The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 19, 1902, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL S s B e e been to all, & long, hard jour- asonably profitable. You shall when you get married, parties and ignoring his about them. s dress, and do they great big g skirts attend any 1 danced men old and 1 remember mignonette, and my heart blazed while 1 whiried like ravishing Roussillon ever saw ng glances—euch stood gawping in through a w femen and ladies did the u looked— her pro- of the w ¥ a pig on r her shoul- y dear" he think you d to trip it iest dancer ¢ what you saw in fine hous how hey acted—what y wore—how—"" my ears, child. bring it to'me Tl try to tell assuming a ““Perhaps if I rything.” what_he asked. t on the gallery Roussillon had hted appar- s memory; oOr his imagination, d and liberal sort epicted by the late rtarin and Bom- 2 his crude way, and his af- xious to ap- egvs from the sheer truth he knew pre- 1a, especially which thrived r to the heart of ve girl. Still, as , there was no when he undertook hed not been ®i ing_his absence time he had d furs at De- trading rela~ however, that t what mat- facts when his ce began to of social knowl- t first hand in his youth- 2 while he was a fondly expected came to his rated himself and romance. t, Madame La were the chief touching the nd gayeties of , stirred the and far-off g suited bim pipe and talk had seen and done: and s he had really seen and done the e had to tell almost irile, Kindly ented face med with the nth of wholly ima ary recollections le he d minute circum- al ighted Alice his gal- he crowded and bril- French-Canadian of his bass voice, force to the im- the heavy eaned against the facing in an atf! nderous attention, a hand on ip. She could not suppresy ded admiration of her liege physique, and jealous td he was of his éxperiances and plcturesquely related n's nature took fire with enjo; e scenes described. of the poet and the to sponge out of existence, for & time, the stiff, refractory, and unlovely jes and give in their place a scene . The two d Roussillon's 1 brilliant com- anies, the luxurious surroundings, heard the rustie of brocade and the fine flutter the h and ch n while the dancers whirled the confusion of iightss hrough all poured and hing music as only the on could have conjured solutely charmed. She sat oden stool and gazed into on's face with dilating hi urned that rich and radi- ant something we call a passionate soul. She drank in his flamboyvant stream of words with a st which nothing but experience could ever quench. He felt her silent applause and the admiring | voluntary absorption that possessed his wife; the consciousness o. his elementary magnetism aygmented the flow of his fine descriptions, and he went on and on, until the arrival of Father Beret put an end to it a A stray sheep, no matter how re- fractory, feels a touch of longing when it hears the shepherd’s voice. M. Rous- silion was a Catholic, but a straying one, who avolfied the confessional and often forgot mass. BStill, with all his reckless independence and with all his outward show of large and breezy self-sufficlency, he was not altogether free from the hold that the church had lald upon him in childhood and youth. Moreover, he was fond of Father Beret and had done a eat deal for the little church of St. avier and the mission it represented: but he distinctly desired to be let alone while he purusued his own course, and be had promised the dying woman who ave Alice to him that the child should e left as she was, & Protestant, with- out undue influence to change her from the faith of her parents, This promise he had kept with stubborm persistence and he meant to keep it as long as he lived. Perhaps the very fact that his innermost conscience smote him with vague yet telling blows at times for this @eparture from the strict religion of his fathers may have intensified his resist- ance of the influence constantly exerted upon Alice by Father Beret and Madame Roussillon to bring her gently but surely to the church. Perverseness is a force to be reckoned with in all original charac- ters. A few weeks had passed after M. Rous- silion’s return, when that big-hearted man took it into his head to celebrate his successful trading ventwres with a moonlight dance given without re- serve to all the inhabitants of Vincennes. It was certainly a democratic function that be contemplated, and mot- ley to 2 most picturesque extent. Rene de Ronville called upon Alice a @ay or two previous to the occasion and @duty engaged her as his partenaire; but rhe insisted upon having the engagement guarded in her behalf by a condition so cbviously fanciful that he accepted it without argument. “If my wandering knight should arrive Guring the dance, you promise to stand aside and give place to him.’ she stipu- lated. “¥ou promise that? You see I'm expecting him all the time. 1 dreamed last night that he came