I was facing the shore, and
a body of men, ununiformed, slouching along with small regard to order,
but each bearing a rifle across his shoulder, were just tipping the
ridge and plowing their way down through the slippery clay in the
direction of the forward gangway. They were noisy, garrulous, profane,
their mingled voices drowning the shouts of their officers, yet
advanced steadily--the troops destined for Rock River were filing
aboard. I saw the column clearly enough, all the soldier in me
revolting to such criminal lack of discipline, and the thought of
hurling such untrained men as these into Indian battle. Yet, although
I saw, not for an instant did my gaze linger on their disordered ranks.
The sight which held me motionless was rather that of a long, broad
plank, protected on either side by a rope rail, stretching from the
slope of the second deck across the narrow gulf of water, until it
rested its other end firmly against the bank.
The meaning of this was sufficiently apparent. For some reason of his
own, Kirby had evidently chosen this means of attaining the shore, and
through personal friendship, Corcoran had consented to aid his purpose.
The reason, plainly enough, was that by use of this stern gangway the
landing party would be enabled to attain the bank without the necessity
of pushing their way through the crowd of idle loungers forward. And
the passage had just been accomplished, for, as my eyes focussed the
scene, they recognized the spare figure of the deputy disappearing over
the crest--a vague glimpse, but sufficient.
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