On the Kentucky Frontier: A Story of the Fighting Pioneers of the WestOtis, James
History
On the Kentucky Frontier: A Story of the Fighting Pioneers of the West
Otis, James
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
When the day was near to an end the boats were allowed to come closer
together, and finally, when night was so near at hand that the shadows
on the shore grew dense, Major Clarke gave a signal, by gestures, that
we were to haul up till morning.
"Are we to lay by the bank over night?" Paul asked, and I, unable to
reply, appealed for information to the man nearest, who said much as if
believing the question a foolish one:
"I reckon there won't be any boatin' done after sunset, unless there's
some great need. Those who drift down this river just now had best do so
when it is possible to have a good view of either bank, and Major Clarke
is not the man to take needless chances."
"The savages can do no more mischief in the dark than when the sun
shines," Paul said quietly.
"That is where I'm not agreein' with you, my lad. In the light we can
give as good as they send; but after dark, when there's no chance of
seein' the reptiles, they have the upper hands. Howsomever, our opinion
on the matter won't have any very great weight with the major, and
you'll find that along about this time each day we'll be looking for a
place to halt."
The boat in which we sailed was the foremost of the fleet, and while the
man was yet speaking the crew worked the sweeps until she rounded to
under the bank, followed by the others, and in less than half an hour we
were moored for the night.
This done, the first duty was to learn whether there might be any of the
enemy in the vicinity, and scouts were sent out at once, while the
remainder of the company set about getting supper, or, perhaps I should
say, eating it, for such food as we carried at that time was already
cooked.
There was no thought of immediate danger in my mind; as a matter of
course I realized that we were surrounded by enemies, but after the
battle of the morning I was confident the enemy had been driven to a
respectful distance.
I had ceased to think of Simon Kenton, save as pushing on down the river
at his best pace, scolding because we were not with him to share in the
labor, and I counted on spending the night in rest.
It so chanced that Major Clarke was seated very near Paul and I when the
first of the scouts returned, and the information he brought was
sufficient to drive from the minds of every man on board all thought of
idling.
It appeared from the story we heard, that this scout, seeing a faint
glow as of a light on the opposite side of the river, a mile below where
we were lying, had taken a canoe from the nearest flat-boat and paddled
across.
There, after having landed, he crept noiselessly through the foliage an
hundred yards or more from the bank until he saw that which explained to
me, at least, why Paul and I failed to find the dugout when we returned
after our foolish tramp.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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