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
We remained hidden in the thicket, from which point we could see the
people of the settlement as they moved to and fro intent on their daily
tasks, and yet one might have passed within an hundred yards of us
without being suspicious that so many armed men were in the vicinity.
It was believed, at least by Paul and me, that a battle must be fought
before we could gain possession of the outpost, and perhaps there is no
need why I should set down here the fact that once more was my heart
filled with timorousness, for by this time it should well be understood
that whenever danger threatened I grew cowardly.
It was one thing to fight against the Indians in the forest where we
could find as good shelter as they, and quite another to advance in the
open against a garrison of men equally skilful with ourselves in
handling a rifle, and protected by a stockade.
I believed, and with good cause, that many of as would be sent into
another world before the sun rose again, and, unless I was willing to
show my companions how much of a coward I had become, I must take my
chances of death with the others.
It was by no means cheerful, lying there in the thicket, not daring to
speak or move lest an alarm should be given, and looking forward to that
struggle which must speedily ensue.
Had it been possible to hold converse with Paul, then might some subject
have been brought up which would have changed the current of my
thoughts; but I was forbidden even to whisper, and it seemed to me then
as if between us and that stockade so short a distance away, death
stalked to and fro, awaiting our approach.
It is the coward, and only the coward, who reaches out into the future
in search of danger. The sensible man waits until confronted by the
peril before giving way to fear, and this was proven to me before many
hours had passed. I suffered ten times more than if we had advanced and
been severely beaten, and yet, as we speedily understood, I had no
reason whatsoever to thus torture myself.
When the night came it seemed to me as if Major Clarke had forgotten for
what purpose we were there.
Peering out from amid the thicket we could see that the inhabitants of
the settlement had gone to their rest. Two hours after the sunset, the
garrison was quiet, and yet our commander gave no signal.
Looking forward to wounds, and perhaps death, as I did, the moments went
by exceedingly slow, and I came to believe that almost any danger would
be preferable to this stealthy waiting for the signal which should
precipitate the action.
Paul, who lay close by my side, seemingly gave no heed to the passage of
time. Like the brave lad I had come to understand him to be, he remained
apparently indifferent to what the future might hold in store for us,
gaining the repose which would serve him in good stead when violent
action was required.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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