He saw that Alice was smiling
somewhat as in her most mischievous moods, and when she jerked the
staff from its fastening she lifted it high and waved it once,
twice, thrice defiantly toward the British lines, then fled down
the ragged roof-slope with it and disappeared. The vision remained
in Beverley's eyes forever afterward. The English troops, thinking
that the flag was taken down in token of surrender, broke into a
wild tumult of shouting.
Oncle Jazon intuitively understood just what Alice was doing, for
he knew her nature and could read her face. His blood effervesced
in an instant.
"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vive la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!" he
screamed, waving his disreputable cap round his scalpless head.
"Hurrah for George Washington! Hurrah for Alice Roussillon's
flag!"
It was all over soon. Helm surrendered himself and Beverley with
full honors. As for Oncle Jazon, he disappeared at the critical
moment. It was not just to his mind to be a prisoner of war,
especially under existing conditions; for Hamilton's Indian allies
had some old warpath scores to settle with him dating back to the
days when he and Simon Kenton were comrades in Kentucky.
When Alice snatched the banner and descended with it to the
ground, she ran swiftly out through the postern, as she had once
before done, and sped along under cover of the low bluff or swell,
which, terrace-like, bounded the flat "bottom" lands southward of
the stockade.
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