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
"It's a sad tale," said the settler gruffly and with a
darkening brow, "and brings bitter thoughts with it; but
as the liquor has cheered me up a bit, I don't much mind
if I do tell you how I skivered the varmint. Indeed," he
pursued savagely, "that always gives me a pleasure to
think of, for I owed them a desperate grudge--the bloody
red skins and imps of hell. I was on my way to Detroit,
to see the spot once more where my poor boy Phil lay
rottin', and one dark night (for I only ventured to move
at night,) I came slick upon two Ingins as was lying fast
asleep before their fire in a deep ravine. The one nearest
to me had his face unkivered, and I knew the varmint for
the tall dark Delaweer chief as made one of the party
after poor Phil and me, a sight that made me thirst for
the blood of the heathens as a child for mother's milk.
Well, how do you suppose I managed them. I calculate
you'd never guess. Why, I stole as quiet as a fox until
I got jist atween them, and then holdin' a cocked pistol
to each breast, I called out in a thunderin' voice that
made the woods ring agin Kit-chimocomon, which you know,
as you've been in the wars, signifies long knife or
Yankee. You'd a laugh'd fit to split your sides I guess,
to see the stupid stare of the devils, as startin' out
of their sleep, they saw a pistol within three inches of
each of'em. 'Ugh,' says they, as if they did'nt know well
whether to take it as a joke or not. 'Yes, 'ugh' and be
damn'd to you,' say's I: you may go and 'ugh' in hell
next--and with that snap went the triggers, and into
their curst carcasses went the balls. The one I killed
outright but t'other the Delaweer chief, was by a sudden
shift only slightly wounded, and he sprung on his feet
and out with his knife. But I had a knife too, and all
a disappinted father's rage to boot, so at it we' went
closin' and strikin' with our knives like two fierce
fiends of the forest. It was noble sport sure-LY. At last
the Delaweer fell over the bleedin' body of his warrior
and I top of him. As he fell the knife dropt from his
hand and he could'nt reach it no how, while I still
gripped mine fast. 'Ugh,' he muttered agin, as if askin'
to know what I meant to do next. 'Ugh,' and be damn'd to
you once more, say's I--and the pint of my long knife
was soon buried in his black heart. Then, when I see them
both dead I eat my own meal at their fire, for I was
tarnation hungry, and while I was eatin' a thought came
across me that it would be good fun to make smoked meat
of the varmint, so when I had tucked it in purty
considerably, what with hominy and dried bear's meat,
moistened with a little Wabash I found in the Delaweer
chief's canteen, I set to and regularly quartered them.
The trunks I left behind, but the limbs I packed up in
the blankets that had been used to kiver them, I reckon;
and with them slung across my shoulders, like a saddle
bag across a horse, I made tracks through the swamps and
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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