irst lesson." He fumbled in his
pocket, drew out a letter, and handed it to me. "This is from Citizen
Michaux, the famous naturalist, the political agent of the French
Republic. Read what he has written me."

I read, I fear in a faltering voice:--

"Citoyen General:

"Un homme qui a donne des preuves de son amour pour la Liberte et de sa
haine pour le despotisme ne devait pas s'adresser en vain au ministre de
la Republique francaise. General, il est temps que les Americains libres
de l'Ouest soient debarasses d'un ennemie aussi injuste que meprisable."

When I had finished I glanced at the General, but he seemed not to be
heeding me. The sun was setting above the ragged line of forest, and a
blue veil was spreading over the tumbling waters. He took me by the arm
and led me into the house, into a bare room that was all awry. Maps hung
on the wall, beside them the General's new commission, rudely framed.
Among the littered papers on the table were two whiskey bottles and
several glasses, and strewn about were a number of chairs, the arms of
which had been whittled by the General's guests. Across the rough
mantel-shelf was draped the French tricolor, and before the fireplace on
the puncheons lay a huge bearskin which undoubtedly had not been shaken
for a year. Picking up a bottle, the General poured out generous
helpings in two of the glasses, and handed one to me.

"The mists are bad, Davy," said he "I--I cannot afford to get the fever
now. Let us drink success to the army of the glorious Republic, France."

"Let us drink first, General," I said, "to the old friendship between
us."

"Good!" he cried. Tossing off his liquor, he set down the glass and
began what seemed a fruitless search among the thousand papers on the
table. But at length, with a grunt of satisfaction, he produced a form
and held it under my eyes. At the top of the sheet was that much-abused
and calumniated lady, the Goddess of Liberty.

"Now," he said, drawing up a chair and dipping his quill into an almost
depleted ink-pot, "I have decided to make you, David Ritchie, with full
confidence in your ability and loyalty to the rights of liberty and
mankind, a captain in the Legion on the Mississippi."

I crossed the room swiftly, and as he put his pen to paper I laid my hand
on his arm.

"General, I cannot," I said. I had seen from the first the futility of
trying to dissuade him from the expedition, and I knew now that it would
never come off. I