es and orchards and gardens colored by
the touch of the evening light. In the centre of it stood a stone church
with its belfry; but our searching eyes alighted on the spot to the
southward of it, near the river. There stood a rambling stone building
with the shingles of its roof weathered black, and all around it a
palisade of pointed sticks thrust in the ground, and with a pair of gates
and watch-towers. Drooping on its staff was the standard of England.
North and south of the village the emerald common gleamed in the slanting
light, speckled red and white and black by grazing cattle. Here and
there, in untidy brown patches, were Indian settlements, and far away to
the westward the tawny Father of Waters gleamed through the cottonwoods.

Through the waning day the men lay resting under the trees, talking in
undertones. Some cleaned their rifles, and others lost themselves in
conjectures of the attack. But Clark himself, tireless, stood with
folded arms gazing at the scene below, and the sunlight on his face
illumined him (to the lad standing at his side) as the servant of
destiny. At length, at eventide, the sweet-toned bell of the little
cathedral rang to vespers,--a gentle message of peace to war. Colonel
Clark looked into my upturned face.

"Davy, do you know what day this is?" he asked.

"No, sir," I answered.

"Two years have gone since the bells pealed for the birth of a new
nation--your nation, Davy, and mine--the nation that is to be the refuge
of the oppressed of this earth--the nation which is to be made of all
peoples, out of all time. And this land for which you and I shall fight
to-night will belong to it, and the lands beyond," he pointed to the
west, "until the sun sets on the sea again." He put his hand on my head.
"You will remember this when I am dead and gone," he said.

I was silent, awed by the power of his words.

Darkness fell, and still we waited, impatient for the order. And when at
last it came the men bustled hither and thither to find their commands,
and we picked our way on the unseen road that led down the bluff, our
hearts thumping. The lights of the village twinkled at our feet, and now
and then a voice from below was caught and borne upward to us. Once
another noise startled us, followed by an exclamation, "Donnerblitzen"
and a volley of low curses from the company. Poor Swein Poulsson had
loosed a stone, which had taken a reverberating flight riverward.

We reached the bottom,