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
It was evident they believed we were now in their power, and indeed
there was much the same thought in my mind when I had aroused from the
stupor of exhaustion sufficiently to take note of our surroundings.
Simon Kenton had led us into the midst of a pile of fallen timber
overgrown with vines and young bushes, which covered a space of perhaps
an hundred square feet. It was a place of refuge which stood in a
partially cleared spot, and might readily be surrounded, while, to make
our way out, it would be necessary to offer one's body as a target to
whomsoever might be on watch.
In the gloom of the morning it had appeared to be a better place for
defense than really was the case, and I question if the scout would have
halted here had he understood what it really was.
While we remained in the very center of the mass we were screened from
view, and could see a goodly portion of all that might be going on
around us; but when that has been said all the advantages of the place
have been described.
In order to get out of it, once we were inside, it would be necessary,
as I have already said, to expose ourselves to the fire of the enemy,
and before many hours should elapse we would be forced to take to our
heels unless we were minded to die of hunger or thirst.
We no longer had any food with us, and there was not a drop of water
nearer than the river. Already it seemed as if my mouth was parched to
the point of swelling, and because it was beyond my reach, I longed most
intensely for something to quench thirst.
The knowledge of our situation, as I have set it down here, came upon me
immediately after I recovered slightly from the effects of the fatigue
caused by the swift race, and, looking into Simon Kenton's face, I knew
full well he had become aware of our disagreeable situation.
Little Paul Sampson, plucky lad that he had proven himself to be, was
the only one who appeared indifferent to the danger.
When it was possible for him to sit upright, for he had been more nearly
exhausted than I was, instead of trying to discover all the
disadvantages of the place, he began to do his share toward the defense
by crawling beneath the fallen timber until he could command a good view
of that portion of the forest from which we had come, and at the same
time screen his own body from those who were most likely searching with
their keen eyes for a living target.
I believe Simon Kenton read from my face the thoughts which were in my
mind, for he said slowly, as if weighing well each word:
"It must be a battle rather than simply a time of defense. We can hold
our position without any great sufferin' for four-an'-twenty hours; but
at the end of that time there's bound to be a change if we count on
seein' Corn Island again."
"How will you bring about a battle unless the savages are disposed to
give us the chance?" I asked petulantly. "They can remain under cover
any length of time, and yet keep us in view. It isn't a case of
starvation with them."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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