CHAPTER XIX. THE LAMPOON.

At an early hour on a day of the following week, all Kaskaskia was astir. Great changes had taken place during that week. The undeceived citizens had found out the true nature of their invaders, and had not only welcomed them, but had taken the oath of allegiance to the United States Government, and become its warmest friends.

Not only that, but they had actually assisted them by force of arms to complete that surprising conquest of Illinois, which was made without the effusion of a drop of blood. When Clark dispatched Major Bowman with half his force, to reduce Cahokia, an important trading-station higher up the river, the major was accompanied by two bodies of French militia, with restored arms, who were the first to enter the place and inform the astounded inhabitants of the change of masters. The enterprise was completely successful, the fort at Cahokia was garrisoned with Americans, and the conquest of Illinois was virtually over.

Then, for the first time, Clark was able to turn his attention[81] to pacifying and regulating his suddenly acquired conquests, and toward the question of reducing the second of the great chain of posts from the lakes to the Mississippi, St. Vincent’s.

The Indian chiefs from the Wabash, with their beautiful princess, were also constantly in his thoughts; and almost every day a grand council was held, at which were settled the preliminaries of those treaties which were to secure Kentucky from savage barbarity.

In all these councils, Ruby Roland acted as interpreter and chief at once of her dusky delegation, and the intercourse between her and the American leader was constant and quite familiar. The girl invariably insisted on the presence of father Gibault, who had become an ardent ally of the Americans, and the counsels of the two were of the utmost use to Clark, in the novel position in which he found himself placed.

And all this while the backwoods leader, who had been at the very first struck by Ruby’s beauty, found himself falling quickly and surely into the meshes of a love-net, from which it was impossible to extricate himself.

Ruby, whose manner toward him had been cold and distant at first, had retained her coldness, varied by bursts of great apparent friendliness, in public.

But on one or two occasions, when Clark had endeavored, at the close of business, to engage her in conversation, she had invariably repelled him with the utmost haughtiness. While father Gibault was present, she would talk freely, displaying all the graces of a cultivated woman; but to Clark alone she was as cold and cutting as a north-west wind.

Ruby Roland was indeed a strange compound of civilization and barbarism. Father Gibault himself, who had given her the greater part of her education, was often puzzled at her moods. The Indian warrior and the polished lady were about equally mixed in her manner. Of the humble, submissive squaw there was no trace, for dignity and pride were in every motion.

At last Clark grew desperate. It was at the end of the last council, on the day when Bowman returned from Cahokia, when a final treaty of peace and amity had been concluded[82] between the tribes of the Wabash on the one hand, and the Americans on the other. When the chiefs rose to depart, after shaking hands with the colonel, Clark laid his hand on Ruby’s arm, as she was about to follow them, and said, in a clear voice:

“Mademoiselle Roland, with the chief’s daughter my business is over. With the French lady I desire a few minutes’ conversation.”

Ruby looked at him from head to foot as she withdrew her arm from his touch.

“You can not be much acquainted with French customs, monsieur,” she said, icily, “if you are not aware that unmarried girls do not hold conversation with bachelors, alone.”

“I invite father Gibault to be present,” said the Kentuckian, steadily determined not to be beaten. “There can be no impropriety in our talking before your religious instructor.”

Ruby smiled very provokingly.

“There may be no impropriety, sir, but you will please to note that I belong to the delegation with which I came, and as a chief of the Wabash I have a duty to my friends. I can not leave them. So I wish you good morning.”

“Stay, madam,” cried Clark, excitedly. “In heaven’s name, how am I to take you? Are you chief or lady? Keep to one character, I beseech you. Which is it to be?”

Ruby drew her little figure up, and threw her velvet mantle over one shoulder, Indian fashion, with an air of the most ineffable pride.

“It is to be any thing, monsieur, which will keep me from speaking to you, who have avenged yourself on a poor boy for the cruelties you dare not resent from me.”

And she was at the door ere Clark had recovered from his astonishment. Then he rushed forward, crying:

“Mademoiselle, only one single word. If I forgive the adjutant, will you grant me one single interview?”

“Try it, and see,” was the unsatisfactory reply, as the girl stepped haughtily from the room.

“Helas, mon ami, it is no use,” said father Gibault, elevating his shoulders to his ears in a truly French shrug. “You can not drive that child from her own way. I remember when she was little, before her father died—rest his soul, poor[83] Captain Roland—she would roam away alone among the Indians, and they were more dangerous then than now. She would go up to the grimmest warrior in his war-paint, and pull his scalp-lock as he sat by the fire; and ’twas her wonderful boldness that first gained her the love of the old chief, Tabac. She was made a chief before she was ten years old, and formally adopted as head Medicine chief. They looked on her with superstition, and reverenced her knowledge. In faith, monsieur, she knows all that I do in the way of science and art, and moreover, she is the head of all Indian woodcraft and magic. But you can not turn her out of the way, any more than the sun in heaven. She is immutable.”

