“And what 'll ye think of it, Davy?” he said.
I glanced at the figure of our commander in the boat ahead, and took courage.
“It's Hamilton's scalp hanging by a lock,” I answered, pointing to what was left of the sun. “Soon it will be off, and then we'll have light again.”
To my surprise he snatched me from the thwart and held me up with a shout, and I saw Colonel Clark turn and look back.
“Davy says the Ha'r Buyer's sculp hangs by the lock, boys,” he shouted, pointing at the sun.
The word was cried from boat to boat, and we could see the men pointing upwards and laughing. And then, as the light began to grow, we were in the midst of the tumbling waters, the steersmen straining now right, now left, to keep the prows in the smooth reaches between rock and bar. We gained the still pools below, the sun came out once more and smiled on the landscape, and the spirits of the men, reviving, burst all bounds.
Thus I earned my reputation as a prophet.
Four days and nights we rowed down the great river, our oars double-manned, for fear that our coming might be heralded to the French towns. We made our first camp on a green little island at the mouth of the Cherokee, as we then called the Tennessee, and there I set about cooking a turkey for Colonel Clark, which Ray had shot. Chancing to look up, I saw the Colonel himself watching me.
“How is this, Davy?” said he. “I hear that you have saved my army for me before we have met the enemy.”
“I did not know it, sir,” I answered.