Neville Trueman, the Pioneer Preacher : a tale of the war of 1812Withrow, W. H. (William Henry)
History
Neville Trueman, the Pioneer Preacher : a tale of the war of 1812
Withrow, W. H. (William Henry)
Clergy -- Fiction; United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction
"It's that same I would if I could," replied the bewildered
Irishman, "but I can't walk on wather, and this ice-slush isn't
much betther." "Unless you answer, I'll fire," shouted the sentry,
to whom Mickey's maunderings, half drowned by the crashing ice and
gusty wind, were unintelligible.
"Au' that same is the very thing I want, for it's starved wid the
cowld I am," said the shivering creature, who with characteristic
ingenuity had failed to apprehend the meaning of the menace
addressed to him. But a sudden flash and the dull thud of a bullet
against the ice beside him interpreted to his sluggish brain the
danger in which he stood.
"The saints be betune us an' harm," he exclaimed, devoutly
crossing himself. "Oh, sure ye won't murder a body in cowld blood
who's kilt entirely already. It's half drownded and froze I am,
without being riddled like a cullender wid your bullets as well."
"Why, Mickey O'Brian!" exclaimed the astonished soldier, who had
by the gun-flash recognized the familiar features of a quondam
friend; "why on earth didn't you tell your name, man? I might have
killed you as dead as a door-nail."
"An' a purty thrickit 'ud be for ye, too, Tommy Daily. It's not ashamed
of my name I am, an' if I'd know'd it was you, I'd tould ye before.
But help us out of this an' I'll bear ye no malice whativer."
The guard had turned out at the report of the gun, and getting
such planks as were available laid them on the floating ice; but
still they could not reach the boat. Tommy Daily with fertile
ingenuity tying some twine to his ramrod fired it over the skiff,
when it was easy to send out a strong fisherman's line, which Mick
tied to the thwarts, and a dozen strong arms drew the boat
ashore. [Footnote: The present writer witnessed the rescue of a
shipwrecked crew, in the manner here described, near this very
spot.]
The benumbed form of Mary was borne to the guard-room, and Ensign
Roberts, the officer of the night, immediately sent for.
"Why, Miss Lawson!" he exclaimed with astonishment, "to what can
we owe your presence at such a time and place as this?"
"To the inhumanity of your commander, and to my desire to rescue
an innocent people from its consequences."
"I regret, Miss Lawson, that my military duty prevents my
permitting you to carry out your generous purpose. You will be
entertained hero as comfortably as our rude accommodation will
allow till the river clears, when you will be sent safely home."
"Is this your generosity to a fallen foe, Mr. Roberts?" she
exclaimed; but, too proud to ask a favour from a discarded suitor,
she relapsed into haughty silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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