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.

“McChesney,” said he, “when I give the word, take Davy and his drum on your shoulders and follow me.  And Davy, do you think you can sing that song you gave us the other night?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” I answered.

Without more ado the Colonel broke the skim of ice, and, taking some of the water in his hand, poured powder from his flask into it and rubbed it on his face until he was the color of an Indian.  Stepping back, he raised his sword high in the air, and, shouting the Shawanee war-whoop, took a flying leap up to his thighs in the water.  Tom swung me instantly to his shoulder and followed, I beating the charge with all my might, though my hands were so numb that I could scarce hold the sticks.  Strangest of all, to a man they came shouting after us.

“Now, Davy!” said the Colonel.