Clark stood ruminating awhile over the priest’s words. At last he answered:

“Father, give me your advice what to do.”

He detailed the history of his quarrel with the adjutant, and concluded by saying:

“What less could I do, sir, than put under arrest the young insolent, who insulted her and me alike? Is it just, sir, for mademoiselle to visit this on me as a crime?”

Father Gibault took a pinch of snuff, and was silent.

“Why do you not answer, monsieur?” said Clark, pettishly.

“Monsieur le colonel,” said Gibault, dryly, “it is obvious to me that your experience of women is limited. I never expect from them such a cold and severe article as justice.”

“Then what am I to do, in heaven’s name, sir?” asked the colonel, in a tone of desperation.

Gibault once more took snuff, and reflected a little.

“I think,” he said, at last, “that if I were you, (while I am not, for I am a priest in orders, bound to celibacy) I should take the hint the lady gave me, and—”

“Release the adjutant?” asked Clark, as the priest paused.

“Monsieur, as a priest, I can not give you any advice which would tend toward uniting a good Catholic and yourself.”

And father Gibault gave the borderer a curious look, that was compounded of sly humor and triumph.

Clark started back in amazement. So much was he engrossed with what he thought mademoiselle’s injustice, that he had not clearly understood whither he was tending.

[84]

“What do you mean?” he said, stammeringly.

“I mean,” said the priest, quietly, “that every one in Kaskaskia, except Colonel Clark, is fully aware that he has fallen in love with Mademoiselle Roland, and that he is jealous of a mere boy, because that boy is a favorite of mademoiselle’s. Why, colonel, they are making songs about it in the streets.”

Even as the priest spoke, they heard a chorus of lads in the street, as the young rascals passed under the windows, singing at the top of their voices a doggerel ditty, to the old air of “Malbrook,” better known nowadays as “We won’t go home till morning.” Clark listened, and turned red and pale alternately, as he clutched his sword-hilt; for the boys were coupling his own name with Ruby’s in the disrespectful manner common to French gamin and New York “bhoy” alike.

For the benefit of our readers we append the song, with a free translation:
“Le Colonel Clark est brave,
Mais il n’est qu’un esclave
Sous la main si douce et suave
De Mademoiselle Rubie Roland,
La demoiselle sauvage et belle-elle-elle,
La belle et sauvage demoiselle-elle-elle.
“Car Mademoiselle Rubie, la belle,
Le pousse debout de sa selle
Cette brave et sauvage demoiselle,
La demoiselle Rubie Roland,
La demoiselle Rubie Roland—and—and, etc.”[4]

No English words can convey, however, the mocking accent of the refrain in the chorus, and Clark was so much enraged that he would have rushed out into the street, had not father Gibault thrown himself into the way, crying:

“Hold, monsieur, in heaven’s name what are you about to do? Consider, that you will make yourself ridiculous. These people must sing, or they will plot.”

[85]

The colonel saw the folly of which he had nearly been guilty, and restrained himself. A moment later, he saw cause to congratulate himself, for, as he stood by the window, looking down at the impudent boys, the old French town constable made his appearance in the nick of time, and promptly collared two of the young scamps.

“You see, monsieur,” said father Gibault, pointing, “you did well to leave our old authorities in force. The old people will not suffer you to be insulted. See old Antoine. He knows hows to deal with the Kaskaskia boys.”

In effect, old Antoine seemed to be equal to the occasion, for he was a very strong old man, and he knocked the heads of the two boys together several times, with a force that made them howl again, while the rest of the lately uproarious group looked on, from afar off, in great dismay.

Clark, who had been standing by the open window, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver dollar, which he threw down to the old constable, with a—

“Merci, mon ami.”

Old Antoine pulled off his hat, made a low bow, and pocketed the coin with many genuflexions, while the border leader turned away to Gibault, saying:

“My eyes are opened, father. The boys are right, after all; but what shall I do about my adjutant? If it should really happen that she loved him, I believe I should kill them both.”

“How old is this adjutant?” inquired father Gibault, quietly. “Remember, my son, that you lovers are apt to be jealous about trifles, and that is foolish. How old is he?”

“A mere boy, not sixteen, and small for his age,” said Clark, not without confusion. “But you must not fancy I am jealous of him, father—a little whipper-snapper, whom I could turn over my knee. No, sir; but you have no conception of the insolence with which he referred to mademoiselle. It was for that I placed him under arrest, and he kept talking back, with a manner perfectly indescribable. By heavens, sir, I wonder I did not kill him on the spot.”

Father Gibault smiled.

“I do not think you need be afraid of this boy, monsieur, unless, indeed, you make a martyr of him. I would advise[86] you to follow mademoiselle’s hint, as a friend, not as a priest.”

“I’ll do it, father,” said the Kentuckian, promptly. “Here, orderly, go to the arsenal where the Indian chiefs lodge, and say to Adjutant Frank, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.”

The orderly left, and the commander paced up and down the room impatiently, waiting for the arrival of the culprit adjutant.