This was on the twenty-fifth day of February, 1779. It is a date deserving enrollment among eventful days of American history. Henceforth the Northwest was Virginia territory, until ceded by her to the Union. In the negotiations which preceded the final treaty with England, it was this fact—that Virginia troops had fought for, and conquered the right bank of the Mississippi—which gave potency to the claim of our commissioners, that the Father of Waters and not the Alleghanies, or the Ohio, was our rightful boundary line on the west.
Among our Revolutionary heroes, George Rogers Clark should stand high, not only because of his daring and his achievements, but because of the important and far-reaching results of his conquest.
In the last few years, observing the rapidity with which our vast Western territory is being settled and civilized, noting the rapid increase of its population and prosperity, I begin to set a true value upon the importance of this territory to the republic. Not only has it given us room for necessary expansion, but it has quickened all our energies, kindled our imaginations, and furnished a safe outlet for the vigorous, throbbing life of our young nation. Moreover, there is no way to calculate the important part this common territory has played in uniting, into a firm and reasonable union, the several States of America. It gave us a common interest, at a time when we thought our state interests divergent; furnished us a means of satisfying with land grants our discontented and unpaid soldiers; and is teaching us, through experience learned in governing a joint possession, broad principles of democratic government. In truth, the more I think upon it, the more highly I rate the achievement of George Rogers Clark—in which those of my race bore a worthy part.
"Since fate has not ended our rivalry for us, McElroy," said Clark—when affairs had been satisfactorily settled at Vincennes, Helm reinstated with a somewhat larger garrison, and the other troops ready to return to Kaskaskia—"the decision rests still with Queen Eleanor. We must force her to a choice, somehow, and certainty is preferable to this suspense."
"The sooner we know her decision the better I shall be suited," I responded, "for, now that my year's parole has expired, I am eager to get back to the regular service, especially as reënforcements from Virginia can now be counted upon. Moreover, you are not likely to need a large force to enable you to hold what we have won."
"I agree with you," replied Clark. "You have stood by me and the enterprise, like a brave man, and a true comrade, McElroy, and I am glad our business is finished before your duty calls you back to Virginia. You have been my right hand, though all my officers and men have alike acquitted themselves nobly, from first to last."
"With a leader such as we have had, only worthy conduct is possible," I said, my eyes suddenly dim.
"Thank you for that word, McElroy. That worthy men should deem me a worthy leader, is all the praise I ask. And whatever may come between us in the future, comrade, let us not forget that we have stood together in peril and in suffering, have shared risks and dangers in a cause dear to the hearts of both—not even the love of woman should separate comrades such as we have been."
"Nor shall it," I answered earnestly. "God bear me witness, Clark, that I shall feel no malice should Ellen's heart answer to yours. I shall wish you both happiness in all sincerity, and seek solace in my duty."
"No fear, McElroy; you have the sturdiest and best traits of a noble people. I have some of them, doubtless, as my Saxon blood gives me right, but mixed, I fear, with a strain of wildness. I doubt if the anchors of duty are strong enough to hold me to a wise, sane life—unless Ellen's love shall help to weight them. As you have said, comrade, an adventurous, reckless life has strong temptation for me; therefore, if Ellen's love is not for me—and I forebode it is not, though I'm not yet ready to resign all hope—I shall take it for a sign that a kind fate is sparing her the woeful doom of a drunkard's wife." He added, after a brief pause, during which a deep melancholy settled upon his face, "Sometimes a man is doomed from his birth; from the beginning he moves on to a prefixed destiny, and all his struggles to save himself from the end he fears, avail nothing."