And
above the sound of their own speeches rose the merrier note of the
fiddle. The garrison windows shone like lanterns, and behind these
Creole and backwoodsman swung the village ladies in the gay French
dances. The man at whose bidding this merrymaking was held stood in a
corner watching with folded arms, and none to look at him might know that
he was playing for a stake.
The troubled fires of the Indians had died to embers long before the
candles were snuffed in the garrison house and the music ceased.
The sun himself was pleased to hail that last morning of the great
council, and beamed with torrid tolerance upon the ceremony of kindling
the greatest of the fires. On this morning Colonel Clark did not sit
alone, but was surrounded by men of weight,--by Monsieur Gratiot and
other citizens, Captain Bowman and the Spanish officers. And when at
length the brush crackled and the flames caught the logs, three of the
mightiest chiefs arose. The greatest, victor in fifty tribal wars, held
in his hand the white belt of peace. The second bore a long-stemmed pipe
with a huge bowl. And after him, with measured steps, a third came with
a smoking censer,--the sacred fire with which to kindle the pipe.
Halting before Clark, he first swung the censer to the heavens, then to
the earth, then to all the spirits of the air,--calling these to witness
that peace was come at last,--and finally to the Chief of the Long Knives
and to the gentlemen of dignity about his person.
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