During the months of August and September, Clark was kept busy receiving the Indian deputations which came weekly to Kaskaskia to sue for peace and alliance, with the famed Big-Knives and his warriors. Each visit was an affair of state, and must be received with due ceremony. Did the deputation consist only of the chief of some petty sub-tribe, and two or three warriors, they must have audience at the fort with Colonel Clark himself, surrounded by an armed body-guard; speeches, presents, and wampum belts must be ceremoniously exchanged, and the peace pipe smoked solemnly, after which Clark must tender them a feast.

Born to administer large affairs, Colonel Clark showed in his pacification of the Northwest Indians, a remarkable shrewdness, and knowledge of human nature. He used much the same tactics as those found so successful in dealing with the French:—he over-awed them by dauntlessness of spirit, and a show of far greater strength than he really possessed. When the desired impression had been made upon them, and they had offered alliance, he would adroitly win them to his purposes by friendliness and flattery. He could meet them with a counter stoicism and subtlety that confounded them, and sent them back to their tribes to tell marvelous stories of the great white warrior chief, the redoubtable Big-Knife, whose course of conquest had started at the rising sun, and would be stopped only by the big river towards the sun's lodge. One edict of Colonel Clark well serves to illustrate his far-seeing wisdom, and the extent of his power. He forbade any soldier, any citizen of Kaskaskia, or trader on the river, to sell or to give a single gill of liquor to an Indian within so many miles of the town and fort, under heavy penalties; and the few infringements of this rule were severely punished. Ceremony, presents and feasting were dealt out generously to the savages, but their expectations of fire-water were invariably disappointed. Some of them went away sullen, but there was no rioting in Kaskaskia, and no more bloody fights such as had been customary between panins and Indians.

Between these and other duties, Colonel Clark found some leisure for diversion, and sought it usually in the long room of the Commandant's house, where Ellen held her court with a constantly increasing number of subjects. Madame Rocheblave had left Kaskaskia soon after Ellen's recovery, to visit friends in Detroit, while awaiting the release of M. Rocheblave, who had been sent to Virginia with several other prisoners. But AngÉlique had consented to accept services as Ellen's maid, and was in constant attendance upon her.

Among Ellen's admirers the most indefatigable and determined were Monsieur LÉgÈre, Colonel Clark, Thomas and I; and for each of us she had a special course of treatment that kept us hovering between hope and despair. Monsieur LÉgÈre's manner of attack was nightly to serenade Ellen with voice and guitar, and daily to present her with passionate love poems, hidden in bunches of gorgeous wild flowers, which he had gathered at risk of limb and life from the most inaccessible spurs of the bluff across the river. These offerings she would receive with just enough appearance of pleasure, and expression of appreciation to prevent that emotional youth from committing suicide. Thomas, she treated as she would a brother, took him to mass with her, and alternately commanded, scolded, and coaxed him. He alone failed to see that there was naught but cousinly regard, and a degree of gratitude and pity in her heart for him.

Colonel Clark sued, as he did everything else, masterfully. It was plain, too, that this had a certain effect upon Ellen, who moreover, could not fail to be attracted by his handsome person and winning manners. That personal charm felt so strongly by men, even by savages and foreigners must produce a more sure effect upon the feelings of the woman whom he condescended to woo. Yet Ellen did not acknowledge his power, but rather took pleasure in making him yield to her. There was almost daily warfare of words between them. She would be starting to vespers with Thomas perhaps, just as Clark would be mounting the porch steps.

"You are not going this afternoon, Miss Ellen," in his firm tone of command; "I want you to stay and talk to me."

"But I always go to vespers, Colonel Clark."

"Except when I come to see you."

"No matter who comes to see me."

"You need make exception in my case only; I have many duties, and can not choose my hours of recreation; you can say your prayers all day, if you wish."

