“Find the field commissary, Captain William Oliver, and send him here.”
A few minutes later Captain Oliver put in an appearance. He was young and beardless, but strong, active, and courageous.
By this time, a number of officers had gathered at the commander’s quarters and were holding animated conference with him. All looked up at the young Captain’s entrance. Harrison broke off in the middle of a sentence and, advancing, took the newcomer’s hand.
“Captain Oliver,” he said solemnly, “you know the strait in which we’re placed. If re-enforcements don’t arrive within a few days this place, with all its stores, will inevitably fall into the hands of the British. Such an event would be an incalculable disaster. It mustn’t happen. But we must have help. General Green Clay is on his way hither, with a regiment of Kentucky militia. I have received word that he’s coming by way of the Auglaize. At the present time he must be near Fort Winchester. I’ve decided to send a dispatch to him, apprising him of the condition of affairs and urging him to hasten to our aid; and I’ve chosen you to perform the perilous mission. Your brother officers approve my plan—and my choice of messenger. Are you willing to venture upon the hazardous undertaking, Captain Oliver?”
The assembled officers craned their necks, and listened breathlessly for the young commissary’s reply. It was not long in coming. Firm and clear his voice rang out:
“I’ll go, General—willingly and gladly. I’ll deliver your dispatch into General Clay’s hands—or die on the way.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Harrison murmured, his voice soft with emotion.
Then quickly:
“How soon can you start?”
“At once, General.”