But the more he shook the tighter she clung, and
the oftener he went to see her.
Helm was a good officer in many respects, and his patriotism was
of the best; but he liked jolly company, a glass of something
strong and a large share of ease. Detroit lay many miles
northeastward across the wilderness, and the English, he thought,
would scarcely come so far to attack his little post, especially
now that most of the Indians in the intervening country had
declared in favor of the Americans. Recently, too, the weather had
been favoring him by changing from wet to dry, so that the upper
Wabash and its tributaries were falling low and would soon be very
difficult to navigate with large batteaux.
Very little was done to repair the stockade and dilapidated
remnant of a blockhouse. There were no sufficient barracks, a mere
shed in one angle serving for quarters, and the old cannon could
not have been used to any effect in case of attack. As for the
garrison, it was a nominal quantity, made up mostly of men who
preferred hunting and fishing to the merest pretense of military
duty.
Gaspard Roussillon assumed to know everything about Indian affairs
and the condition of the English at Detroit. His optimistic
eloquence lulled Helm to a very pleasant sense of security.
Beverley was not so easy to satisfy; but his suggestions regarding
military discipline and a vigorous prosecution of repairs to the
blockhouse and stockade were treated with dilatory geniality by
his superior officer.
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