The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk WarParrish, Randall
General
The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk War
Parrish, Randall
Black Hawk War, 1832 -- Fiction
From this vantage point the view was extensive, both up and down the
big river, as well as across to the opposite bank. For miles nothing
could escape my eyes, the mighty stream sweeping majestically past
where I lay, liquid silver in the sunshine. Its tremendous volume had
never so impressed me as in that moment of silent observation, nor had
I ever realized before its sublime desolation. Along that entire
surface but three objects met my gaze--a small island, green with
trees, seemingly anchored just beyond the mouth of the Illinois; a
lumbering barge almost opposite me, clearly outlined against the
distant shore, and barely moving with the current; and far away below a
thin smudge of smoke, arising from behind a headland, as though curling
upward from the stack of some steamer. I watched this closely, until
convinced the craft was bound down stream and moving swiftly. The
smudge became a mere whisp and finally vanished entirely. I waited
some time for the vessel to appear at the lower end of the bend, but it
was then only a speck, scarcely distinguishable. I felt no doubt but
what this was the stolen keel-boat, speeding toward St. Louis.
Armed, as I believed, with this knowledge that Kirby had actually fled,
beyond any possibility of doing us any further injury, I did not hurry
my return, but remained for some time on the bluff, watching those
rushing waters, and endeavoring to outline some feasible plan for the
coming night. With this final disappearance of the gambler we were
left free to proceed, and it seemed to me with no great danger of
arousing suspicion, so long as we exercised reasonable precautions.
The girl to all appearances was white; no one would ever question that,
particularly as she possessed sufficient intelligence and refinement to
thus impress anyone she might meet, If necessary we might travel as man
and wife, with Sam as our servant. Our means of travel would attract
no particular attention in that country--the edge of the wilderness; it
was common enough. This struck me as the most reasonable course to
pursue--to work our way quietly up the Illinois by night, keeping close
in shore to avoid any passing steamer, until we arrived close to
Beardstown. There, if necessary, we might begin our masquerade, but it
need not be a long one. Undoubtedly there were blacks in the town,
both slaves and free negroes, with whom Sam could easily establish an
acquaintance. By this means we would soon be able to identify that
particular preacher into whose care I hoped to confide Rene. Of
course, the girl might refuse to enter into the game, might decline to
assume the role assigned her, however innocent I intended it to
be--indeed, I felt convinced she would meet the suggestion with
indignation. But why worry about that now? Let this be kept as a last
resort. There was no necessity for me to even mention this part of my
plan until after our approach to Beardstown; then the necessity of our
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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