Some of his
orders had been misunderstood by the chief of his Indian allies,
so that a premature exposure of his approach had been made to the
enemy.
"Well, sir, who are you?" he gruffly demanded, when M. Roussillon
loomed before him.
"I am Gaspard Roussillon, the Mayor of Vincennes," was the lofty
reply. "I have come to announce to you officially that my people
greet you loyally and that my town is freely at your command." He
felt as important as if his statements had been true.
"Humph, that's it, is it? Well, Mr. Mayor, you have my
congratulations, but I should prefer seeing the military commander
and accepting his surrender. What account can you give me of the
American forces, their numbers and condition?"
M. Roussillon winced, inwardly at least, under Hamilton's very
undeferential air and style of address. It piqued him cruelly to
be treated as a person without the slightest claim to respect. He
somehow forgot the rolling and rhythmical eloquence prepared for
the occasion.
"The American commander naturally would not confide in me,
Monsieur le Gouverneur, not at all; we are not very friendly; he
ousted me from office, he offended me--" he was coughing and
stammering.
"Oh, the devil! what do I care? Answer my question, sir," Hamilton
gruffly interrupted. "Tell me the number of American troops at the
fort, sir.
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