Guy Rivers: A Tale of GeorgiaSimms, William Gilmore
History
Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia
Simms, William Gilmore
Georgia -- History -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction
not, in that wild region, have been put in requisition; and the prudence
of all experience, in our border country, is seldom found to neglect
such companionship.
So much for the personal appearance and the equipment of our young
traveller. We have followed the usage among novelists, and have dwelt
thus long upon these details, as we design that our adventurer shall
occupy no small portion of the reader's attention. He will have much to
do and to endure in the progress of this narrative.
It may be well, in order to the omission of nothing hereafter important,
to add that he seems well bred to the _manege_--and rode with that ease
and air of indolence, which are characteristic of the gentry of the
south. His garments were strictly suited to the condition and custom of
the country--a variable climate, rough roads, and rude accommodations.
They consisted of a dark blue frock, of stuff not so fine as strong,
with pantaloons of the same material, all fitting well, happily adjusted
to the figure of the wearer, yet sufficiently free for any exercise. He
was booted and spurred, and wore besides, from above the knee to the
ankle, a pair of buckskin leggins, wrought by the Indians, and trimmed,
here and there, with beaded figures that gave a somewhat fantastic air
to this portion of his dress. A huge cloak strapped over the saddle,
completes our portrait, which, at the time of which we write, was that
of most travellers along our southern frontiers. We must not omit to
state that a cap of fur, rather than a fashionable beaver, was also the
ordinary covering of the head--that of our traveller was of a
finely-dressed fur, very far superior to the common fox skin cap worn by
the plain backwoodsmen. It declared, somewhat for the superior social
condition of the wearer, even if his general air and carriage did not
sufficiently do so.
Our new acquaintance had, by this time, emerged into one of those
regions of brown, broken, heathery waste, thinly mottled with tree and
shrub, which seem usually to distinguish the first steppes on the
approach to our mountain country. Though undulating, and rising
occasionally into hill and crag, the tract was yet sufficiently
monotonous; rather saddened than relieved by the gentle sunset, which
seemed to gild in mockery the skeleton woods and forests, just
recovering from the keen biting blasts of a severe and protracted
winter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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