CHAPTER XXII. THE COUNCIL OF WAR.

The silence that had so far been maintained was broken by a rapturous cheer, which the rough frontiersmen could not suppress.

Its tones were by no means offensive to Clark. They spoke of gratitude to him, not of triumph over him.

The adjutant drew his sword and retired to his post behind his commanding officer, while the latter executed a few simple movements and then returned his sword. The adjutant resumed his regular duties, took the reports of the sergeants in due form, announced the dismissal of parade, and came up with the officers in the stiff military form that has descended to the present day.

At such a time, it is usual for the colonel to say a few words to his officers, and after such a scene as had recently taken place, all expected a severe lecture from Clark.

But he merely returned their silent salute, and said:

“Officers will meet at my quarters an hour after sunset, to discuss matters of importance. Good-evening, gentlemen.”

He turned coldly away, and the parade broke up in silence, a wet blanket being thrown over all parties by the distant demeanor of their commander.

The little adjutant alone seemed to be quite happy over his release. When Clark was not twenty feet off, and the officers were still gloomily looking at each other, the boy spoke in a jesting tone to Harrod, saying:

“Well, Captain Bill, you see we pulled through in spite of our love-sick chief. What fools some men are!”

Harrod cast a curious glance at the boy, an apprehensive one at Clark. The colonel heard every word, and—halted.

Frank stood, with a derisive smile on a very pale face, watching his commander’s back.

But Clark did not deign to turn his head. He stood there, for nearly a minute, like a statue, the officers watching him[95] in silence. Then he slowly nodded his head, and pursued his way to his quarters.

Then the officers broke up and departed, leaving the boy adjutant standing alone. His face grew sad and thoughtful, for not one of the men who had lately fought such a battle to save him, remained near him. Even from the ranks they had witnessed the flippant gesture with which he had pointed at his commander; and every one seemed to be somewhat disgusted with him for the nonce.

With slow steps and hanging head the young officer went to his quarters in the arsenal once more.

In the spacious drawing-room of the government house sat Clark, in a new uniform, surrounded by his officers, all renovated in their personal appearance. A number of wax candles lit up the apartment, and the center-table was littered with papers. Father Gibault sat among the rest of the officers as if he had been a chaplain all his life, and the conversation was general but desultory, as if in expectation of the arrival of some one before opening business.

At last the commander spoke:

“We are all here but the adjutant, gentlemen. Doubtless he feels a delicacy about being present. Orderly, take my compliments to the adjutant, and say that we await his presence.”

The soldier disappeared, and all sat in grim silence until, fifteen minutes after, the door opened, and the little adjutant tripped into the room with his old saucy air, but without speaking, and, after saluting the colonel, dropped into a vacant chair:

Clark returned the salute with grave courtesy, and said:

“Now, gentlemen, we are ready for business. I must inform you, first, that I have at last concluded a full and satisfactory treaty with all the Indians on the Wabash, through their chiefs, and that, from the Detroit to the Ohio we have no foes among the red-men. We have taken possession of all the British posts between here and the Wabash, and Illinois is ours. Gentlemen, one post remains to be taken. St. Vincent’s, town and fort, is still in the enemy’s hands. It must be taken.”

[96]

A murmur of assent ran through the audience, and Clark was silent. Then, to the surprise of all, father Gibault arose:

“Gentlemen,” said the curé, “I have told Colonel Clark, and now I tell you, that you need not trouble yourselves about St. Vincent’s. If you will trust it to me, I will undertake to start to-morrow, and within three weeks deliver St. Vincent’s into your hands, fort and all, without spilling one drop of blood. I am priest or missionary of both parishes, and if I tell the people of St. Vincent’s how you have treated us here, I answer for it that they will come under American rule without firing a gun.”

“Gentlemen, how say you?” said Clark. “Will you accept Monsieur Gibault’s proposition, or shall we march to St. Vincent’s? All in favor of acceptance will say ‘Ay.’”

Not an officer hesitated to respond to the call in the affirmative.

“Now, messieurs,” said Gibault, briskly, “I start to-morrow, with four or five friends, and I wish the colonel to give me one officer to receive the surrender and act as American Governor till you can visit the post in force.”

“Captain Leonard Helm and Sergeant Henry will accompany you, father,” said the border chief, “and Adjutant Frank shall go with the captain as second in command.”

This order surprised no one, for it was evident that colonel and adjutant would never agree together again. Indeed, Clark’s intention was of the kindest nature. But as the council broke up, the young officer observed, in a loud tone:

“I shall not go. So the colonel need not trouble himself.”