on a great bay bhorse, and stooping, whirled me up be- hand the saddle, and away we went! There was a childish, half bantering air in her look: but her voice sounded earpest &nd serious, notwithstanding its deliclous timbre of subpressed playfulness. “You promise me?” she insisted. “Oh, T promise to slink away into a corner and chew my thumb, the moment bhe comes,” Rene eagerly assented. “Of course 'm taking & great risk, I know; for lords and barons and knights are very apt t) appear suddenly in a place like this” “You may banter and make light if you want to,” she said. pouting admir- ably. “I don’t care. All the same the to steady and / qugh will jump to the other corner of your mouth, see if it doesn't. They say tnat what a person dreams about and wishes for and waits for and believes in, will come true socmer or later.” “If that's so,” said Rene, “you and I will get married; for I've dreamed it every night of the year, wished for it, waited for it and believed in it, and —" It was a madly sudden rush.’ He made it on an impulse quite irresistible, as Lypnotized persons are said to do in re- sponse to the suggestior of the hypnotist, and his heart was choking his throat be- “ore he could end his speech. Alice in- terrupted him with a hearty burst of laughter. A ve y pretty twist you give to my 1 must declare,” she said; “but not new by any means. Little Adrienne Bourcier could tell you that. She says that you have vowed to her over and over that you dream about her, and wish for her, and wait for her, precisely as you have just id to_me.” Rene's brown face flushed to the tem- vles, partly with anger, partly with the thock of mingled surprise and fear. He was guilty a the guilt showed in his and pa; ed his tongue, 80 that ce with his under sagging ludicrously. “Don’t you rather think, Monsieur Rene de Ronville,” she presently added in a calmly advisory tone. “that you had bet- ter quit t; to say such foolish things to me, an t be mv very good friend? If you don’t, I do, which comes to the ame thing. What's more, I won't be vour partenaire at the dance unless you promise me on your word of honor that you will dance two dances with Adrienne 1o every one that you have with me. Do you promise?”’ He dared not oppose her outwardly, al- though in his heart resistance amounted to furious revolt and riot. B P “l promise anything you ask me to, he said resignedly, almost sullenly; “‘any- thing for you.” “Well, ask nothing whatever on my ac- count,” Alice quickly replied; “but I do tell you firmly that you shall not mal- treat little Adrienne Bourcier and remain @ friend of mine. She loves you, Rene Ge Ronville, and you have told her that you love ber. If you are a man Wor[h'y of respect you will not desert her. Don’t you think I am right?” Like a singed and crippled moth vainly trying to rise once again to the alluring yet deadly flame, Rene de Ronville es- sayed to break out of his embarassment and resume equal footing with the girl s0 suddenly become his commanding su- perior; but the effort disclosed to him as well as to her that he had fallen to rise no more. In his abject defeat he accepted the terms dictated by Alice and was glad when she adroitly changed her manner and tone in geing on to discuss the ap- proaching dance. “Now let me make one request of you, he-demanded after a while.” “It’s a smi zavor; may I ask it?” “Yes, but I don’t grant it in advance.” “1 want you to wear, for my sake, the buff gown which they say was your 1t grandmother’s.” *No, I won't wei “But why, Alice *“None of the other girls have anything like such a dress; it would not be right 1or me to put it on and make them all feel that I had taken the advantage of them, just because I could; that's why.” “But then none of them is beautiful and educated like you,” he said: “you'll outshine them anyway.” “Save your compliments for poor pretty little Adrienne,” she firmly responded, “I positively do not wish to hear them. ave agreed to be your partenaire at this dance of Papa Roussillon’s, but it is undestood between us that Adrienne is your sweetheart. I am not, and I'm not going to be, either. 8o for your sake and Adrienne’s, as well out of considera- tion for the rest of the girls who have no fine dresses, I am not going to wear the buff brocade gown that belonged to Papa Roussillon’s mother long ago. I shall dress just as the rest do.” It is safe fo say that Rene de Ronville went home with a troublesome bee In his bonnet. He was not a bad-hearted fellow. Many a right good young man, before him and since, has loved an Adrienne and Leen -dazzied by an Alice. A violet is sweet, but a rose is the garden’s queen. The poor youthful frontiersman ought to have becn stronger;:but he was not, and what have we 1o say? As for Alice, since having a confidential talk with Adrienne Bourcier recently, she had come {o realize what M. Roussillon meant when, he said: “But my little girl is better than most