“These women are always in the way,” he said. “One would think that an expedition of this sort would put them out of conceit to come; but there’s no stopping the willful hussies—and they’re sure to fall sick just when we don’t want them. I wish they’d stay where they belong.”
The boy officer—he was Clark’s adjutant—laughed, as he said:
“Well, colonel, you know it’s no use fighting them. They will have their own way, as you say. This one I speak of isn’t rightly sick, but she met with an accident, yesterday, in passing the rapids. To save her husband, who was tired out, she took his place at the oar, with two of Captain Helm’s men, and when the oar struck a rock, during the passage, all three were sent flying and badly bruised. That’s all of our sick-list.”
“Well, well,” said the commander, a little mollified, “that’s not so bad; but one thing I’m determined on, adjutant: when we get to the falls, I ship every blessed woman in the command. I won’t be bothered with them. And as for the married men, if they grumble, by Jove, they shall go, too. I wish there wasn’t a woman left to get in the way. They are unmitigated nuisances.”
The little adjutant laughed.
“Why, colonel, they told me you left Kentucky in company with a woman—old Tobacco’s daughter. How’s that?”
“Oh, she was only a child,” said Clark, carelessly; “a plucky child, too, by the bye, and as good at hiding as an old Shawnee warrior. But we didn’t travel long together. She brought me certain propositions from—well, never mind who, sir; that’s my affair—and when we had talked over the business, I packed her off to her adopted father. I may see her again, if this expedition succeeds, but I doubt if I should know her again. So much for your sneer, youngster.”
The boy adjutant laughed again, and said:
“So you’ll see her again, if the expedition succeeds, sir? Then I suppose we’re going to St. Vincent’s?”