Departing on this embassy, I sped out of the gates of the fort.  But, as I approached the little house where Clark lived, the humming of a crowd came to my ears, and I saw with astonishment that the street was blocked.  It appeared that the whole of the inhabitants of Kaskaskia were packed in front of the place.  Wriggling my way through the people, I had barely reached the gate when I saw Monsieur Vigo and the priest, three Creole gentlemen in uniform, and several others coming out of the door.  They stopped, and Monsieur Vigo, raising his hand for silence, made a speech in French to the people.  What he said I could not understand, and when he had finished they broke up into groups, and many of them departed.  Before I could gain the house, Colonel Clark himself came out with Captain Helm and Captain Harrod.  The Colonel glanced at me and smiled.

“Parade, Davy,” he said, and walked on.

I ran back to the fort, and when I had gotten my drum the three companies were falling into line, the men murmuring in undertones among themselves.  They were brought to attention.  Colonel Clark was seen to come out of the commandant’s house, and we watched him furtively as he walked slowly to his place in front of the line.  A tremor of excitement went from sergeant to drummer boy.  The sentries closed the big gates of the fort.

The Colonel stood for a full minute surveying us calmly,—­a disquieting way he had when matters were at a crisis.  Then he began to talk.

“I have heard from many sources that you are dissatisfied, that you wish to go back to Kentucky.  If that be so, I say to you, ’Go, and God be with you.’  I will hinder no man.  We have taken a brave and generous people into the fold of the Republic, and they have shown their patriotism by giving us freely of their money and stores.”  He raised his voice.  “They have given the last proof of that patriotism this day.  Yes, they have come to me and offered to take your places, to finish the campaign which you have so well begun and wish to abandon.  To-day I shall enroll their militia under the flag for which you have fought.”

When he had ceased speaking a murmur ran through the ranks.

“But if there be any,” he said, “who have faith in me and in the cause for which we have come here, who have the perseverance and the courage to remain, I will reenlist them.  The rest of you shall march for Kentucky,” he cried, “as soon as Captain Bowman’s company can be relieved at Cahokia.  The regiment is dismissed.”

For a moment they remained in ranks, as though stupefied.  It was Cowan who stepped out first, snatched his coonskin hat from his head, and waved it in the air.

“Huzzay for Colonel Clark!” he roared.  “I’ll foller him into Canady, and stand up to my lick log.”

They surrounded Bill Cowan, not the twenty which had flocked to him in the morning, but four times twenty, and they marched in a body to the commandant’s house to be reenlisted.  The Colonel stood by the door, and there came a light in his eyes as he regarded us.  They cheered him again.