of them, not a foolish mischief-maker, I hope."” She saw through the situation with a quick under- standing of what Adrienne might suffer rhould Rene prove permanently fickle. The thought of it aroused all her natural hohesty and serious nobleness of charac- ter. which lay deep under the almost hoydenish leviiy usually observable in her manner. Crude as her sense of life's larger significance was, and meager as had been her exnerience in the things which count for most in the sum of & young girl's existence under fair circumstance, she grasped inLuitively the gist of it all. The dance did not come off; it had to be postponed indefinitely on account of & grave change in the political relations of the little post. A day or ‘two before the time set for that function a rumor ran through the town that something of importance was about to happen. Father Gibault, at the head of a small party, had arrived from Kaskaskia, far away on the Mississippi, with the news that France and the American colonies had made common cause against the English in the great war of which the people of Vin- cennes neither knew the cause nor cared a straw about the outcome. It was Oncle Jazon who had came to thé Roussillon place to tell M. Roussillon that he was wanted at the river house. Alice met him at the door. BShe poured him a full glass, then set- nng the bottle on a little stand, went to find M. Roussillon. While she was ab- sent Oncle Jazon improved his opportun- ity to the fullest extent. At least three additional glasses of the brandy < went the way of the first. He grinned atro- clously “‘and smacked his corrugated lips; but when Gaspard Roussillon came in the old man was sitting at some distance from the bottle and glass gazing indif- ferently out across the veranda. He told his story curtly, Father Gibault, he said, had sent him to ask M. Roussillon to come to the river house, as he had news of great jmportance to communicate. As they walked side by side down the way to the river house they looked like typical extremes of rough, sun-burned and weather-tanned manhood; Oncle Ja- zon, a wizened, diminutive scrap, wrin- kled and odd in every respect; Gaspard Roussillon towering six feet two, wide shouldered, massive, lumbering, muscu- lar, a giant with long curling hair and a superb beard. They did mot know that they were Foing to help dedicate the great Northwest to freedom. CHAPTER V, FATHER GIBAULT. Great movements in the affairs of men are like tides of the seas which reach and affect the remotest and quietest nooks and inlets, imparting a thrill and a swell of the general motion. Father Gibault brought the wave of the American Revo- lution to Vincennes. He was a simple misslonary; but he was, besides, a man of reat worldly knowledge and personal orce. Colonel George Clark Rogers made Father, Gibault’s acquaintance at Kaskas- kia, when the fort and its garrison syr- rendered to his command, and quickly dis- cerning the fine qualities of the priest’s character, sent him to the post on the Wabash fo win over its people to the cause of freedom and independence. Nor was the task assumed a hard one, as Father Gibault probably well knew before he undertook ft. A few of the leading men of Vincennes, presfded over by Gaspard Roussillon, held a consultation at the river house and it was agreed that a mass meeting should be called bringing ail of the inhabitants to- gether in the church for the purpose of considering the course to be taken under the circumstances made known by Father Gibault, Oncle Jazon constituted himself an executive committee of one to stir up 2 noise for the occasion. i It was a great day for WVingenres. The _volatile temperament of the French frontiersmen _ bubbled over with enthusiasm at the first hint of some- thing new and revolutionary in which they might be expected to take part. ‘Without knowing in the least what it was that Father Gibault and Oncle Jazon wanted of them, they were all in favor of it at a venture. Rene de Ronville, being an active and intelligent young man, was sent "about through the town to let everybody know of the meeting. In passing he stepped into the cabin of Father Beret, who was sitting on the loose puncheon floor, with his back turned toward the entrance and 80 absorbed in trying to put together a great number of small paper fragments that he did not hear or look up. 'Are. you not going to the meeting, father?' Rene bluntly demanded. In Lhe hurry that was on him he did not remem- ber to be formally polite, as was his habit. The old gflest looked up with a startled face. At the same time he swept the frag- ments of paper together and clutched them hard in his right hand. Yes, yes, my son—yes, 1 am going, but the time has not yet come for it, has it he stammered. “Ts it late?” He sprang to his feet and appeared con- fused, as if caught in doing something very impmpen Rene wondered at this unusual behav- {or, but merely said: “I beg gardon, Father Beret. 