Project Gutenberg Complete Works of Winston ChurchillChurchill, Winston
General
Project Gutenberg Complete Works of Winston Churchill
Churchill, Winston
American fiction
All day the men who were too weak to swing axes sat listless on the bank,
watching in vain for some sight of the Willing. They saw a canoe
rounding the bend instead, with a single occupant paddling madly. And
who should this be but Captain Willing's own brother, escaped from the
fort, where he had been a prisoner. He told us that a man named
Maisonville, with a party of Indians, was in pursuit of him, and the next
piece of news he had was in the way of raising our despair a little.
Governor Hamilton's astonishment at seeing this force here and now would
be as great as his own. Governor Hamilton had said, indeed, that only a
navy could take Vincennes this year. Unfortunately, Mr. Willing brought
no food. Next in order came five Frenchmen, trapped by our scouts, nor
had they any provisions. But as long as I live I shall never forget how
Tom McChesney returned at nightfall, the hero of the hour. He had shot a
deer; and never did wolves pick an animal cleaner. They pressed on me a
choice piece of it, these great-hearted men who were willing to go hungry
for the sake of a child, and when I refused it they would have forced it
down my throat. Swein Poulsson, he that once hid under the bed, deserves
a special tablet to his memory. He was for giving me all he had, though
his little eyes were unnaturally bright and the red had left his cheeks
now.
"He haf no belly, only a leedle on his backbone!" he cried.
"Begob, thin, he has the backbone," said Terence.
"I have a piece," said I, and drew forth that which Tom had given me.
They brought a quarter of a saddle to Colonel Clark, but he smiled at
them kindly and told them to divide it amongst the weak. He looked at me
as I sat with my feet crossed on the stump.
"I will follow Davy's example," said he.
At length the canoes were finished and we crossed the river, swimming
over the few miserable skeletons of the French ponies we had brought
along. We came to a sugar camp, and beyond it, stretching between us and
Vincennes, was a sea of water. Here we made our camp, if camp it could
be called. There was no fire, no food, and the water seeped out of the
ground on which we lay. Some of those even who had not yet spoken now
openly said that we could go no farther. For the wind had shifted into
the northwest, and, for the first time since we had left Kaskaskia we saw
the stars gleaming like scattered diamonds in the sky. Bit by bit the
ground hardened, and if by chance we dozed we stuck to it. Morning found
the men huddled like sheep, their hunting shirts hard as boards, and long
before Hamilton's gun we were up and stamping. Antoine poked the butt of
his rifle through the ice of the lake in front of us.
"I think we not get to Vincennes this day," he said.
Colonel Clark, who heard him, turned to me.
"Fetch McChesney here, Davy," he said. Tom came.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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