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 prairies for this here hut, which I know'd no livin'
soul had been nigh for many a long year. And now," he
concluded with a low drunken laugh, "you've the history
of the dried meat. There isn't much left but when all is
gone I'm off to the wars, for I can't find no peace I
reckon without my poor boy Phil." He paused a moment,
and then, as if suddenly influenced by some painful
recollection, he struck his hand with startling violence
upon the table, and, while every feature of his iron
countenance seemed worked up to a pitch of intensity,
added with fearful calmness, "May God's curse light upon
me if I don't have my revenge of them Granthams yet:--yes"
he continued with increased excitement of voice and
manner, while he kicked one of the blazing hickory logs
in the chimney with all the savageness of drunken rage,
causing a multitude of sparks to spit forth as from the
anvil of a smith,--"jist so would I kick them both to
hell for having murdered my poor boy."
"Why, surely, Liftenant Grantham, he can't meant you?"
abruptly questioned the Aid-de-Camp, drawing back his
chair and resting the palms of his hands upon his knees,
while he fixed his eye keenly and inquiringly upon Gerald.
But Gerald had no time to answer him--Scarcely had the
name escaped the lips of the incautious Jackson, when a
yell of exultation from the settler drew him quickly to
his feet, and in the next moment he felt one hand of his
enemy grappling at his throat, while the fingers of the
other were rapidly insinuating themselves into the hair
that shadowed one of his temples, with the evident
intention to "gouge" him. Weak and emaciated as he was,
Gerald was soon made sensible of the disproportion of
physical strength thus suddenly brought into the struggle,
and as the savage laugh of the settler, as his fingers
wound themselves closer and closer within the clustering
hair, proclaimed his advantage, he felt that his only
chance of saving the threatened eye was by having recourse
to some sudden and desperate attempt to free himself from
the gripe of his opponent. Summoning all his strength
into one vigorous effort, he rushed forward upon his
enemy with such force, raising himself at the same time
in a manner to throw the whole weight of his person upon
him, that the latter reeled backwards several paces
without the power of resistance, and falling over the
table towards which he had been intentionally propelled,
sank with a heavy crash to the floor, still however
retaining his firm hold of his enemy and dragging him
after him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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