Wind Dancer (24 page)

Samuel breathed in and out, trying to grasp such generosity.

After everything he'd done. After everything he had put them through, his father only wanted his son to have his inheritance.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because, as you will see with Belle and any other children you have … this is what fathers dream of doing. Why do you
think I have worked so hard? Why do you think I go out there every day to make this place function and thrive? My father birthed it for me, and I have expanded it for you. Who knows the limits of what you will do for your children? And they for theirs? It is what fathers do.”

Samuel was overcome. He could only stare in wonder at the man he had left. “I'm sorry I hurt you.”

Thomas huffed. “I understood. After that mess with Sara, you needed to find out who you were. And now that you have, … you will make me proud. You already have.”

Samuel found himself without words and a throat clogged with emotion. When he looked up, he saw that his father was struggling as well.

“What about Belle?” Samuel finally managed to ask.

“Just … give me a few more days.” His father looked down at his loosely clasped hands in his lap, then back up at Samuel. “I think I would like to take her to Williamsburg, buy her some candy, show her the sights.” He smiled. “Then, if you and your wife need to haul her off into the wilderness or into the great world for a while, why, I think that would be a good thing. Your mother, God bless her soul, has put too much starch in a child of her age. It would do her some good to grow up away from here.” He nodded, as if talking to himself. “Do her some real good.”

Samuel rose. He went around the desk and touched his father on the arm. “Thank you.”

Thomas rose from his chair and took Samuel into his chest with a crushing hug. “I am glad you came back, son. I am so glad.”

As an author of historical novels, the writer uncovers many fascinating facts. Research is like digging for gold. There are so many stories to tell. Stories of great heroes and heroines. Stories of our ancestors. Stories of fellow Americans.

George Rogers Clark was bigger than life. He was one of the men in that time and place who embodied the spirit of courage, had steadfast faith in his mission, and knew a call to greatness.

When Samuel and Isabelle left him in Kaskaskia, Clark was sitting on a ticking bomb. Henry “the Hairbuyer” Hamilton heard of the capture of Vincennes and retaliated with an army of trained British soldiers and American Indian braves.

On October 7, 1778, Hamilton left Detroit, traveled down the Maumee and Wabash Rivers, marching on Vincennes to take it back. Hamilton was easily successful. After all, only a token army under the command of Leonard Helm held the fort for Clark.

What happened next was one of the greatest military blunders of the American Revolution: Hamilton decided to
postpone an attack on Kaskaskia and wait until spring, sending his native allies home for the winter.

It was then another hero arose—an Italian trader by the name of Francesco Vigo, a wealthy man committed to Clark and the American cause. He was permitted to leave Vincennes for St. Louis on a supposed trading mission. Vigo kept his word and went straight to St. Louis but on the way back made an inconvenient but important side trip. He headed for Clark with the news of all Hamilton had done and planned to do in the spring.

When Clark learned of Hamilton's victory, it was late January, and winter held a firm grip on the land. Clark realized that his small force could not hold the Illinois posts of Kaskaskia and Cahokia if Hamilton was given sufficient time to gather his forces in the spring. So, being Clark, he boldly decided to move on Vincennes immediately. His letter to Patrick Henry states his conviction so succinctly, that if he failed, “this country and also Kentucky is lost.” Clark firmly believed that in gaining the territory north of the Ohio River, they would gain a nation. And if they lost it, they would lose everything.

On February 5, 1779, Clark led one hundred and seventy-two men, nearly half of whom were French volunteers, from Kaskaskia to Vincennes. They marched through flooded country, often shoulder high in water, with freezing temperatures and rain that fell unceasingly. There was never enough food as the hunting parties often came back empty-handed. It took eighteen days to make what should have been a five- or six-day trip. It is a traumatic tale of fortitude and the miraculous. It's the story of the power of one man's conviction and the men who were brave and inspired enough to follow him.

During that harrowing march, Clark buoyed the spirits of the men by taking the lead when plunging into a body of water,
singing with them and telling them how they were the greatest of men. As they waded through swamps and streams, the men held their rifles above their heads, their food and ammunition upon their shoulders, and they sang at the top of their voices, their legs quivering with weakness in the freezing temperatures. A drummer boy floated beside them, ever rapping on his drum.

On February 23 the frozen, little army surrounded Vincennes. Clark ordered that the flags be marched back and forth behind the slight rises to convince the British that theirs was an imposing force of six hundred men rather than less than two hundred. Old Testament fighting, to be sure. They opened fire on the fort with such accuracy that the British had to abandon their cannon ports. Two days later Hamilton surrendered. He was sent to Williamsburg as a prisoner of war.

The British never regained control of Cahokia, Kaskaskia, or Vincennes. Later the lands won by George Rogers Clark and his Long Knives were ceded to the United States in the Treaty of Paris in 1783, four long years after Clark's harrowing campaign. The British withdrew from Detroit without Clark and his men ever having to fire a single shot.

Clark's mission had been successful beyond even his wildest imaginings—and this was a man who knew how to dream. The west was opened, and America now stretched to the Mississippi River, the Great Lakes becoming the northern boundary of the young nation.

Like many of our greatest heroes, Clark was not recognized during his lifetime as he deserved. He died on land in Kentucky that he had to fight to possess. The Virginia Legislature would not recognize that Clark personally indebted himself to keep the campaign afloat and refused to pay his war debts. He died in debt. He died in pain.

His was a life spilled out for his country.

There was, however, a well-worn path to Clark's cabin. He received many visitors in his old age. Indian chiefs whom he had made treaties with, men who still admired the tall redhead, remembering him as a man of his word. Men who had followed him and argued with him and heard him and
loved
him. Men who knew what he had done and were in awe of the man named Clark. He was, to the end, a hero to the free landowner of the Northwest Territory and to the new people west of the Allegheny Mountains who called themselves Americans.

My hope is that his courage and faith are being rewarded every day, day after day, in eternity. George Rogers Clark accomplished what he was set on this earth to do, and no one can ask for more than that.

Did I mention he had a brother? William Clark of Lewis and Clark fame. Those boys must have had some kind of parents. Between them, those men carved out a nation from sea to shining sea. I would like to be as inspiring as those parents. I would like to be like those men, pressing on in freedom and courage, rushing headlong and victorious into the glory of God. Only maybe in a dress. One as red and as flashy as Isabelle's.

And dancing.

A gypsy worshipper in a dance song for Him.