"
Even as he spoke a shout came faintly from the distant town.
"What is that?" demanded Clark, sharply.
The man shrugged his shoulders. "Une fete des negres, peut-etre,--the
negro, he dance maybe."
"Are you the ferryman?" said Clark.
"Oui--I have some boat."
We crossed the hundred and fifty yards of sluggish water, squad by squad,
and in the silence of the night stood gathered, expectant, on the farther
bank. Midnight was at hand. Commands were passed about, and men ran
this way and that, jostling one another to find their places in a new
order. But at length our little force stood in three detachments on the
river's bank, their captains repeating again and again the part which
each was to play, that none might mistake his duty. The two larger ones
were to surround the town, while the picked force under Simon Kenton
himself was to storm the fort. Should he gain it by surprise and without
battle, three shots were to be fired in quick succession, the other
detachments were to start the war-whoop, while Duff and some with a
smattering of French were to run up and down the streets proclaiming that
every habitan who left his house would be shot. No provision being made
for the drummer boy (I had left my drum on the heights above), I chose
the favored column, at the head of which Tom and Cowan and Ray and McCann
were striding behind Kenton and Colonel Clark.
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