The Canadian Brothers; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled: A Tale of the Late American War — Volume 2Richardson, Major (John)
History
The Canadian Brothers; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled: A Tale of the Late American War — Volume 2
Richardson, Major (John)
United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction; War stories
The settler seized the can, and raised it to his lips.
It contained some of the fiery whiskey we have already
described as the common beverage in most parts of America.
This, all powerful as it was, he drained off as though
it had been water, and with the greedy avidity of one
who finds himself suddenly restored to the possession of
a favorite and long absent drink.
"Hollo, my friend," exclaimed the angry Aid-de-Camp, who
had watched the rapid disappearance of his "travellers
best companion," as he quaintly enough termed it, down
the capacious gullet of the settler--and snatching at
the same moment the nearly emptied canteen from his hands.
"I take it, that's not handsome. As I'm a true Tennessee
man, bred and born, it aint at all hospitable to empty
off a pint of raw liquor at a spell, and have not so much
as a glass of methiglin to offer in return. What the hell
do you suppose we're to do tomorrow for drink, during a
curst long ride through the wood, and not a house of call
till nightfall along the road."
The settler drew a breath long and heavy in proportion
to the draught he had swallowed, and when his lungs had
again recovered their play, answered blusteringly, in a
voice that betokened incipient intoxication.
"Roar me up a saplin' Mister, but you're mighty stingy
of the Wabash. I reckon as how I made you a free offer
of my food, and it war'nt no fault of mine if you did'nt
choose to take it. It would only have been relish for
relish after all--and that's what I call fair swap."
"Well, no matter," said Jackson soothingly; "what's done
can't be undone, therefore I take it its no use argufying
--however, my old cock, when next you got the neck of
a canteen of mine, twixt your lips, I hope it may do the
cockles of your heart good; that's all. But lets hear
how you came by them pieces of nigger's flesh, and how
it is you've taken it into your head to turn squatter
here. You seem," glancing around, "to have no sleeping
room to spare, and one may as well sit up and chat as
have one's bones bruised to squash on the hard boards."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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