Better still than the cheerful scene was the pleasant talk that filled the room, the bright, earnest discussions which did more to keep us keyed to our otherwise dreary task than all the promises that we could make ourselves of future fortune and renown. Who can gauge the value of woman's social tact and sympathy? In all ages they have been magnets around which great thoughts and noble deeds have focused. Some of the conversations held in the long, stone room at Kaskaskia seem to me to have been worthy the most brilliant salons in Paris, or the most famous of London coffee-houses. Ellen was never one of those chattering women—though she could express herself pithily and gracefully when she had anything to say—but she was the most inspiring listener I have ever seen.
Colonel Clark was a bold and brilliant talker, though sometimes arrogant and boastful. Légère, who had been bred and educated in Paris, had culture, and a keen tongue. Bowman was a man of careful observation, shrewd thinking, and close reasoning; and my own love of mental exercise made me an ambitious aspirant in these conversational bouts, over which Ellen presided with inspiring guidance.
The future of America was the subject we oftenest discussed, perhaps, and the one upon which we diverged, too, most widely. Colonel Clark favored the organization of thirteen free states, confederated as loosely as possible. I was for a close federation with a strong central government. All the delays and difficulties of our war were due to the lack of a central authority, it seemed to me. And even after our independence should be achieved we must fall to pieces, I argued, or become the prey of European powers unless we sought strength in a firmly cemented union.
"But Virginia," argued Clark, "had everything to lose, and nothing to gain by union. With the Illinois territory added to her possessions she would be the largest, richest, and strongest, of the States, and could dominate the rest. No union would be agreed to by the other States which did not provide for the territorial reduction of the Old Dominion—for her relinquishment, doubtless, of all we had won for her, and that we would never consent to. Why should Virginia voluntarily weaken herself in order to strengthen a union which would control all her resources?"
To this Ellen responded, taking sides with me: "A course of unselfish patriotism was the only course worthy of Virginia, and the only one consistent with her admirable policy so far. The building of a free, mighty, and glorious republic in America which might become a pattern for future democracies was the object for which all true Virginians and all enlightened patriots should be willing to sacrifice everything."
Légère agreed with Clark, Bowman with me, and our argument waxed warm—always to be quieted or diverted by Ellen's skillful management. One day, however, Clark was more arrogant than usual, and I more vehement, so that at last we quarreled like school boys.
Ellen's sarcasm, as she rebuked us, seemed directed at me rather than at Clark, and I left the room in an unseemly rage, being for several days too sore, and too much ashamed of myself, to return.
No loafing place was left me, now, save the large room in the barracks, where the men were accustomed to assemble. On a certain afternoon it became unbearable. The chimney smoked, the damp logs burned grudgingly, the soldiers, who were now in the town, slept snoring on the floor, wrapped in their blankets, or sprawled on the benches, and smoked strong pipes. My heart ached with home longing; for but an hour with the dear circle around the cheerful hearth, in the big room, I would at that moment have resigned all the prospects of my life—save only my hope of winning Ellen. I could stand it within no longer, and wrapping my cloak around me, and pulling my bearskin cap over my ears, set out to walk to the boat landing. It would afford me a moment's diversion to see how far the water had risen since yesterday. Then the lower end of the wharf was an inch under water.
Now it was completely submerged, and the ground all about it. If a boat should chance to come to Kaskaskia it must seek precarious landing upon a rock, which in dry weather, was half way up the low bluff on this side of the river, below the town. I made my way to this rock, and stood looking out on the formless waste of waters with a new sympathy for the victims of the flood, and a sudden emotion of deep thankfulness for the rock-ribbed mountains, rolling hills, upland meadows and well restricted, gentle streams of our dear valley. He who would might come west to dwell in the rich alluvial valley of the Mississippi, and her tributaries—as for me, I wished no other heritage than one of the fertile, smiling farms in the valley of Virginia.
As I gazed thus, my mind upon my own land rather than upon this desolation, a moving speck appeared upon the waters, and rapidly approached. Yes, it was a boat, one of those long, deep, swift boats used by the coureurs, and the traders. The two men propelling it were standing, evidently looking for the wharf. I called and signaled to them to drift a little down stream, and land upon the rock; then I clambered to its lower edge, and stood in readiness to help them. I had by this time recognized Colonel Vigo and his servant. A month before they had stopped with us on their way to the Illinois country, when Colonel Vigo had offered to spy out for Colonel Clark the real condition of affairs at Vincennes, and to send or to bring him word. His coming back so soon foreboded ill news; he would hardly have returned at such inclement season, but to warn us. We had hardly counted on such friendship from him, though we knew that he wished well to the cause of America. Moreover, he had seemed to conceive a strong friendship both for Colonel Clark and myself.