"Vesper hour is sacred; I cannot profane it by staying away from service to amuse even you, Colonel Clark. Moreover I am neither Frenchman, Indian, nor soldier; I do not take orders from the Long-Knives," and she would flash upon him a look of smiling defiance, and pass on.

"You are as cruel as fair, Miss Ellen," in hurt, gentle tones; "you cannot guess how weary, and heart-hungry I am, or you would be more merciful. Are you not the one bit of home, and comfort, and cheer we soldiers have in this wilderness? Now, after a day of toil, with the prospect of an hour of delight with you as my only recompense, you leave me thus without a word of regret."

"I must to vespers, Colonel Clark, but I shall hasten back; you can wait here for me."

And Clark would wait impatiently, Ellen returning promptly, as she had promised, to put forth for him, during the rest of the evening, the utmost of her powers of fascination.

Her treatment of me was less flattering, I thought, than that she accorded any of the others. I was no more her best friend, her openly favored comrade. On the contrary, she treated me with alternate indifference, haughtiness and patronage; she would seem to seek occasions of difference, and then, when I was lashed into answering her, would flaunt me angrily, or mock me with sarcasms. Afterwards she would repent her rudeness, and beg my pardon with the sweetest humility and gentleness. But this playing hot and cold on her part kept me in a sort of inward fever, and made me what I had never been in my life before, irritable and quarrelsome. To the men under me, I was peremptory; I was testy with Thomas, and often almost rude with Clark. In truth I was half frenzied with jealousy. A score of times in the day, I would compare myself with Clark—set my appearance and qualities over against his, and cast up the balance between us; but, with all my leaning to my own side, I could not blind myself that neither in manner, person, nor gifts could I rival him. There could be little doubt as to which one of us Ellen would choose when a final choice was forced upon her.

The wild grape vintage was a customary festival with the Kaskaskians. The woods along the river were wreathed with the vines, which looped from branch to branch, or from tree to tree, and even the berry thickets had become trellises to support their luxuriant meanderings. These wild grapes made a rich, delicious wine, much prized by the people as a beverage, and by the priests as an antidote to the far less innocent fire water, peddled by the traders, in boat loads, up and down the river. Colonel Clark not only consented to the celebration of this one of their frequent holidays, but agreed that the soldiers might take part on condition that no liquors be dispensed.

All assisted in the morning's work of gathering the grapes, and piling them in the calÈches, or two-wheeled carts, to be hauled to the wine vats, then the afternoon was given up to pleasure and feasting. Games were interspersed with trials of strength and skill, upon the public square of the village; shooting at a mark, hurling the tomahawk, wrestling and racing were the chief contests, which were participated in by Frenchmen and soldiers on equal terms. Colonel Clark, Captain Montgomery, and myself were the chosen judges, and we were careful to distribute the prizes equally, with no very strict regard to merit.

The free half-breeds and the panins, with a few straggling Indians, had also their games apart, presided over by three of our men from the fort, who acted as judges. The supper was provided by Colonel Clark, and besides the usual pancakes and maple syrup, served at nearly all their feasts, there were maize cakes, barbecued venison, corn parched, ground and sweetened, wild duck and plover eggs boiled and roasted, melons, pawpaws, mulberries and sangaree. This supper was served by the cheery matrons of Kaskaskia, from calÈches backed in a circle around a part of the green. Later, smiling maidens bedecked with flowers, came out of the low eaved houses, and with the youths and gayer soldiers fell a dancing on the green to the sound of banjo and guitar, in the light of a bright full moon, beneath a star-studded dome of clearest azure. It was a picture of simple Arcadian happiness, which needed only the embellishments of nature to beautify it, only the impulses of nature to stimulate it.

Ellen had been named "Queen of the Festa" by Clark, and the day seemed diverted into an occasion to honor her. It was she who pressed with dainty fingers the juice from the first bunch of grapes, ere they were put into vats for trampling; she who presented the prizes to the victors, or crowned them gracefully with the laurel wreaths. And when the music sounded, Clark led her forth to tread a stately measure alone with him upon the green, ere the general dancing began. I did not know before that either of them could dance—for never had I seen such sport until Nelly Buford had shown me the latest steps at Colonel Morgan's. But Ellen was a daily astonishment, and Clark had learned much in his adventurous life.

