American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
It was by no means a difficult thing to go down the river, now that so
many canoes were in motion on it, at all hours. The bee-hunter knew what
points were to be avoided, and took care not to approach a sentinel. The
river, or strait, is less than a mile wide, and by keeping in the centre
of the passage, the canoes, favored by both wind and current, drove by
the town, then an inconsiderable village, without detection. As soon as
far enough below, the canoes were again cast loose from each other, and
sail was made on each. The water was smooth, and some time before
the return of light the fugitives were abreast of Malden, but in the
American channel. Had it been otherwise, the danger could not have been
great. So completely were the Americans subdued by Hull's capitulation,
and so numerous were the Indian allies of the British, that the passage
of a bark canoe, more or less, would hardly have attracted attention. At
that time, Michigan was a province of but little more than a name. The
territory was wide, to be sure, but the entire population was not larger
than that of a moderately sized English market town, and Detroit was
then regarded as a distant and isolated point. It is true that Mackinac
and Chicago were both more remote, and both more isolated, but an
English force, in possession of Detroit, could be approached by the
Americans on the side of the land only by overcoming the obstacles of a
broad belt of difficult wilderness. This was done the succeeding year,
it is true, but time is always necessary to bring out Jonathan's latent
military energies. When aroused, they are not trifling, as all his
enemies have been made to feel; but a good deal of miscalculation,
pretending ignorance, and useless talking must be expended, before the
really efficient are allowed to set about serving the country in their
own way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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