while the large body of history is loaded down with picturesque
incidents, which if used in fiction, would be thought absurdly romantic
and improbable.

Were our simple story of old Vincennes a mere fiction, we should
hesitate to bring in the explosion of a magazine at the fort with a
view to sudden confusion and, by that means, distracting attention from
our heroine while she betakes herself out of a situation which,
although delightful enough for a blessed minute, has quickly become an
embarrassment quite unendurable. But we simply adhere to the
established facts in history. Owing to some carelessness there was,
indeed, an explosion of twenty-six six-pound cartridges, which made a
mighty roar and struck the newly installed garrison into a heap, so to
say, scattering things terribly and wounding six men, among them
Captains Bowman and Worthington.

After the thunderous crash came a momentary silence, which embraced
both the people within the fort and the wild crowd outside. Then the
rush and noise were indescribable. Even Clark gave way to excitement,
losing command of himself and, of course, of his men. There was a
stampede toward the main gate by one wing of the troops in the hollow
square. They literally ran over Beverley and Alice, flinging them apart
and jostling them hither and yonder without mercy. Of course the
turmoil quickly subsided. Clark and Beverley got hold of themselves and
sang out their peremptory orders with excellent effect. It was like oil
on raging water; the men obeyed in a straggling way, getting back into
ranks as best they could.

"Ventrebleu!" squeaked Oncle Jazon, "ef I didn't think the ole world
had busted into a million pieces!"

He was jumping up and down not three feet from Beverley's toes, waving
his cap excitedly.

"But wasn't I skeert! Ya, ya, ya! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!
Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!"

Hearing Alice's name caused Beverley to look around. Where was she? In
the distance he saw Father Beret hurrying to the spot where some of the
men burnt and wounded by the explosion were being stripped and cared
for. Hamilton still stood like a statue. He appeared to be the only
cool person in the fort.

"Where is Alice?--Miss Roussillon--where did Miss Roussillon go?"
Beverley exclaimed, staring around like a lost man. "Where is she?"

"D'know," said Oncle Jazon, resuming his habitual expression of droll
dignity, "she shot apast me jes' as thet thing busted loose, an'