So careless that magnificent figure stood, so indifferent to their choice, that the hearts of the red men leaped in admiration.
"Peace, Peace, Peace," they cried.
From all directions the Indians flocked; Clark became apprehensive of such numbers,—Chippewas, Ottawas, Pottawattamies, Sacs, Foxes, Maumees.
"The Big Knives are right," said the chiefs. "The Great King of the French has come to life."
Without the firing of a gun or the loss of a life, the great tactician subjugated red men and white. Clark had no presents to give,—he awed the Indians. He devoted great care to the drilling of his troops, and the nations sat by to gaze at the spectacle. The Frenchmen drilled proudly with the rest.
While Clark was holding his councils Kenton had gone to Vincennes. Three days and three nights he lay reconnoitring. He spoke with the people, then by special messenger sent word, "The Governor has gone to Detroit. You can take Vincennes."
Clark was ready.
"Do not move against Vincennes," pleaded Father Gibault, "I know my people. Let me mediate for you."
Clark accepted Gibault's offer, and the patriot priest hastened away on a lean-backed pony to the Wabash. With his people gathered in the little log church he told the tale of a new dominion. There under the black rafters, kissing the crucifix to the United States, the priest absolved them from their oath of allegiance to the British king.
"Amen," said Gibault solemnly, "we are new men. We are Americans."
To the astonishment of the Indians the American flag flew over the ramparts of Vincennes.
"What for?" they begged to know.
"Your old father, the King of France, has come to life again. He is mad at you for fighting for the English. Make peace with the Long Knives, they are friends of the Great King."