1 did not mean to disturb you,” and went his way. Father Beret stood for some minutes as if dazed, then squeezed the paper frag- ments into a tight ball, just as they were when he took them from under the floor some time before Rene came in, and put it in his pocket. A little later he was kneeling, as we have seen him before. in silent yet fervent prayer, his clasped hands lifted toward the crucifix on the ‘wall. “*Jesus, give me strength to hold on and do my work,” he murmured beseechingly, “and oh, free thy poor servant from bitter temptation.” Father Gibault had come prepared to use his eloquence upon the excitable creoles, and with considegible cunning he ad- dressed a motley duidience at the church, telling them than an American force had taken Kaskaskia and would henceforth hold it: that Frdnce had Jjoined hands with the Amerlcays against the British, and that it was the duty of all French- men to help uphold the cause of freedom and independence. “I come,” sald he, “directly from Colonel George Rogers Clark, a noble and brave officer of the American army, Who told me the news that I have brought to you. He sent me here to say that if you will give allegiance. th his government yuu shall be protected against all enemies and have the full freedom of citizens. I think ¥ou should do this without a moment's hesitation, as I and my people at Kas: kaskie have already dome. But perhaps you would like to have a word from vour distinguished fellow citizen, Monsieur Gaspard Roussillon. Speak to your friends. my son; they wil be glad to take counsel of your wisdom." There was a stir and a craning of necks. M. Roussillol resently ap- peared near the little"chancel, l;(l: great form towering majestically. owed and waved his hand with the air of one who accepts distinction as a matter of course; then he took his big silver watch and looked at it. He was the only man In Vincennes who owned a watch, and so the incidefit - was impressive. Tather Gibault igoked pleased, and_ al- Teady 'a murmuoy - of applause went through the audience. M. Roussillon stroked‘the bulging orystal of the time- plece with a eircular motion of his iiumb and bowed agaln, clearing his throat rescnantly, his face growing pur- plish above his L e ) *‘Good friends,” he said, “what France Frenchmen applaud.” a shout.of approbation s dnes all high-c! He paused for und was not disappointed, The uther name for France -is glory,” he added. “and all true Frenchmen love both names, I ama true Frenchman!” and he struck his breast a rescunding blow with the hand that still held the watch. huge horn button on” his buckskin jerkin came in contact with the crystal, and there was a smash, followed by a scat- tered tinkling of glass fragments. HeRrE 17T y‘-]‘jmn IT, Hiot 11 Quick” All Vincennes stood breathless, con- templating the irreparable accident. L Roussillon had lost the effect of a great eriod in his speech, but he was quick. ifting the watch to his ear, he listened a moment with superb dignity, then slowly elevating his head and spreading his his free hand over his heart he raid: ““The faithful timepiece still tells off the seconds, and the loyal heart of his owner still throbs with patriotism. Oncle Jazon, who stood in front of the speaker, swung his shapeless cap as high he could and yelled like a savage. Then the crowd went wild for a tim “Vive la_France!” ‘“A bas I'Angleterre. Fverybody shouted at the top of “his = bai “What France does wo lgl do,” col tinued M. Roussillon, when the noise sub- siGed. ‘Francé -has clasped hands with George w.:gln;ton' and his brave com- atriots; so do we.'™ & . ““Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!” shrieked Oncle ZJazon in a plercing treble, tiptoeing and .«haklnsl his cap recklessly under oussillon's nose. B’rhu orator winced and jerked his head back, but nobody saw it, save perhaps Father Gibault, who uushed heartily. Great_sayings come suddonly, unan- nounced unexpected. They have the mysterious force of prophetic accident combined with hlppg economy of phras- ing. The southern blood in M. Roussil- lon's veins was effervescing upon his in; his ton ad caught the fine ?::.gom End aBandan af hanivad aratare. oo oo “ = He towered and glowed; words fell melo- diously from his lips; his gestures were ccmpelling, his visage magnetic. In con- clusion he said: “Frenchmen, America is the garden- spot of the world and will one day rule it as did Rome of old. Where freedom makes her home, there is the center of 157" rower!” It was' a Jittle Jog church on the verge of a hummock over- looking a marshy wild meadow. Westward for 2000, miles stretched the unbroken prairies, woods, moun- tains, deserts reaching to the Pacific; southward for a thousand miles rolled the green billows. of the wilderness -to the warm Gulf shore; northward to the pole and eastward to the thin fringe of settle- ments beyond the mountains, all was houseless solitude. If the reader should go to Vincennes to- day and walk southward along Second street to its intersection with Church street, the spot then under foot would be probably very near where M. Roussillon stood while uttering this great sentence. Mind you, the present writer does not pretend to know the exact site of old Saint Xavier Church. If it could be fixed beyond doubt the spot should have an imperishable mcnument of Indiana stone. When M. Roussillon ceased speaking the audience again exhausted Its vocal re- sources; and then Father Gibault called upon each man to come forward and sol- emnly pledge his loyalty to the American cause. Not one of them hesitated. 