Chapter IX

THROUGH THE DROWNED LANDS

The next morning Father Gibault rang the church bell, signaling all people to assemble at the church. Immediately the villagers came streaming out of their houses or stores. Colonel Clark and Jim waited outside for them to appear. Jim had brought his drum, and played it loudly to attract their attention.

Willie Watson came running to the church; when he saw Jim, he pushed through the crowd to him.

“What’s all the excitement, Jim? What’s happened?” Willie asked breathlessly.

Jim didn’t lose a drumbeat as he replied, “Wait and find out, Willie. Colonel Clark is going to talk to the people.”

As soon as everyone was quiet, Father Gibault told them that Colonel Clark had an important message for them. Then Colonel Clark told them that even now Hamilton was in command of Vincennes and was planning to attack Kaskaskia as soon as the weather permitted.

Before the citizens could recover from this shock, Clark had outlined his plan of an immediate march on Vincennes and a surprise attack on Fort Sackville. He said he would need volunteers to help build a supply boat he would send ahead for his army.

“I’ll help. I’ll help,” came the cry of the men from every quarter.

“And we’ll help, too,” the women cried. “We’ll make flags for your army. You’ll need banners to carry.”

Colonel Clark smiled and nodded. “Those of you who will help with the boat and supplies, step over on this side. And you who will volunteer to go to Vincennes, sign up with Captain Charleville.”

The men quickly made their choices, and Jim began to play his drum again to interest the men in joining Captain Charleville’s company.

“Jim,” asked Willie, who had stood quietly up to now, “are you going to Vincennes?”

“Of course, Willie. I haven’t asked Colonel Clark, but he’ll be needing a drummer, I know.”

“If you’re going, I am, too,” Willie said, excitement making his voice shrill. “I think my mother has a rifle which belonged to my father. I can take it with me.”

Jim looked doubtfully at Willie. “Can you fire a rifle?”

Willie shook his head. “No, but I can learn.”

Jim grinned. “It takes a lot of practice, Willie, but I’ve an idea. If you’ll let me have your father’s rifle, I’ll let you take my drum. You can play it well, and I’ve had experience with rifles. My father taught me to use one.”

Willie smiled. “Will you, Jim? Sure—you can have the rifle.”

“I don’t think we’d better say anything to Colonel Clark until it’s time to go,” Jim cautioned. “He might think of an excuse to keep us from going with him.”

“All right, Jim. Mum’s the word, but I’ll manage to get the rifle.”

By nightfall Captain Charleville had raised his company of Kaskaskia volunteers. The women were so enthusiastic about the undertaking that they worked furiously for the next two days, making flags of various colors and designs. When they were presented to Colonel Clark, he didn’t know what he would do with so many flags. But he thanked the ladies gravely and packed their gift with the army supplies.

On the third of February Captain McCarty arrived from Cahokia with his volunteers. That same day the men finished work on the riverboat, which Clark had named the _Willing_. They had made it into a warship equipped with armament of two four-pounders and four swivels. It required a crew of forty men to man, and Clark put Captain John Rogers in charge of it.

He ordered Rogers to go down the Kaskaskia and Mississippi Rivers to the Ohio and ascend the Ohio and Wabash Rivers; then he was to take his station thirty miles below Vincennes and wait there for further orders. The next day Captain Rogers and his crew set out on the warship with supplies, stores and ammunition.

At three o’clock in the afternoon of February fifth, Clark’s army was ready to march. Jim had had to talk long and hard to get Clark’s permission to go with the troops; he had made no mention of Willie. But Willie stood beside Jim, carrying his father’s rifle, which protruded above his head.

As the army, one hundred-thirty men strong, stood waiting, Father Gibault made a little talk to the men and gave them his blessing and absolution. All the women and men not able to go with Clark were on hand to bid the troops good-bye and wish them Godspeed.

George Rogers Clark rode in front on a magnificent stallion, followed by his officers, also mounted. Jim Long-Knife Hudson, wearing an ill-fitting buckskin suit and beating his drum, stepped out proudly. Willie Watson dropped back to the rear of the second company, fearing Colonel Clark would see him and send him home because of his age and size.

The rest of the men, clad in worn buckskin trousers and hunting shirts, swung out jauntily, their heads held high. Some carried rifles and some tomahawks, since there weren’t enough rifles for everyone. A motley array—Clark’s pioneer army, and at the same time a magnificent column of spirited soldiers.

The whole of the flat Illinois country between Kaskaskia and Vincennes was freezing water and half-frozen mud. Two hundred and forty miles lay between the army and Vincennes, but the men bravely started out. By nightfall, however, they had covered only three miles. It was rainy and drizzly, so they spent an uncomfortable night without tents or shelter of any kind. The next day they remained in camp.

