An enthusiastic bugler of the fort was so impressed by the appearance of the dignitaries in the approaching canoes that he went through his entire repertoire of calls without waiting for official permission, and brought all the people of the town to give welcome to the visitors. So Doby had the feeling of walking up-stage as he entered the village. That sensation stayed with him during the few days that they spent at the fort; and it rose high in the hour of their departure when the entire populace showered blessings after them as the velvet cap of the smiling leader waved, "Farewell." Their going was a spectacle. Yet when they made a landing down the river for the night's camp, all the glory faded. The beautiful country turned cruel and sordid. "That is a threatening sky," commented Francis Vigo, as he put away his velvet and began to prepare for rough weather. "Bad wind," from one dejected voyageur. "More cold," from the other. "Here comes the rain!" cried Doby. Dark November filled their camp with melancholy discomfort. In place of the gallant soldier there hovered over the damp and sickly fire an old, old man, blue with chill, and tired and dispirited. Doby said to himself: "In the matter of delivering the precious papers and of teaching the district the value of tariff and sound banks, the errand for the Northwest was successful. But in the business of collecting some interest to live on he has failed. That means that he has no way to feed himself this winter. Red tape makes poor clothes and worse meals." Dismayed and pitiful, the boy longed to comfort that good man who had fallen into the habit of sacrificing himself for his country. "S-w-i-s-h! S-w-i-s-h!" poured the rain; "W-h-e-w! W-h-e-w!" howled the wind, as the swollen current of the Wabash bore them homeward next day. "H-o-n-k! H-o-n-k!" cried the wild geese overhead. "Q-u-a-c-k! Q-u-a-c-k!" complained the migrating ducks as, wearied by the buffeting, they dropped to the water for a little respite and surrounded the canoes with the querulous wails. A heartless loon laughed long and discordantly over their wretched plight. The river which had beckoned them with sunlight and with song, now with fickle change of face grabbed them by the prows and hurtled them along at terrific flood speed. To a voyageur his canoe was as a second skin. He would never think of abandoning it. He took whatever the weather sent. But as they came to a bend in the river, "Yi! Yi!" shrieked one voyageur in panic. "Yi! Yi!" for danger seemed about to overwhelm them. A giant sycamore, undermined by the flood, swayed toward them and came over into the river with a crash and spatter that deafened and almost swamped them.