2 Meantime a woman was doing her part in the’ transformation of Post Vincennes from a French-English picket to a full- fledged American fort and town. Ma- dame Godere, finding out what was about ‘to happen, fel to work making a flag in imitation of that under which George ‘Washington was fighting. Alice chanced to be in the Godre home at the time and Joined enthusiastically in the sewing. It was an exclugg task. Their fingers trem- bled while they worked, and the thread, helvfl&r coated with beeswax, squeaked as they drew it through the cloth. ‘“We shall not be in time,” sald Madame Godere; “I know we ‘shall not. Every- thing hinders me. My thread breaks or gets_tangled and my needl so rusty I gln l!“ y stick It through the cloth. Oh, ear!” Alice encouraged her with both words and work, and they had almost finished when Rene came with a staff which he had brought from the fort. “Mon dieu, but we have had a great meeting!” he cried. He was perspiring with excitement and fast walking; lean- ing on the staff he mopped his face with a blue handkerchief. “We heard much shouting and noise, sald Madame Godere. ‘M. Roussillon’ voice rose loud above the rest. He roared like a lion.” “Ah, he was speaking to us; he was very eloquent,”” Rene replied. “But now they are waiting at the fort for the new flag. I have come for it.” pe “It is ready,” said Madame Godere. ‘With flying fingers Alice sewed it to the staff. g . “Volei!” she cried, ‘“‘vive la republique Americaine!” She lifted the s and let the flag droop over from head to foot. “Give it to me,” sald Rene, holding forth a hand for it, “and I'll run to the fort with {t.” ) . “No,” said.Alice, her face suddenly lighting up with resolve. “No, I am going to take it myself,” and without a mo- ment’s delay off she. went. Rene was so caught by surprise that he stood gazing after her until she passed behind a house, where the way_ turned, the shining flag rippling around her, and her moccasins twinkling as she ran. At the blockhouse awalting the moment whan the svmbol of freedom should rise like a star over old Vincennes, the crowd had picturesquely broken into scattered groups. Alice entered through a rent in the stockade, as that happened to be a shorter route than through the gate, and appeared suddénly almost in their midst. i1t was a happy surprise, a pretty and catching spectacular apparition of a sort to be tnoroughly appreciated by the lively French fancy of tne audience. The men caught the girl's spirit, or it caught them, they made haste to be noisy. "la! V'la! I'p'tite Alice et la banniere de Zhorzh Vasinton! (Look, look, little Alice and George Washington's flag)” shouted Oncle Jazon. He put his wiry little legs through a sort of pas de zephyr and winked at himself with concentrated approval. All the men danced around and yelled till they were hoarse. By this time Rene had reached Alice's side, but she did not see Lim; she ran into the blockhouse and climbed up a rude lauder-way; then she appeared on the roof, still accompapied by Rene, and planted the staff in a crack of the slabs, where it stood bravely up, the colors floating free. She looked down and saw M. Roussil- lon, Father Gibault and Father Beret grouped in the center of the area. They were waving their hands aloft at her, while a bediam of voices sent up applause whick went through her blood like strong wine. She smiled radiantly, and a sweet flush glowed in her cheeks. No one of all that wild crowd could ever forget the picture sketched so boldly at that moment, when, after planting the staff, Alice stepped back a space and stood strong and beautiful against the soft blue sky. She glanced down first, then looked up, her arms folded across her bosom. It was a pose as uncon- gclously taken as that of a bird, and the grace of it went straight to the hearts of those below. She turned about to descend and for the first time saw that Rene had followed her. His face was beaming. “What a girl you ar he exclaimed, in a tone of exultant admiration. ‘“‘Never ‘was there another like you!” Alice walked guietly past him without speaking; for down In the space where some women were huddled aside from the crowd, looking on, she had seen little Adrienne Bourcier. She made haste to descend. Now' that her impulsively