That night Colonel Clark spied Willie Watson for the first time. “Willie!” he cried, “what are you doing here?”

Willie trembled but stood his ground. “I’m marching with you to take Fort Sackville, sir,” he replied.

Clark shook his head. “You’re too young, Willie, for this trip. If I had seen you earlier, you would have remained at home.”

Willie grinned mischievously. “Yes, sir. I’ve taken pains to stay out of your sight, sir. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come along. And I’m fourteen years old, as old as Jim Hudson. I brought my father’s rifle too.”

Clark smiled and then shook his head. “I admire your spirit, Willie. Can you fire your rifle?”

Willie shook his head slowly. “No, sir, I can’t. But Jim is going to take my rifle and I’ll play his drum.”

Colonel Clark looked grave. “Since it’s too late to send you home, Willie, I guess you’ll just have to stay.”

Willie smiled. “Oh, sir, thank you. I’ll make it. You won’t regret my coming, sir.”

The next day the soldiers marched for nine hours, then pitched camp in a square on the driest ground they could find, putting their baggage in the center.

As they continued through succeeding days they marched sometimes through water up to their armpits. They had to hold rifles and powder high above their heads to keep them dry.

In desperation Clark and his officers dismounted and piled the baggage on their horses. The animals struggled along through the water with the men.

If any men happened to see any wild game, Colonel Clark gave them time to shoot it. Now and then they bagged a deer and on the twelfth of February they sighted a herd of buffalo.

“Here, Willie,” Jim called, “take my drum and give me your rifle. Maybe I can get a buffalo.”

Willie handed over the rifle, as Jim noticed with satisfaction it was exactly like his father’s. He dashed out with two soldiers to shoot one of the buffalos. He went as close as he dared to the herd, took careful aim and fired. His buffalo dropped immediately as did several others which the men shot. In a few minutes they had dragged the buffaloes over toward the fires.

“Good boy, Jim,” Willie said, clapping him on the back excitedly. “We’ll eat plenty tonight.”

Clark’s army did eat a good meal and had entertainment afterward. Willie and Jim sang many of the songs they had learned together, and took turns playing the drum. Willie also danced a strange mixture of French and Indian dances until he was exhausted.

That evening the two boys helped boost the morale of Clark’s army more than anyone else save the colonel himself. Colonel Clark was quick to give them credit. “We could never have made it this far, boys,” he said, “without your music and dancing.”

The boys were exhausted from their performance; Jim was too tired to say a word. But Willie grinned at Colonel Clark and said, “I told you, sir, you wouldn’t regret letting me come with you.”

During their first six days this remarkable army marched over one hundred and seventy-four miles, averaging twenty-eight miles a day. The hardest part of the trip, however, lay before them——the sixty-three miles to Vincennes. They would have four rivers to cross—two branches of the Little Wabash, the Embarrass and the Great Wabash, all of them now swollen by floods.

When the army reached the two Little Wabash branches, normally three miles apart, the men were stunned to see a sheet of water almost five miles across, with no dry banks or channels for either branch in sight. The shallowest place was about three feet deep; what the greatest depth was, no man knew.

Colonel Clark ordered his soldiers to halt while he considered what to do. For a few minutes he gazed at the great expanse of water, then ordered some of the men to build a pirogue. This took only a day to build. Then he ordered a few others to explore these drowned lands and if possible, find a dry camping spot on the far bank of the second branch. Once they found a trail, they marked it with blazes on all trees above the waterline.

But how to get the loaded pack horses across both branches of the river? The horses could wade to the first channel easily enough, but when in deep water they would have to swim, and they could not swim with their heavy packs. Once again Colonel Clark solved his new problem. He had his men build a scaffold in a shallow spot beyond the second river bank.

When this was finished, the men unloaded the horses and moved the baggage over to the scaffold in their pirogue. Then they swam the horses through both channels, reloading the animals at the scaffold. They also ferried any ill, weak soldiers across both river branches.

As Colonel Clark himself plunged into the water, he expected the rest of his army to follow him along the tree-blazed route. But the men hung back, complaining they were already cold and wet enough without wading another five miles.

Suddenly Willie Watson, seeing Colonel Clark floundering through the water alone, seized Jim’s drum and started into the water, beating the drum as hard as he could. “Come on, you,” he called, beating a terrific roll. Jim plunged in right behind Willie, holding his rifle high above his head.

