The Canadian Brothers; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled: A Tale of the Late American War — Volume 1Richardson, Major (John)
History
The Canadian Brothers; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled: A Tale of the Late American War — Volume 1
Richardson, Major (John)
United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction; War stories
"What a domn'd loong time ye are teelling that stoopid
stoory Veelliers," at length noticed Cranstoun, wheeling
round and regarding the narrator with a look of ill
assumed indifference, "a coold a toold it mysel in half
the time."
"I am afraid you would not tell it so faithfully" replied
Lieutenant Villiers, amid the loud laugh which was now
raised at Cranstoun's expense. "You see it is so good a
thing I like to make the most of it."
Here Cranstoun again turned his back upon the party, and
Villiers pursued,
"The main body of the expedition had got nearly half way
across the river, when suddenly our ears were assailed
by moanings, resembling those of some wild beast, mingled
with incessant and ungovernable laughter. Checking our
course, and turning to behold the cause, we observed,
about a hundred yards below us, the sledge of the
D'Egvilles, from which the almost convulsive laughter
proceeded, and at a considerable distance beyond this
again, an object the true character of which we were some
time in discovering.
"It appeared, on subsequent explanation, that Cranstoun,
who had been whispering soft nothings in the ear of Julia
D'Egville, (here the Captain was observed to prick his
ear without materially altering his position) hem!
Cranstoun, I say, it appeared had also taken it into his
head to give her a specimen of his agility, by an attempt
to clear a space between two masses of ice of somewhat
too great a breadth for a heavy grenadier, buttoned up
to the chin in a ponderous bear skin coat. He succeeded
in gaining the opposite piece of ice, but had no sooner
reached it, than he fell, entangled in such a manner in
his covering that he found it impossible to extricate
himself. To add to his disaster, the force of his fall
broke off, from the main body, the section of ice on
which he rested. Borne down by the current, in spite of
his vain struggles to free himself, he was unable even
to call for aid, his fingers moreover being so benumbed
with cold that he found it impossible to unbutton the
straps which confined his month. In this emergency he
could only utter the strange and unintelligible moan
which had reached our ears, and which, mingled with the
bursts of laughter from Julia D'Egville, formed a most
incongruous melange.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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