Colonel Clark
waiting at the door through which the good Creoles had been wont to go to
worship, bowing somewhat ironically to the British General. It was a
strange meeting they had in St. Xavier's, by the light of the candles on
the altar. Hot words passed in that house of peace, the General
demanding protection for all his men, and our Colonel replying that he
would do with the Indian partisans as he chose.

"And whom mean you by Indian partisans?" the undaunted governor had
demanded.

"I take Major Hay to be one of them," our Colonel had answered.

It was soon a matter of common report how Clark had gazed fixedly at the
Major when he said this, and how the Major turned pale and trembled.
With our own eyes we saw them coming out, Major Hay as near to staggering
as a man could be, the governor blushing red for shame of him. So they
went sorrowfully back to the gate.

Colonel Clark stood at the steps of the church, looking after them.

"What was that firing?" he demanded sharply. "I gave orders for a
truce."

We who stood by the church had indeed heard firing in the direction of
the hills east of the town, and had wondered thereat. Perceiving a crowd
gathered at the far end of the street, we all ran thither save the
Colonel, who directed to have the offenders brought to him at Monsieur
Bouton's. We met the news halfway. A party of Canadians and Indians had
just returned from the Falls of the Ohio with scalps they had taken.
Captain Williams had gone out with his company to meet them, had lured
them on, and finally had killed a number and was returning with the
prisoners. Yes, here they were! Williams himself walked ahead with two
dishevelled and frightened coureurs du bois, twoscore at least of the
townspeople of Vincennes, friends and relatives of the prisoners,
pressing about and crying out to Williams to have mercy on them. As for
Williams, he took them in to the Colonel, the townspeople pressing into
the door-yard and banking in front of it on the street. Behind all a
tragedy impended, nor can I think of it now without sickening.

The frightened Creoles in the street gave back against the fence, and
from behind them, issuing as a storm-cloud came the half of Williams'
company, yelling like madmen. Pushed and jostled ahead of them were four
Indians decked and feathered, the half-dried scalps dangling from their
belts, impassive, true to their creed despite the indignity of jolts and
jars and blows. On and on