Soon the water was up to Willie’s armpits. He pushed the drum down and sat on it, floating along and paddling the water with his drumsticks. “Come on, you fellows,” he called. “Somebody give me a push.”

A French sergeant, almost six and a half feet tall, charged into the water, scooped up Willie and his drum, put him on his shoulders and shouted, “Advance!”

Willie’s courageous antics turned the trick for Colonel Clark. While Willie played and sang at the top of his lungs, the rest of the soldiers waded into the water and did not turn back, though in some places the water came up to their chins. But no dry spot could be found, so they had to spend the night in shallow water without food.

Somehow they continued to march through the ice-cold drowned lands until they had crossed the Embarrass and Wabash Rivers. Here the men in their soaking wet clothes were more discouraged than ever. This was the place where the _Willing_ was supposed to be waiting for them. The warship, however, had not arrived.

The next day the camp awakened to a dull boom.

“What’s that?” Willie cried, poking Jim who lay beside him.

“I don’t know,” Jim mumbled. “Sounded like guns, didn’t it?”

One soldier overheard the boys and said, “Colonel Clark said those were the British morning guns at Fort Sackville.”

“Why, we’re almost there,” Jim cried, jumping up and stretching.

“Almost there!” sneered another soldier. “Take a look at that water.”

“Where are we?” Willie asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“About nine miles below Vincennes on the banks of the Great Wabash!” a nearby soldier exclaimed. “But how we’ll ever get across that flood water I don’t know.” Several more men began to complain, and some even muttered about going home.

Jim and Willie looked around and saw Captain McCarty’s men cutting down poplar trees.

“Come on, Willie,” Jim said. “Let’s see what they’re going to do with those trees.”

The boys went over to help drag the poplars to a dry area where the men could build canoes. They worked all day and by evening had finished two. Meanwhile the boys saw two more drifting aimlessly on the flood waters, so they waded out and captured them. Now Colonel Clark had four canoes to ferry his army over some of this vast expanse of river.

The next morning it was raining again and the water was still quite cold. Though the soldiers still had had nothing to eat, the stronger ones began ferrying the troops over to a small hill called Bubbie. From here they waded to a larger hill, clutching trees and bushes in the water to steady themselves. The canoes went alongside to watch for any sick men.

Those who were able built fires on the opposite side of the river and marched the exhausted men up and down in front of the fire to revive them.

At last they reached Warrior’s Island, a dry spot of about ten acres. From here Clark planned to attack Fort Sackville. The men had to rest, however, before he could order the attack.

A day or two later, some of Clark’s scouts brought two Indian squaws and two half-grown boys into camp and presented them to him.

“What do I want with these people?” Clark demanded. “I haven’t anything to feed to my own men, to say nothing of four prisoners.”

“That’s it, sir,” one scout replied. “They had food in their canoe. It was filled with kettles, tallow, corn and half a quarter of buffalo meat. We have it here, but what shall we do with these Indians?”

“Food!” cried several of the men near the colonel. “Where?”

“Make some buffalo stew for the men immediately,” Clark ordered. He looked at the trembling Indians. “I guess we’ll have to take these prisoners to Vincennes with us.”

Just at this moment Jim and Willie came up to the colonel. When Jim saw the Indians, he stopped and stared as if he didn’t believe his own eyes. Then he dashed over to the taller Indian boy. “Wahbunou!” he cried. “What are you doing here?”

Wahbunou tried to smile, but was too frightened to talk. He just grabbed Jim and clung to him.

George Rogers Clark looked at Jim in amazement. “Jim, do you know this boy?”

“Oh, sir,” Jim cried, “this is Wahbunou, my Potawatomi friend that I told you about.”

Colonel Clark looked keenly at the boy and then at Jim. “Is this the boy who did not tell his people about seeing the Long-Knives marching that summer afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

Clark smiled at the Indian boy. “Well then, Wahbunou, I am sorry we had to take your food. But my men have had nothing to eat for several days. You are no longer a prisoner of Chief Long-Knife. All four of you are free to take your canoe and return home.”

Wahbunou did not understand all that Colonel Clark said to him, but when Jim interpreted, the Indian boy nodded his head and smiled.

George Rogers Clark shook hands with Wahbunou and said, “If you will come to Fort Sackville in a few days I’ll pay you for your food. Unfortunately, I have nothing to give you for it tonight.”

Wahbunou nodded again, spoke to his Indian companions and motioned for them to follow him. They found their canoe and paddled rapidly away.

Meanwhile the men were busy making buffalo stew. When it was ready the weakest men were fed first. Though there wasn’t enough stew to go around, it revived many exhausted soldiers and improved the spirit of all the soldiers.