“Then you must have had a cask, egad,” said Mr. Marshall, “for I never saw you drunk.”
I laughed.
“I shall not attempt to explain it, sir,” I answered.
“You must not allow your drum to drag you into bad company again,” said he, and resumed his conversation. As I suspected, it was a vigorous condemnation of General Clark and his new expedition. I expressed my belief that the government did not regard it seriously, and would forbid the enterprise at the proper time.
“You are right, sir,” said Mr. Marshall, bringing down his fist on the table. “I have private advices from Philadelphia that the President's consideration for Governor Shelby is worn out, and that he will issue a proclamation within the next few days warning all citizens at their peril from any connection with the pirates.”
I laughed.
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Marshall,” said I, “Citizen Genêt has been liberal with nothing except commissions, and they have neither money nor men.”
“The rascals have all left town,” said Mr. Marshall. “Citizen Quartermaster Depeau, their local financier, has gone back to his store at Knob Licks. The Sieur de St. Gré and a Mr. Temple, as doubtless you know, have gone to New Orleans. And the most mysterious and therefore the most dangerous of the lot, Citizen Gignoux, has vanished like an evil spirit. It is commonly supposed that he, too, has gone down the river. You may see him, Vigo,” said Mr. Marshall, turning to the trader; “he is a little man with a big nose and grizzled chestnut eyebrows.”
“Ah, I know a lil 'bout him,” said Monsieur Vigo; “he was on my boat two days ago, asking me questions.”
“The devil he was!” said Mr. Marshall.