"She does not seem to me called to the vocation of a nun." I was smiling at the mere thought of the brilliant Ellen in a nunnery.
"Surely she is not, McElroy; could she be happy, think you, shut out from a world which interests her so fully? Your quiet valley, with its dull routine of duty and religion made her rebellious, then how would she endure life in a convent? No, she greatly misunderstands herself. I should rather, by far, see her your wife, McElroy, than to know that all her brilliancy and charms were hidden behind the chill walls of a convent."
"And I would far rather see her your wife than a nun."
"Then let us pledge mutual aid, thus far—that we will both use all the influence we may have with her to keep her from a convent. Shall we go now to see her, and bid her choose between us?"
"It does not seem to me to be the wisest course. Suppose she should absolutely refuse both of us? or even in case we can persuade her that she is not called to a convent life, and can induce her to make choice, suppose one of us should be killed in this attack upon Vincennes, and he the one she had chosen? Might she not afterwards feel it disloyal to the memory of that one to listen to the addresses of the other, and so be more than ever disposed to think herself set apart to virgin consecration? Let us leave the matter undecided until one or both of us return from Vincennes. I can trust you to take no less interest in my safety on that account, and you, I think, can likewise trust me. Should I fall, my rights in Ellen, such as they are, become yours. Should you be killed, I inherit your claim to her. Meantime both are pledged to use our utmost endeavors to keep her out of a convent—even though to do so, we must help the other to win her."
"Shrewdly said, McElroy," replied the Colonel, with a hearty laugh. "It is a true Scotch-Irishman's bargain you propose—many chances to win, few to lose. Your hand on it. Once more we are good friends, and loyal comrades, pledged together and twice over to two noble causes: one—the independence of the United States of America and the saving of the world for democracy, and the other—to preserve to the world the beauty, the wit, and the spirit of Ellen O'Neil."
CHAPTER XXII
I shall pass over the details of our arduous midwinter march of one hundred and sixty miles to Vincennes across swamps and flooded plains. Also any account of the three separate mutinies of our French recruits and the almost irreparable loss of our boat, the Willing, and consequent lack of food and rest while we worked feverishly, knee deep in water, building canoes.
The timely capture, after we had crossed the swollen river and reached firmer ground, of an Indian canoe loaded with buffalo meat, corn, and (strange circumstance) several large kettles, alone saved our men from starving and our hazardous attempt from total disaster. On the afternoon of the eighteenth day we reached Vincennes, and with our numerous flags, which through all the suffering of the march we had never relinquished, mounted on long poles, Clark disposed his little band in squads, and ordered them to march some distance apart and to follow the winding road (easily seen from the village, though hidden from the fort) to the town.