He bade me fetch the portfolio he carried, and with numbed fingers wrote the letter while his captains stared in admiration and amazement.  What a stroke was this!  There were six hundred men in the town and fort,—­soldiers, inhabitants, and Indians,—­while we had but 170, starved and weakened by their incredible march.  But Clark was not to be daunted.  Whipping out his field-glasses, he took a stand on a little mound under the trees and followed the fast-galloping messenger across the plain; saw him enter the town; saw the stir in the streets, knots of men riding out and gazing, hands on foreheads, towards the place where we were.  But, as the minutes rolled into hours, there was no further alarm.  No gun, no beat to quarters or bugle-call from Fort Sackville.  What could it mean?

Clark’s next move was an enigma, for he set the men to cutting and trimming tall sapling poles.  To these were tied (how reverently!) the twenty stands of colors which loving Creole hands had stitched.  The boisterous day was reddening to its close as the Colonel lined his little army in front of the wood, and we covered the space of four thousand.  For the men were twenty feet apart and every tenth carried a standard.  Suddenly we were aghast as the full meaning of the inspiration dawned upon us.  The command was given, and we started on our march toward Vincennes.  But not straight,—­zigzagging, always keeping the ridges between us and the town, and to the watching inhabitants it seemed as if thousands were coming to crush them.  Night fell, the colors were furled and the saplings dropped, and we pressed into serried ranks and marched straight over hill and dale for the lights that were beginning to twinkle ahead of us.

We halted once more, a quarter of a mile away.  Clark himself had picked fourteen men to go under Lieutenant Bayley through the town and take the fort from the other side.  Here was audacity with a vengeance.  You may be sure that Tom and Cowan and Ray were among these, and I trotted after them with the drum banging against my thighs.

Was ever stronghold taken thus?

They went right into the town, the fourteen of them, into the main street that led directly to the fort.  The simple citizens gave back, stupefied, at sight of the tall, striding forms.  Muffled Indians stood like statues as we passed, but these raised not a hand against us.  Where were Hamilton, Hamilton’s soldiers and savages?  It was as if we had come a-trading.

The street rose and fell in waves, like the prairie over which it ran.  As we climbed a ridge, here was a little log church, the rude cross on the belfry showing dark against the sky.  And there, in front of us, flanked by blockhouses with conical caps, was the frowning mass of Fort Sackville.

“Take cover,” said Williams, hoarsely.  It seemed incredible.

The men spread hither and thither, some at the corners of the church, some behind the fences of the little gardens.  Tom chose a great forest tree that had been left standing, and I went with him.  He powdered his pan, and I laid down my drum beside the tree, and then, with an impulse that was rare, Tom seized me by the collar and drew me to him.