Elkswatawa : $b or, The prophet of the west. A tale of the frontierFrench, James Strange
General
Elkswatawa : $b or, The prophet of the west. A tale of the frontier
French, James Strange
Tippecanoe, Battle of, Ind., 1811 -- Fiction
“No—no end till we use 'em all up—but it's no use to hurry after
Ingens; to beat 'em we must fight as they do. Rolfe, you are always
too eager—an eel does not move through the water with less noise than
we should through the forest, if we wish to do any thing.” So saying,
and repressing the ardour of his companion, they began to move
silently along to the bank of the river, groping their way as
stealthily as the wild tenants of the woods.
“Earth, is it not strange that we hear no more of them?”
“No; they do their work very silently; you will not hear any more of
'em, until they think themselves safe; then, if they have had much
luck, they will kick up the very devil. Rolfe, you can fight as well
as any body when you see an Ingen, but you know mighty little about
their ways.”
“Earth, I am rather a novice at the business you know, and confess I
have much to learn; tell me why they whooped only once, and then
ceased.”
“As a signal for attack, and in order to frighten,—they ceased,
because they fear discovery—but hush, we'll come upon them, may be,
'fore we know it.”
“Earth, come this way, come, come, it is the nearest to the river.”
“Now, Rolfe, there it is again; does a 'coon, when he wishes to avoid
the dogs, run a straight course, or take the nearest way to his
hollow?—You, I suppose, would like to meet some dozen of 'em on the
bank. Now take my advice; I am an older hunter than you are, and if
hereafter you should meet an Ingen who knows me, just ask him if ever
he fooled Earthquake.”
Then turning off a little from the river, he proceeded a short
distance parallel to it, when he began to climb a hill, the top of
which having with some difficulty reached, he motioned his companion
to be seated; and in silence searched on every side for the spot where
the tragedy had been acted. Yet no clue remained—no noise broke upon
the ear—there was no light, the burning boat having sunk.
“Well, Earth, what do you think of this?”
“Why, that the Ingens are somewhere under the bank, perhaps in
Cave-Inn Rock; the only thing we can do, is to remain here; if they
have taken any prisoners, we shall hear them when they set off on
their journey.”
“Where is Cave-Inn Rock; I do not think I have ever seen it?”
“It is so dark now that I cannot point it out to you, nor do I exactly
know its situation; it is either in the ledge before us, or, if we are
opposite the Battery Rocks, I believe it is lower down; but if that
cave could speak it would tell many a bloody story.”
“How, for what is it remarkable?”
“Why, for years it has been, and now is, a place of concealment for
those red devils from which to make their attacks on emigrant
families. The entrance is scarcely larger than a door, although the
cave, I am told, runs far into the rocks, and is situated so near to
the river, that, if there be a smart rise, you can paddle a canoe into
it. So, you see, no place could better suit their purpose.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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