Jack drank the wine in some bewilderment. He had not supposed that such easy success was near at hand. “When did they leave, may I ask, general?” he questioned, respectfully.
The general shook his head. “Frankly, I don’t know exactly,” he replied. “La Salle, when did your news say the British expected to leave?”
“This morning, general. They were packing up last night. Probably they have gone by now. Beyond a doubt they have gone if they heard of your intention to march upon them.”
“Ha! Ha! Yes! They’ve gone, my dear Mr. Telfair. Still, they may have left a guard. Some scouts who came in this afternoon reported that they were getting ready to attack us tonight. All foolishness, of course! It shows how little faith one can put in rumors in war time. If you find out anything about their movements, let me know, Mr. Telfair. Good fortune to you sir.”
Jack hurried away, wild to be gone. But Rogers was obdurate and perforce he waited till dusk. Meanwhile he talked with the soldiers.
All of them were elated with triumph, past and expected. Only two days before they had taken possession of the village, driving away the British and Indians who had garrisoned it, and they were delighted with their success. They had made no attempt to fortify their position. Why should they? They were occupying the place only for a moment. The enemy was flying before them. In a day or two they would pursue them, would recapture Detroit, and wipe out the disgrace of Hull’s surrender. That the foe might rally and attack them had not entered any one’s head. The only man in all the camp who seemed in any way dubious as to the future was Francis Beaubien, whom Jack visited to get full information as to how Alagwa was housed, and even Beaubien confined his misgivings to a shake or two of the head. The reports of the scouts were received with jeers. Whom the gods destroy they first make mad.
Jack recalled it all as he sped eastward. He was torn two ways. For his country’s sake he hoped that the enemy had fled. For his own sake he hoped that all of them had not fled or that Alagwa at least had been left behind. Once away from the optimism of the camp he found it hard to believe that foes so bitter and so often triumphant had fled without a blow.
At last the three reached the mouth of the short but broad Detroit River and turned up it from the lake. As they did so the moon set, leaving the great stars to arch in splendor across the cloudless sky. In the north the aurora still flickered, now shooting upward toward the spangled firmament, now dying away to palest gold. In the white glare the frozen lake sparkled like a diamond.
Up the river the adventurers sped, until the Canadian shore, gleaming white with snow, rose silver edged against the sky. To the north, far away, points of yellow light glittered through the trees and from the top of the bluff.
Rogers jerked his hand toward them. “All them Britishers ain’t gone yet,” he snorted. “There’s a right smart passel of ’em left, judgin’ from those lights. I reckon we’d better land down here a ways.”