The Border Riflemen; or, The Forest Fiend. A Romance of the Black-Hawk UprisingAiken, Albert W.
General
The Border Riflemen; or, The Forest Fiend. A Romance of the Black-Hawk Uprising
Aiken, Albert W.
Black Hawk War, 1832 -- Fiction; Dime novels
“Your words will require an explanation at another time and place, my
good sir,” said Melton. “Be so good as to remember that I had no orders
to join you, and that if you insist upon such conduct, I will leave you
at once. These men came to you under the shadow of a white flag, and you
have no right to take them prisoners.”
“_Will_ you take your place, Captain Melton?” roared Stillman, “or must
I put you under arrest?”
Melton said no more, but fell back to the head of his troop, fully
determined to leave the irate major if he persisted in his conduct.
The three bearers of the flag were sent to the rear, under guard, and
the troop proceeded in the same disorderly manner. Some time after the
stragglers in advance caught sight of the warriors who had been sent out
to see what had been done with the bearers of the flag, and were
pursued, and two of them shot down without mercy, the rest escaping, by
taking to the woods in front. No sooner had he beheld this cruel and
uncalled for butchery, than the young captain of scouts called to his
men and they wheeled out of the line, faced about, and marched back
toward the river.
Stillman, boiling with rage, called his men to a halt, and rode back.
“What is the meaning of this conduct, Captain Melton?” he hissed, fairly
foaming at the mouth. “How dare you detach your command without orders?”
“If you think you have men enough in your rag-tag and bob-tail command
to stop us, you had better try it on, Major Stillman,” said Melton,
coolly. “I for one will not give countenance to _murder_, as you are
doing.”
“Murder, sir?”
“Murder is the word. Those Sacs were doing no harm who were just killed
by your men, and did not even use their weapons when your scoundrels
took after them. Go on your way, sir; I will not march a foot further
with you.”
“I will have you court-martialed, upon my return, sir,” cried Stillman.
“Very well; I shall take an opportunity to tell the court some things
not to your credit. Good-day, sir. But, for the safety of your men I
tell you to call in your stragglers, march in a more orderly manner and
beat the bushes thoroughly before you enter. Attention, scouts;
forward.”
And the compact little body rode away at a killing pace, leaving Major
Stillman to his own devices.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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