When they had thus inaugurated the evening's gayety as also they had presided over the day's festivities, Ellen and Clark wandered through the village together, in the moonlight, she leaning on his arm, and he bending over her like an accepted lover. Half an hour later I saw them seated side by side on the steps, under the nave of the church, absorbed in each other, and entirely unconscious of me, as I passed them on the opposite side of the street. Ellen was all in white, save for a black lace scarf she wore Spanish fashion, about her head, and shoulders, and in the moonlight she was a radiant vision of girlish loveliness—as Clark by her side was a picture of handsome young manhood. "They would be well mated," I thought with a sigh as I passed on, homesick and heartsick. In the darkness of the deserted barracks, I sought my soldier's couch, and lay a long time awake, thinking longingly of home and loved ones and wrestling with the demon of jealousy which threatened to master me.

A deep sigh aroused me after awhile, from the half dream into which I had slipped, and I heard Thomas' voice, praying in low tones. Poor Thomas. He was even more unhappy than I, for he had deserted home, parents, and religion for his idol, who but treated him with cousinly kindness. Yet I rejoiced, though I pitied him; there was hope for Thomas, since his sorrow and disappointment but drove him back to God, and his prayers.

Colonel Clark sent for me next morning, and began, in his most peremptory manner to announce that he desired me to make ready to start to Virginia immediately, to deliver certain dispatches to the Governor and the Assembly. He wished his appointments confirmed, and the conquered territory of the Northwest formally annexed to Virginia. Also, he must have money, supplies, and reËnforcements for a prompt advance on Detroit, and later on, Quebec. All Canada might be taken, with the aid of our French and Indian allies, had we but a nucleus of American soldiers, and sufficient means to forward the enterprise. I must not only deliver his request to that effect, but urge the members of the Assembly, publicly and privately, as I had opportunity, to support the project, and to vote money and men for it.

When he had said all this, without asking my opinion, I stopped him by suggesting that perhaps I could not be earnest and eloquent enough in a cause my reason and judgment did not sanction; that I had once helped to storm Quebec, and knew the almost insurmountable difficulties of the attempt without a large army and plenty of cannon; that I did not believe our allies would be of any value in such an enterprise, and that in my opinion we would only be risking what we had secured, or abandoning it more probably, for a success dependent upon a hundred unlikely chances.

Colonel Clark had gazed at me haughtily as I spoke—a manner the more nettling because of his previous friendliness and comradeship with me—and now he reprimanded me sharply for having forgotten my position as a subordinate, whose business it was to obey, not to advise, and then added:

"Can you start, sir, to Virginia to-morrow, with my dispatches and commands?"

"No, Colonel Clark," I answered with a haughtiness that matched his own: "I remain in Kaskaskia till it is my pleasure to leave; my term of enlistment expires next week, after which I am no longer under orders. Confine me if you please, in the guardhouse, while I am still in your service, but I shall not go to Virginia on this errand."

"And I know your reason for this act of disrespect and disobedience, sir. You are jealous of my suit to Ellen O'Neil."

"As my cousin's lawful protector, I stay by her side until she is safely placed with the guardian she shall choose upon reaching her legal majority."

"Your jealousy has been made evident before, Captain McElroy, but know this, I recognize not your right to interfere with me in any way, nor to dictate to Miss O'Neil upon any subject. I shall warn her, sir, and watch you," and Clark had grown so angry that he talked now half random foolishness, and glared at me savagely.

No less angry, I replied, "And I shall watch you, Colonel Clark. A man who can take advantage of his position of authority to send his rival across the continent with dispatches that a common courier might as well carry is capable of taking other and less honorable advantages, perhaps."

