out staring at the bastioned corners of a fort which rose from the centre
of a clearing. It had once defended the place, but now stood abandoned
and dismantled. Beyond it, at the edge of the bluff, we halted,
astonished. The sun was falling in the west, and below us was the goal
for the sight of which we had suffered so much. At our feet, across the
wooded bottom, was the Kaskaskia River, and beyond, the peaceful little
French village with its low houses and orchards and gardens colored by
the touch of the evening light. In the centre of it stood a stone church
with its belfry; but our searching eyes alighted on the spot to the
southward of it, near the river. There stood a rambling stone building
with the shingles of its roof weathered black, and all around it a
palisade of pointed sticks thrust in the ground, and with a pair of gates
and watch-towers. Drooping on its staff was the standard of England.
North and south of the village the emerald common gleamed in the slanting
light, speckled red and white and black by grazing cattle. Here and
there, in untidy brown patches, were Indian settlements, and far away to
the westward the tawny Father of Waters gleamed through the cottonwoods.

Through the waning day the men lay resting under the trees, talking in
undertones. Some cleaned their rifles, and others lost themselves in
conjectures of the attack. But Clark himself, tireless, stood with
folded arms gazing at the scene below, and the sunlight on his face
illumined him (to the lad standing at his side) as the servant of
destiny. At length, at eventide, the sweet-toned bell of the little
cathedral rang to vespers,--a gentle message of peace to war. Colonel
Clark looked into my upturned face.

"Davy, do you know what day this is?" he asked.

"No, sir," I answered.