The fort fell, and with it British dominion in the northwest territory. Then the galley hove in sight and the flag waved above Vincennes.
"A convoy up de rivière on its way with goods, from le Detroit," whispered a Frenchman. Directly Clark dispatched his boatmen to capture the flotilla.
"Sur la feuille ron—don don don," the voyageurs were singing.
Merrily rowing down the river came the British, when suddenly out from a bend swung three boats. "Surrender!"
Amid the wild huzzas of Vincennes the Americans returned, bringing the captive convoy with fifty thousand dollars' worth of food, clothing, and ammunition, and forty prisoners.
With a heart full of thanksgiving Clark paid and clothed his men out of that prize captured on the Wabash.
"Let the British flag float a few days," he said. "I may entertain some of the hair-buying General's friends."
Very soon painted red men came striding in with bloody scalps dangling at their belts. But as each one entered, red-handed from murder, Clark's Long Knives shot him down before the face of the guilty Hamilton. Fifty fell before he lowered the British flag. But from that day the red men took a second thought before accepting rewards for the scalps of white men.
"Now what shall you do with me?" demanded Hamilton.
"You? I shall dispatch you as a prisoner of war to Virginia."