"No man dare insult me, McElroy, without knowing that he must apologize or fight. Take your choice; I am no longer your superior officer," and he threw aside his epauleted coat, and plumed hat, and drawing his sword, stood before me, pallid and rigid with anger.

"Sir," I answered, fully as furious as he, "you have so lorded it over Frenchmen, panins and Indians, that you seem to have forgotten the respect due a comrade—your equal in all save military rank. Your challenge, Colonel Clark, I accept with pleasure!" I bowed to him, drew my sword and stood at guard.

Neither of us were practiced swordsmen, but both were lithe, active, and possessed of trained eyes, and arms. We fought with small science, yet with some skill, and in deadly earnest. Without doubt one or the other of us would have been killed or badly wounded, had not a startling interruption paralyzed the arm of each, just when both were wrought up to the killing frenzy. I was fighting desperately and so was Clark, when, suddenly, Ellen's voice rang above the clash of our swords, and the panting emission of our breath:

"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" she called sharply, and each lowered his weapon and turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her eyes glowing, her face quite pale, and Father Gibault stood behind her, looking more perturbed than I had ever seen him.

"Cousin Donald! Colonel Clark!" She Called Sharply.

"I know not whose the fault," she added scornfully, "but each is less the knight and patriot, in my esteem, for this rash deed. You would kill each other and bring destruction upon your patriotic enterprise, and death to these men, whose lives are in your keeping? Bah! Men are children; their passions rule them! Father Gibault, will you stay with Colonel Clark and soothe his anger? You have hurt me grievously, Colonel Clark, and I thought you my friend—" and now was heard the break in Ellen's voice which tugged always at one's heartstrings.

"Forgive me, Miss Ellen!" stammered Clark; "I have no quarrel with your cousin; it was, as you say, foolish anger and rashness. But in justice I must confess that I forced this fight upon McElroy," and my generous comrade looked frankly at me.

"Nor have I just grounds of quarrel with you, Colonel Clark," I responded. "I was disrespectful in my words and manner. Will you accept my apology?" and I held out my hand.

Clark took and shook it warmly, while Ellen smiled upon us, and Father Gibault blessed us with low spoken benediction.

"Come with me, Cousin Donald!" commanded Ellen; "I have something I would say to you."

We walked together toward the town, for some time in silence, then Ellen said, blushing as she spoke:

"Father Gibault tells me that you and Colonel Clark quarreled about me, Cousin Donald. It was not kind, nor respectful, and it was very foolish, if jealousy prompted you, for I shall never marry."

"Never marry, Ellen, and why?" I asked in great astonishment.

"Did not I tell you, Cousin, that I had set before myself a high and holy purpose? I have sworn a vow of consecration. As soon as I have reached my majority, I shall take the veil, and pass the remainder of my life in prayer, and God's holy service. Will you tell Colonel Clark this for me? And neither of you, I beg, will ever again couple me, even in your thoughts with love and marriage. I shall be the bride of the Church, I trust, but never the bride of mortal. God saved me from an awful fate in answer to my vow of consecration. To choose a life of worldly pleasure would be in me dishonesty in its worst form. Help me to keep my vow, Cousin Donald; make me strong to do the right."

The touching appeal of her voice and manner as she spoke thus, it is not possible to describe. She seemed to throw herself upon my strength, to implore me to help her to sacrifice herself. I saw how strongly she felt all she said, how impossible it would be to make her see now the folly of her purpose, and the illogic of her thoughts. She wanted my sympathy and encouragement—yet how could I give it to her, at risk of forfeiting my happiness, and possibly hers! Yet I could not fail her.

"Dear Ellen," I said, with all the deep tenderness of my heart for her trembling in my words, "whatever you finally conclude is your duty, that I shall help you to do, with all the sympathy and courage I can give you. But take no step rashly, nor without consulting Father Gibault. Our heavenly Father has, I truly believe, guided you thus far; let us look to Him for further guidance."