How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and QuebecBrereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
History
How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec
Brereton, F. S. (Frederick Sadleir)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction
"That's a lad for yer, Judge," said Jim, scowling playfully at Steve,
and then turning to one of the other figures standing or sitting about
the camp. "This Hawk gets born out in the settlements and gets took
straight away right into the backwoods. He larns to sit a scrawny pony
when he's no higher than a dozen piled-up dollars, and to shoot a gun
when he ain't got the strength to stand up to the jar one of these
muskets gives. Reckon I've seen him knocked endways with the kick many
and many a time."
He looked for an answer, and waited while the broad-shouldered
backwoodsman whom he addressed sat up and stared thoughtfully back at
him and then at Steve, who squatted by the fire. "Judge" Mainwaring,
as he was usually styled, was a big-boned, burly man, bearded and as
rugged as the oaks which grew in the wood. His eyes were deep-set and
thoughtful, and he had the air of a man who reflects, who says little,
and that only after due consideration. Indeed Judge Mainwaring had a
reputation for wisdom in the backwoods. No man was more respected in
the neighbourhood of the Mohawk country, and there was no more skilful
hunter, no more courageous Indian tracker than this big man. He spoke
seldom, and then always to the point, and in a manner which proved
that he had at one time been very different from these rough, honest
fellows of the backwoods with whom he now spent his days. Jim and his
comrades had had a talk about Tom Mainwaring or the Judge, many and
many a time, and had even endeavoured to worm some of his history from
him. But always without success.
"Reckon we'd better shut up," said Jim, after one of these many
conversations, when he and Judge and some five others had been
gathered at Tom Mainwaring's log hut in the backwoods. "He don't mean
to tell whar he's from, nor what he was, and small blame to him. He's
here, stout and plucky, a good shot, and jest the fiercest hater I
knows of them varmint of redskins. Reckon that's enough."
"And need he's had to hate them too," another had added. "Reckon Judge
don't care for much after the boy, than to get even with them varmint."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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