American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
The bee-hunter was glad to hear that all the family had not this man's
vice, for he now plainly foresaw that the accidents of his position must
bring him and these strangers much in contact, for some weeks, at least.
Le Bourdon, though not absolutely “afraid of a jug,” as Whiskey Centre
had expressed it, was decidedly a temperate man; drinking but seldom,
and never to excess. He too well knew the hazards by which he was
surrounded, to indulge in this way, even had he the taste for it; but he
had no taste that way, one small jug of brandy forming his supply for a
whole season. In these days of exaggeration in all things, exaggeration
in politics, in religion, in temperance, in virtue, and even in
education, by putting “new wine into old bottles,” that one little jug
might have sufficed to give him a bad name; but five-and-thirty years
ago men had more real independence than they now possess, and were
not as much afraid of that croquemitaine, public opinion, as they
are to-day. To be sure, it was little to le Bourdon's taste to make a
companion of such a person as Whiskey Centre; but there was no choice.
The man was an utter stranger to him; and the only means he possessed of
making sure that he did not carry off the property that lay so much at
his mercy, was by keeping near him. With many men, the bee-hunter would
have been uneasy at being compelled to remain alone with them in the
woods; for cases in which one had murdered another, in order to get
possession of the goods, in these remote regions, were talked of, among
the other rumors of the borders; but Gershom had that in his air and
manner that rendered Ben confident his delinquencies, at the most, would
scarcely reach bloodshed. Pilfer he might; but murder was a crime which
he did not appear at all likely to commit.
After supping in company, our two adventurers secured everything; and,
retiring to the chiente, they went to sleep. No material disturbance
occurred, but the night passed in tranquillity; the bee-hunter merely
experiencing some slight interruption to his slumbers, from the unusual
circumstance of having a companion. One as long accustomed to be alone
as himself would naturally submit to some such sensation, our habits
getting so completely the mastery as often to supplant even nature.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account