Each gust, indeed, seemed to shoot wintry
splinters into the very marrow of the men's bones. The weaker ones
began to show the approach of utter exhaustion just at the time
when a final spurt of unflinching power was needed. True, they
struggled heroically; but nature was nearing the inexorable limit
of endurance. Without food, which there was no prospect of
getting, collapse was sure to come.
Standing nearly waist-deep in freezing water and looking out upon
the muddy, sea-like flood that stretched far away to the channel
of the Wabash and beyond, Clark turned to Beverley and said,
speaking low, so as not to be overheard by any other of his
officers or men:
"Is it possible, Lieutenant Beverley, that we are to fail, with
Vincennes almost in sight of us?"
"No, sir, it is not possible," was the firm reply. "Nothing must,
nothing can stop us. Look at that brave child! He sets the heroic
example."
Beverley pointed, as he spoke, at a boy but fourteen years old,
who was using his drum as a float to bear him up while he
courageously swam beside the men.
Clark's clouded face cleared once more. "You are right," he said,
"come on! we must win or die."
"Sergeant Dewit," he added, turning to an enormously tall and
athletic man near by, "take that little drummer and his drum on
your shoulder and lead the way.
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