CHAPTER IX. THE SECRET EXPEDITION.

The day was hot and sultry, in early summer, about a year afterward, on the broad, shallow stream of the Kanawha River, as a flotilla of large flat-boats, known to the voyageurs as bateaux, was steadily following its way down the stream, assisted by the current, and urged by four or six long sweeps in each boat, pulled by two or three men apiece.

The bateaux were long, broad flat-boats, square at each end, hastily constructed from green plank, on the borders of the river, like nothing but great scows. There were seven of these rude but effective craft, all full of armed men, and holding about two hundred and fifty souls, all told.

Among these was a very small sprinkling of women and children; but the far greater proportion were stout, bronzed backwoodsmen, apt at a fight, and unerring in aim.

The leading boat of the flotilla was distinguished by a little house, or cabin, built in its center, on the summit of which rose a flag-staff, from which drooped a small white flag, bearing the pine-tree and coiled rattle-snake of the infant nation, which had not as yet been replaced by the memorable Stars and Stripes.

By this flag-staff, glass in hand, stood the leader of the expedition, Colonel George Rogers Clark, and by him a lad of about fifteen, slender in figure, of very dark complexion, who wore the same half-military dress as his leader—the hunting-shirt and leggings being fringed with gold lace, and the fur cap faced with a gilt plate of military device. Both wore swords and pistols, with officers’ scarlet sashes around the loins, to indicate authority.

“We shall get to the Ohio in an hour hence, colonel, if we keep up this speed,” remarked the boy officer, as Clark put down the glass with which he had been scanning the river ahead.

“I think so,” said Clark, gravely. “We shall get news[40] there, at all events, Mr. Frank. Have you the morning report yet, sir?”

“Yes, colonel,” replied young Frank, promptly; “there are but three sick in the command, and one of them is a woman.”

Clark frowned, and made an impatient movement.

“These women are always in the way,” he said. “One would think that an expedition of this sort would put them out of conceit to come; but there’s no stopping the willful hussies—and they’re sure to fall sick just when we don’t want them. I wish they’d stay where they belong.”

The boy officer—he was Clark’s adjutant—laughed, as he said:

“Well, colonel, you know it’s no use fighting them. They will have their own way, as you say. This one I speak of isn’t rightly sick, but she met with an accident, yesterday, in passing the rapids. To save her husband, who was tired out, she took his place at the oar, with two of Captain Helm’s men, and when the oar struck a rock, during the passage, all three were sent flying and badly bruised. That’s all of our sick-list.”

“Well, well,” said the commander, a little mollified, “that’s not so bad; but one thing I’m determined on, adjutant: when we get to the falls, I ship every blessed woman in the command. I won’t be bothered with them. And as for the married men, if they grumble, by Jove, they shall go, too. I wish there wasn’t a woman left to get in the way. They are unmitigated nuisances.”

The little adjutant laughed.

“Why, colonel, they told me you left Kentucky in company with a woman—old Tobacco’s daughter. How’s that?”

“Oh, she was only a child,” said Clark, carelessly; “a plucky child, too, by the bye, and as good at hiding as an old Shawnee warrior. But we didn’t travel long together. She brought me certain propositions from—well, never mind who, sir; that’s my affair—and when we had talked over the business, I packed her off to her adopted father. I may see her again, if this expedition succeeds, but I doubt if I should know her again. So much for your sneer, youngster.”

The boy adjutant laughed again, and said:

[41]

“So you’ll see her again, if the expedition succeeds, sir? Then I suppose we’re going to St. Vincent’s?”

Clark, who was again looking out ahead, put down the glass, and turned abruptly on his small adjutant, laying his hand heavily on his shoulder with a grim smile, as he said:

“Look here, young man, you’re a smart lad, but not so smart as you think. This expedition is going—where I choose. Do you quite comprehend? You’re as curious, sir, by Jove, as if you were a woman. Ask me no questions, if you don’t want to be put under arrest. I dare say the whole lot of you would like to know my intentions; but you will have to find me out of my wits first. Now, sir, take the canoe, and pay your morning visit to the fleet. Bring me back a report of the condition of the arms and ammunition, by the time we reach Arbuckle’s Station, and be quick.”

It was evident that the commander was somewhat irritated with his staff officer for presuming to question him, and the lad turned away very promptly, for the colonel was universally dreaded when he looked angry, which was not often.

Adjutant Frank descended to the deck, and jumped overboard into a canoe towing alongside, with which he proceeded to visit the other boats of the fleet; while Clark, left alone, paced the roof of the little cabin in silence.

In a short time the river began to grow much broader, the current slower, and the monotonous waste of forest on either bank was broken in places by clearings. At last they saw before them a lofty point, nearly bare of timber, jutting out on the right, and beheld the straight brown banks of the broad Ohio, barring their further progress in a straight line. The Kanawha became merged in the Ohio.

On the point to the north, known as Point Pleasant, stood a straggling collection of log-houses, inclosed with a palisade, and bearing the usual appurtenances of a frontier fort, including a pine-tree flag. As the people on the bateau caught sight of the fort, they gave three ringing cheers, responded to by the instant rushing out of a crowd of people from the houses, running pell-mell to see what was coming.

Half an hour after, they were passing in front of the fort, when a boat, containing a military officer and a dozen rowers, pulled out to intercept them, and Captain Leander Arbuckle,[42] commandant and principal owner of the settlement, boarded Clark’s boat, and saluted the colonel as if he knew him well.

“Whither bound, colonel?” he asked.

“Down the river to defend Kentucky,” said Clark. “Secret orders.”

“Well, sir,” said the captain, eagerly, “then I can put you in the way to checkmate an Indian raid, if you will join me. Only the day before yesterday I beat off a great war-party of two hundred and fifty men of the Six Nations. They crossed the river here, and have gone on for the settlements on the Greenbrier river, so as to take your friends in Kentucky in the rear. Now, colonel, if you will join me, we can overtake these fellows and utterly exterminate them. Will you?”

“No, sir,” said Clark, gravely; “I can not do it. My orders, if obeyed, will punish these fellows better than by following them. The settlers must take care of themselves.”

Captain Arbuckle drew himself up stiffly.

“Am I to understand that you refuse to help me save our imperiled fellow-citizens, colonel?”

“You are, sir,” said Clark, firmly. “If you want to follow a will-o’-the-wisp, you must do it alone. I must do my duty, which forbids me to stop a single hour on my way.”

Arbuckle looked perplexed and vexed.

“But where, then, are you going?”

“Where my orders take me, sir; and that is a secret.”

Arbuckle looked angry. He lifted his hat with very stiff courtesy, and said, as he turned away:

“Then I have the honor to bid you farewell, Colonel Clark, and to wish you better manners.”

“And I, sir,” said Clark, with equal bantering, “shall have the honor to demand an apology for those words, when I have done my duty.”

Arbuckle wheeled round haughtily.

“Prove me wrong, sir, and I’ll give you any satisfaction you wish. Good-morning, sir.”

A moment after, captain and colonel parted, like two peppery Southerners, as they were, ready to cut each other’s throats on a point of etiquette.