n canoes, some in pirogues and others
in batteaux. In a large canoe, third back from the prow, sat a
fine-looking man, distinguishable from his associates in more ways
than may be easily described. His clothes were such as one would see
on the well-dressed man about the streets of Philadelphia; his
companions were in the garb of the frontier. He was broad of shoulder
with erect, military figure; while they were lithe and sinewy. His
features bore marks of good breeding and his voice and language were
those of a man of the world.

His companions had discovered that he knew nothing of woodcraft, but
much of military matters. Just where Morgan found him or he Morgan
does not yet appear. On the day the militia assembled Ezekiel Holden
of Boston had given him a name. Ezekiel was a character, Yankee to the
backbone. He had found his way to Norfolk on a coasting vessel a few
months before and was "lookin' araoun a leetle." "Zeke" was fond of
argument and delighted in arguing with Virginians about what he
considered the superiority of New Englanders. He was for liberty and
"pop'lar rights," "first, last an' all the time," and the rich
Virginians he looked upon as part of the English aristocracy,
descendants of those who had fought for King Charles, while "Zeke"
wished it understood his forebears fought under Cromwell.

When he saw this man he was in the midst of his pet argument and
exclaimed: "There's one o' them chevaliers naow," meaning cavalier,
but pronouncing it "Shiverleer." From that moment the rather
distinguished looking recruit was known among his fellows as
"Chevalier," and in truth the name fitted his manner excellently.
Furthermore he appeared to like the nickname and to take delight in
letting his companions know that he considered himself their superior,
though, be it said, this was in a spirit of humour rather than of
conceit, and he was ready to share toil or rations with his mates. Yet
this air did not please them and there was consequently much
chaffing.

The afternoon was hot and the men tired, just the moment when a little
inspiration was needed. One of the men said to his fellow in the prow
of the canoe, "Nick, ah reckon it's about time fer you to lead off
with a tune, one we kin hit the paddles to," and this was Nick's
response:

"The only good Injun, he died long ago.
Shove her along, boy, shove her along.
An' thar's nary one left on the O-hi-o.