Governor Rocheblave was roused from a dream, in which he was being decorated with the Grand Cross of the Bath for eminent services to his Britannic majesty, by the sound of whoops, yells, and rifle-shots under his very house. Then came the crash of glass and plaster, as several bullets came through his window, and sent pieces of ceiling spattering over the floor.

The Governor jumped out of bed, scared out of his wits, and madame began to scream at the top of her voice, a scream echoed from every quarter of the “palace,” as the maid-servants heard the racket in the streets.

Then came the boom of four or five cannon, and a louder crash than before, as the big chimney of the government house, struck by a six-pound shot, toppled down over the roof in a mass of ruins.

[60]

Then a stillness perfectly awful succeeded for several minutes, followed by the banging of opening windows, as the terrified inhabitants began to look out.

As for Governor Rocheblave, he remembered the bullets too well to dare go to his own windows; and presently came the clatter of hoofs on the pavement below, as a horseman pulled up from full speed. Then a stentorian voice bellowed, in horribly bad French:

“Fusillez tout homme dans la rue! Fermez fenetres!”

But fear is a quick translator, and every one knew the meaning of those words.

“Shoot every man in the street! Shut windows!”

A disinterested person would have admired the alacrity with which the windows banged to, in obedience to the order; but the people of Kaskaskia were too keenly alive to their own perils to admire any thing.

In a moment Governor Rocheblave came to his senses, and understood every thing. At first he had thought of an Indian rising, but the cannon-shots and bad French convinced him that a more formidable foe was at hand.

“Coralie, it is the barbarous Americans. What shall we do?” he faltered, as he gazed, panic-stricken, at his wife. “The papers—the agreements with the chiefs—they will find them, and I shall be shot.”

“Not so fast,” said madame, more coolly. “I know these men, if they are Americans. They are fools, where women are concerned. Where are the papers?”

“In the box,” said the trembling Governor, pointing to a casket of mahogany, open on the table.

In a moment the quick-witted woman pounced on the box, bore it to her bed, and swept up the loose papers to the same receptacle. She had hardly time to jump in after them when a clatter of weapons was heard on the staircase, and a loud knock was heard at the front door.

“Who’s there?” screamed madame, excitedly. “Are these barbarians that insult the privacy of a lady’s chamber? Go away!”

There was a short, whispered consultation outside, and a voice spoke, in very bad French:

[61]

“Open the door, Governor. We know you’re here. We will not hurt the lady, but we must have the Governor.”

“Monsieur Rocheblave has fled,” cried the lady, angrily, as her husband, quaking with fear, turned up the light and moved toward the door. “Have you no manners, pigs, that you do not believe a lady? Go away!”

The only answer was a blow that burst the fastening of the door, and into the room stalked Major Bowman, second in command to Clark, who advanced to Rocheblave with a cocked pistol in his hand, saying:

“Monsieur, you are my prisoner. Surrender your papers.”

Rocheblave sunk trembling into a chair.

“I surrender, monsieur. Spare my life, and pray do not insult my wife, if you are gentlemen.”

“We are gentlemen,” said Bowman, quietly. “Madame is safe; but you must dress and come with me to the commander. No excuses, sir. I give you five minutes to dress. Then you must come with us as you are. Where are your papers?”

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