some paces distant, Clark stepped to the entrance of the hall,
and for some time leaned unobserved against the door-post, grimly
watching the gayety. Suddenly the air was rent by a warwhoop
which brought the dancers to a stop. An Indian brave, lounging in
the firelight, had caught a glimpse of the tall, gaunt, buff and
blue figure in the doorway and had recognized it. Women shrieked;
men cursed; the musicians left their posts; all was disorder.
Advancing, Clark struck a theatrical pose and in a voice of
command told the merrymakers to go on with their dancing, but to
take note that they now danced, not as subjects of King George
but as Virginians. Finding that they were in no mood for further
diversion, he sent them to their homes; and all night they
shivered with fear, daring not so much as to light a candle lest
they should be set upon and murdered in their beds.

This account is wholly unsupported by contemporary testimony, and
it probably sprang from the imagination of some good frontier
story-teller. It contains at least this much truth, that the
settlement, after being thrown into panic, was quickly and easily
taken. Curiously enough, the commandant was a Frenchman,
Rocheblave, who had thriftily entered the British service. True
to the trust reposed in him, he protested and threatened, but to
no avail. The garrison, now much diminished, was helpless, and
the populace--British, French, and Indian alike--was not disposed
to court disaster by offering armed resistance. Hence, on the
morning after the capture the oath of fidelity was administered,
and the American flag was hoisted for the first time within view
of the Father of Waters. After dispatching word to General
Carleton that he had been compelled to surrender the post to "the
self-styled Colonel, Mr. Clark," Rocheblave was sent as a captive