Lillian Morris, and Other StoriesSienkiewicz, Henryk
General
Lillian Morris, and Other Stories
Sienkiewicz, Henryk
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Short stories, Polish -- Translations into English
When I looked at those two pictures, I felt for the first time how
that adventurous life without a morrow had wearied me, and I saw at
once that I should find rest and satisfaction with her alone. “If
only to California!” thought I, “if only to California! But the toils
of the journey—merely one-half of which, and that half the easiest,
is over—are evident already on that pallid face; but a beautiful
rich country is waiting for us there, with its warm sky and eternal
spring.” Thus meditating, I covered the feet of the sleeper with my
buffalo-robe, so that the night cold might not harm her, and returned
to the end of the camp.
It was time, for a thick mist had begun to rise from the river; the
Indians might really take advantage of it and try their fortune. The
fires were dimmed more and more, and grew pale. An hour later one man
could not see another if ten paces distant. I gave command then to cry
on the square every minute, and soon nothing was heard in that camp but
the prolonged “All’s well!” which passed from mouth to mouth like the
words of a litany.
But the Indian camp had grown perfectly still, as if its occupants were
dumb. This began to alarm me. At the first dawn an immense weariness
mastered us; God knows how many nights the majority of the men had
passed without sleep,—besides, the fog, wonderfully penetrating, sent a
chill and a shiver through all.
Would it not be better, thought I, instead of standing on one place and
waiting for what may please the Indians, to attack and scatter them
to the four winds? This was not simply the whim of an Uhlan, but an
absolute need; for a daring and lucky attack might gain us great glory,
which, spreading among the wild tribes, would give us safety for a long
stretch of road.
Leaving behind me one hundred and thirty men, under the lead of the
old prairie wolf, Smith, I commanded a hundred others to mount their
horses, and we moved forward somewhat cautiously, but gladly, for the
cold had become more annoying, and in this way it was possible to warm
ourselves at least. At twice the distance of a gunshot we raced forward
at a gallop with shouting, and in the midst of a musket-fire rushed,
like a storm, on the savages. A ball, sent from our side by some
awkward marksman, whistled right at my ear, but only tore my cap.
Meanwhile, we were on the necks of the Indians, who expected anything
rather than an attack, for this was surely the first time that
emigrants had charged the besiegers. Great alarm so blinded them,
therefore, that they fled in every direction, howling from fright like
wild beasts, and perishing without resistance. A smaller division of
these people, pushed to the river and, deprived of retreat, defended
themselves so sternly and stubbornly that they chose to rush into the
water rather than beg for life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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