“The Citizen Capitaine—­he spiks true.”

All eyes were turned towards Gignoux, who had been sitting back in his chair, very quiet.

“It is true what he say,” he repeated, “I have it by Monsieur Genet himself.”

“Gentlemen,” said General Clark, “this is beside the question, and I will not have these petty quarrels.  I may as well say to you now that I have chosen the Citizen Captain to go at once to New Orleans and organize a regiment among the citizens there faithful to France.  On account of his family and supposed Royalist tendencies he will not be suspected.  I fear that a month at least has yet to elapse before our expedition can move.”

“It is one wise choice,” put in Monsieur Gignoux.

“Monsieur le general and gentlemen,” said the Sieur de St. Gre, gracefully, “I thank you ver’ much for the confidence.  I leave by first flatboat and will have all things stir up when you come.  The citizens of Louisiane await you.  If necessair, we have hole in levee ready to cut.”

“Citizens,” interrupted General Clark, sitting down before the ink-pot, “let us hear the Quartermaster’s report of the supplies at Knob Licks, and Citizen Sullivan’s account of the boats.  But hold,” he cried, glancing around him, “where is Captain Temple?  I heard that he had come to Louisville from the Cumberland to-day.  Is he not going with you to New Orleans, St. Gre?”

I took up the name involuntarily.

“Captain Temple,” I repeated, while they stared at me.  “Nicholas Temple?”

It was Auguste de St. Gre who replied.

“The sem,” he said.  “I recall he was along with you in Nouvelle Orleans.  He is at ze tavern, and he has had one gran’ fight, and he is ver’—­I am sorry—­intoxicate—­”

I know not how I made my way through the black woods to Fort Finney, where I discovered Jake Landrasse and his canoe.  The road was long, and yet short, for my brain whirled with the expectation of seeing Nick again, and the thought of this poor, pathetic, ludicrous expedition compared to the sublime one I had known.

George Rogers Clark had come to this!

CHAPTER III

LOUISVILLE CELEBRATES

“They have gran’ time in Louisville to-night, Davy,” said Jake Landrasse, as he paddled me towards the Kentucky shore; “you hear?”

“I should be stone deaf if I didn’t,” I answered, for the shouting which came from the town filled me with forebodings.

“They come back from the barbecue full of whiskey,” said Jake, “and a young man at the tavern come out on the porch and he say, ’Get ready you all to go to Louisiana!  You been hole back long enough by tyranny.’  Sam Barker come along and say he a Federalist.  They done have a gran’ fight, he and the young feller, and Sam got licked.  He went at Sam just like a harricane.”

“And then?” I demanded.

“Them four wanted to leave,” said Jake, taking no trouble to disguise his disgust, “and I had to fetch ’em over.  I’ve got to go back and wait for ’em now,” and he swore with sincere disappointment.  “I reckon there ain’t been such a jamboree in town for years.”