chosen enterstise ‘was completed her bold- ness deserted her and she slipped out through a dilapidated postern opposite the crowd. On her right was the river, while southward before her lay a great flat plain, beyond which rose some hillocks covered with forest. The sun blazed be- tween masses of slowly drifting clouds that tpailed creeping fantastic ghallows across the marshy waste. Alice walked along. under cover slight landswell which then, more. tiatiie marked than it is now, formed the con- tour line of hummock upon which' the fort and village stood. A watery swale s'rown full of tall aquatic weeds mean- lered parallel with the bluff, so to call it, and there was a soft melancholy whisper- ing of wind among the long blades and stems. She passed the church and Father Beret’s hut and continued for some d(-; tance in the direction of that pretty kno upon which the cemetery is at present so tastefully kept. She felt shy now. as if to run away and hide w Indeed, so relaxed were her neqes that a slight movement in the grass'and eat- tail flags near by startied her painfully, making her jump like a fawn. “Little friend not be fraid.” said & gut- tural veice in broken Fremch. “Little friend not make noise. At a glance she recognized Long-Hair, the Indian, rising out of the matted marsh growth. It was a hideous vision of embodied cunning, soullessness and murderous cruelty. s “Not tell white man you see me?” he grunted interrogatively, stepping close to her. He looked so wicked that she re- .coiled and lifted her hands defensively. She trembled from head to foot, and her voice failed her: but she made & negative sign and smiled at him, turning as white as her tanned face could become. In his left hand he heid his bow, while in his right he half lifted a murderous looking tomahawk. “What new flag mean?” he demanded, waving the bow's end toward the fort and 2%3%1“; his head down close to hers. 0 yonder?” “The great American Father has taken us under his protection,” she explained. “We nr‘: bis-knlv’:s now.” It almest hoked her to speak. “hUgh! heap damn fools,” he sald, with “Aittle friend muck Samm fool.™ He straightened up his tall form and stood leering at her for some seconds, then added: ‘LLttla friend get |killed, scalped, maybe.” The indescribable ,nobility of antmal largeness, symmetry and stre: showed in his form and attitude, but eXpres- sion of his countenance was absolutely rgpulsive—cold, hard, beastly, e did not speak in, but turned quickly, and, stooping low, like a great brownish red lam in the high grass, which scarcely. as he moved through it. Somehow that day made itself strangely memorable to Alice. She had been accus- tomed to stirrin scenes and sudden changes of conditions; but this was the first time that she had ever jolned act- ively in a public movement of importance, Then, too, Long-Hair's picturesque and rudely dramatic reappearance affected her imagination with an indescribable force. Moreover, the pathetic_situation in the love affalr between Rene and Adrienne had taken hold of her consclence with a disturbing grip. But the shad- Owy sense of impending events, of which she eould form no idea, was behind it all. She had not heard of Brandywine, or Bunker Hill, or Lexington, on Concord; but something like a waft of their signifi- cance had blown through her mind. A great change was coming into her idyllia life. She was indistinctly aware of it, as We sometimes are of an approach- ing storm, while yet the sky is sweetly blue and ' serene. When she reached home the house was full of people to whom M. Roussillon, in the gayest of moods, was dispensing wine and brandy. “Vive Zhorzh Vasinton!” shouted Oncle Jazon as soon as he saw her. And they all talked at once, saying flat- tering things about her. Madame us- sillon Yried to scold as usual; but the live- lv{“chauenng of the guests drowned her ce. ‘T suppose the American commander will Bend a garrison here,” some one said to Father Gibault, “and repair the for “Probably,” the priest replied, n & very few weeks. eantime we will gar- rison it ourselves.” “And we will’have M. Roussilon for commander,” spoke up Rene de Ronville, who was standing by. ““A good sugestion,” assented Father Gibault; “let us organize at once.” Immediately the word was passed that there would be a meeting at the fort that evening for the purpose of choosing a garrison and a commander. Everybody ‘went promptly at the hour set. M. Rous- silon was elected captain by acclamation, with Rene de Ronville as his Meutenant. It was observed that Oncle Jazon had r sumed his dignity, and that he looked in- to his cap several times without speaking. Meantime certain citizens, who had been in close relations with Governor Ab- bott during his stay, quietly siipped out of town, manned a batteau and went up the river, probably to Oulatenon first and then to Detroit. Doubtless they suspect- ed that things might soon grow too warm