第155章 THE RIGHTS OF MAN(2)

Scarcely had he left that city ere American privateers had slipped out of Charleston harbor to prey upon the commerce of the hated Mistress of the Sea.Was there ever such a march of triumph as that of the Citizen Ambassador northward to the capital? Everywhere toasted and feasted, Monsieur Genet did not neglect the Rights of Man, for without doubt the United States was to declare war on Britain within a fortnight.Nay, the Citizen Ambassador would go into the halls of Congress and declare war himself if that faltering Mr.Washington refused his duty.Citizen Genet organized his legions as he went along, and threw tricolored cockades from the windows of his carriage.And at his glorious entry into Philadelphia (where I afterwards saw the great man with my own eyes), Mr.Washington and his Federal-Aristocrats trembled in their boots.

It was late in April, 1794, when I reached Pittsburg on my homeward journey and took passage down the Ohio with a certain Captain Wendell of the army, in a Kentucky boat.I had known the Captain in Louisville, for he had been stationed at Fort Finney, the army post across the Ohio from that town, and he had come to Pittsburg with a sergeant to fetch down the river some dozen recruits.This was a most fortunate circumstance for me, and in more ways than one.Although the Captain was a gruff and blunt man, grizzled and weather-beaten, a woman-hater, he could be a delightful companion when once his confidence was gained; and as we drifted in the mild spring weather through the long reaches between the passes he talked of Trenton and Brandywine and Yorktown.

There was more than one bond of sympathy between us, for he worshipped Washington, detested the French party, and had a hatred for ``filthy Democrats''

second to none I have ever encountered.

We stopped for a few days at Fort Harmar, where the Muskingum pays its tribute to the Ohio, built by the Federal government to hold the territory which Clark had won.And leaving that hospitable place we took up our journey once more in the very miracle-time of the spring.The sunlight was like amber-crystal, the tall cottonwoods growing by the water-side flaunted a proud glory of green, the hills behind them that formed the first great swells of the sea of the wilderness were clothed in a thousand sheens and shaded by the purple budding of the oaks and walnuts on the northern slopes.On the yellow sandbars flocks of geese sat pluming in the sun, or rose at our approach to cast fleeting shadows on the water, their HONK-HONKS echoing from the hills.Here and there a hawk swooped down from the azure to break the surface and bear off a wriggling fish that gleamed like silver, and at eventide we would see at the brink an elk or doe, with head poised, watching us as we drifted.We passed here and there a lonely cabin, to set my thoughts wandering backwards to my youth, and here and there in the dimples of the hills little clusters of white and brown houses, one day to become marts of the Republic.

My joy at coming back at this golden season to a country I loved was tempered by news I had heard from Captain Wendell, and which I had discussed with the officers at Fort Harmar.The Captain himself had broached the subject one cool evening, early in the journey, as we sat over the fire in our little cabin.He had been telling me about Brandywine, but suddenly he turned to me with a kind of fierce gesture that was natural to the man.

``Ritchie,'' he said, ``you were in the Revolution yourself.You helped Clark to capture that country,'' and he waved his hand towards the northern shore; ``why the devil don't you tell me about it?''

``You never asked me,'' I answered.

He looked at me curiously.

``Well,'' he said, ``I ask you now.''