Tales, Traditions and Romance of Border and Revolutionary TimesEllis, Edward Sylvester
History
Tales, Traditions and Romance of Border and Revolutionary Times
Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Frontier and pioneer life -- United States -- Anecdotes; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Anecdotes
Frantic with fright, the noble animal went careering through the woods,
rearing and plunging in his madness, inflicting upon his tortured rider
countless wounds and blows as he endeavored to dash him against the
trees, or rushed through the tangled brush, lacerating the flesh of both
with innumerable thorns and briers. In one of the mad dashes which the
horse gave through the unpitying forest, Kenton's arm came with such
force against a tree that it was broken—he knew it by its becoming so
limp and helpless, as well as from the knife-like pain which darted from
it. The wretched man could only hope that the horse would some time
tire; that, wearied out with its useless efforts to free itself from its
burden, it would subside into some quiet, which might give a moment's
ease to his aching and mangled limbs; but he hoped in vain!
"Each motion which he made to free
His swollen limbs from their agony,
Increased its fury and affright;
He tried his voice—'twas faint and low,
But yet it swerved, as from a blow;
And, starting at each accent, sprang
As from a sudden trumpet's clang.
Meanwhile the cords were wet with gore,
Which, oozing from his wounds, ran o'er;
And on his tongue the thirst became
A something fiercer far than flame."
Oh, that horrible _thirst_ which takes possession of the person
suffering exquisite pain, until the torture seems to exceed that of the
anguish which causes it. None but those who have experienced this
extremity of mortal suffering can picture it; none but those who have
suffered the horrible pangs of thirst can sympathize with the
unutterable pain which Simon Kenton endured for the next few hours. Yes,
for hours! The harassed steed, at length, with wasted strength and
trembling limbs, returned to the point from which he had started, with
his now almost inanimate rider, who must have sunk into insensibility
long before, had not the fever of his pain kept him from that blessed
relief. The hunter hoped that now he would either be killed outright, or
relieved of his present position; but such was not the intention of the
red devils who had him in their power.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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