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.”