t. Washington, Jackson, Taylor, Grant, all lived to enjoy, after
successful war, a triumphant peace. "These Americans," said a witty
Frenchman, "are either enormously lucky, or possessed of miraculous
vitality. You rarely kill them in battle, and if you wound them their
wounds are never mortal. Their history is but a chain of
impossibilities easily accomplished. Their undertakings have been
without preparation, their successes in the nature of stupendous
accidents." Such a statement may appear critically sound from a Gallic
point of view; but it leaves out the dominant element of American
character, namely, heroic efficiency. From the first we have had the
courage to undertake, the practical common sense which overcomes the
lack of technical training, and the vital force which never flags under
the stress of adversity.

Clark knew, when he set out on his march to Vincennes, that he was not
indulging a visionary impulse. The enterprise was one that called for
all that manhood could endure, but not more. With the genius of a born
leader he measured his task by his means. He knew his own courage and
fortitude, and understood the best capacity of his men. He had genius;
that is, he possessed the secret of extracting from himself and from
his followers the last refinement of devotion to purpose. There was a
certainty, from first to last, that effort would not flag at any point
short of the top-most possible strain.

The great star of America was no more than a nebulous splendor on the
horizon in 1779. It was a new world forming by the law of youth. The
men who bore the burdens of its exacting life were mostly stalwart
striplings who, before the down of adolescence fairly sprouted on their
chins, could swing the ax, drive a plow, close with a bear or kill an
Indian. Clark was not yet twenty-seven when he made his famous
campaign. A tall, brawny youth, whose frontier experience had enriched
a native character of the best quality, he marched on foot at the head
of his little column, and was first to test every opposing danger. Was
there a stream to wade or swim? Clark enthusiastically shouted, "Come
on!" and in he plunged. Was there a lack of food? "I'm not hungry," he
cried. "Help yourselves, men!" Had some poor soldier lost his blanket?
"Mine is in my way," said Clark. "Take it, I'm glad to get rid of it!"
His men loved him, and would die rather than fall short of his
expectations.

The march before them lay over a magnifi