gaspard, for the sake--”
”Ziff! poor little Alice!”
”But I swear to you that I--”
”Tout de meme, Monsieur, je vais vous scalper maintenant.”
In fact he had taken off a part of Maisonville's scalp, when a party of soldiers, among whom was Maisonville's brother, a brave fellow and loyal to the American cause, were attracted by his cries and came to his rescue.
M. Roussillon struggled savagely, insisting upon completing his cruel performance; but he was at last overpowered, partly by brute force and partly by the pleading of Maisonville's brother, and made to desist.
The big man wept with rage when he saw the bleeding prisoner protected.
”Eh bien! I'll keep what I've got,” he roared, ”and I'll take the rest of it next time.”
He shook the tuft of hair at Maisonville and glared like a mad bull.
Two or three other members of Lamothe's band were captured about the same time by some of the French militiamen; and Clark, when on his round cheering and directing his forces, discovered that these prisoners were being used as s.h.i.+elds. Some young creoles, gay with drink and the stimulating effect of fight, had bound the poor fellows and were firing from behind them! Of course the commander promptly put an end to this cruelty; but they considered it exquisite fun while it lasted. It was in broad daylight, and they knew that the English in the fort could see what they were doing.
”It's shameful to treat prisoners in this way,” said Clark. ”I will not permit it. Shoot the next man that offers to do such a thing!”
One of the creole youths, a handsome, swarthy Adonis in buckskin, tossed his shapely head with a debonair smile and said:
”To be sure, mon Colonel! but what have they been doing to us? We have amused them all winter; it's but fair that they should give us a little fun now.”
Clark shrugged his broad shoulders and pa.s.sed on. He understood perfectly what the people of Vincennes had suffered under Hamilton's brutal administration.
At nine o'clock an order was pa.s.sed to cease firing, and a flag of truce was seen going from Clark's headquarters to the fort. It was a peremptory demand for unconditional surrender. Hamilton refused, and fighting was fiercely resumed from behind rude breastworks meantime erected. Every loop-hole and opening of whatever sort was the focus into which the unerring backwoods rifles sent their deadly bullets. Men began to fall in the fort, and every moment Hamilton expected an a.s.sault in force on all sides of the stockade. This, if successful, would mean inevitable ma.s.sacre. Clark had warned him of the terrible consequences of holding out until the worst should come. ”For,” said he in his note to the Governor, ”if I am obliged to storm, you may depend upon such treatment as is justly due to a murderer.”
Historians have wondered why Hamilton became so excited and acted so strangely after receiving the note. The phrase, ”justly due to a murderer,” is the key to the mystery. When he read it his heart sank and a terrible fear seized him. ”Justly due to a murderer!” ah, that calm, white, beautiful girlish face, dead in the moonlight, with the wisp of s.h.i.+ning hair across it! ”Such treatment as is justly due to a murderer!” Cold drops of sweat broke out on his forehead and a s.h.i.+ver went through his body.
During the truce Clark's weary yet still enthusiastic besiegers enjoyed a good breakfast prepared for them by the loyal dames of Vincennes.
Little Adrienne Bourcier was one of the handmaidens of the occasion.
She brought to Beverley's squad a basket, almost as large as herself, heaped high with roasted duck and warm wheaten bread, while another girl bore two huge jugs of coffee, fragrant and steaming hot. The men cheered them l.u.s.tily and complimented them without reserve, so that before their service was over their faces were glowing with delight.
And yet Adrienne's heart was uneasy, and full of longing to hear something of Rene de Ronville. Surely some one of her friends must know something about him. Ah, there was Oncle Jazon! Doubtless he could tell her all that she wanted to know. She lingered, after the food was distributed, and shyly inquired.
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