"George Rogers Clark, Colonel in the service of the Commonwealth of
Virginia." He held out his hand restrainingly, for the furious Monsieur
Rocheblave made an attempt to rise. "You will oblige me by remaining in
bed, sir, for a moment."
"Coquins! Canailles! Cochons!" shrieked the lady.
"Madame," said Colonel Clark, politely, "the necessities of war are often
cruel."
He made a bow, and paying no further attention to the torrent of her
reproaches or the threats of the helpless commandant, he calmly searched
the room with the lantern, and finally pulled out from under the bed a
metal despatch box. Then he lighted a candle in a brass candlestick that
stood on the simple walnut dresser, and bowed again to the outraged
couple in the four-poster.
"Now, sir," he said, "you may dress. We will retire."
"Pardieu!" said the commandant in French, "a hundred thousand thanks."
We had scarcely closed the bedroom door when three shots were heard.
"The signal!" exclaimed Clark.
Immediately a pandemonium broke on the silence of the night that must
have struck cold terror in the hearts of the poor Creoles sleeping in
their beds. The war-whoop, the scalp halloo in the dead of the morning,
with the hideous winding notes of them that reached the bluff beyond and
echoed back, were enough to frighten a man from his senses.
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