I sent my two Provincials foraging with their
guns, and we who remained set about to fix our camp for the day and
prepare breakfast. A few minutes only passed, and the two hunters
came running back with rueful faces to say they had seen two
Indians near, armed with muskets and knives. My plans were made at
once. We needed their muskets, and the Indians must pay the price
of their presence here, for our safety should be had at any cost.
I urged my men to utter no word at all, for none but Clark could
speak French, and he but poorly. For myself, my accent would pass
after these six years of practice. We came to a little river,
beyond which we could observe the Indians standing on guard. We
could only cross by wading, which we did; but one of my Provincials
came down, wetting his musket and himself thoroughly. Reaching the
shore, we marched together, I singing the refrain of an old French
song as we went,
En roulant, ma boule roulant,
En roulant, ma boule
so attracting the attention of the Indians. The better to deceive,
we all were now dressed in the costume of the French peasant--I had
taken pains to have Mr. Stevens secure these for us before starting;
a pair of homespun trousers, a coarse brown jacket, with thrums like
waving tassels, a silk handkerchief about the neck, and a strong
thick worsted wig on the head; no smart toupet, nor buckle; nor
combed, nor powdered; and all crowned by a dull black cap.
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