The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk WarParrish, Randall
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The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk War
Parrish, Randall
Black Hawk War, 1832 -- Fiction
I need not dwell on the details of our flight. They remain in my
memory in all clearness, each scene distinct, each incident a picture
engraved on the mind. I came to believe in, implicitly rely on, all my
comrades--on the black-eyed, dusky Elsie, emotional and efficient,
whose care-free laugh was contagious, and whose marvelous skill in
cooking only increased our hunger, who knew every wild plant that grew,
and unearthed many a treasure to help out our slim larder from the
forest and prairie soil; on the solemn-faced Kennedy, whose profanity
could not be restrained, and whose sole happiness was found in an ample
supply of tobacco; who persistently saw only the dark side of things,
yet who was ever competent, tireless, and full of resource; but most of
all on Eloise, her patient, trustful eyes following my every movement,
uncomplaining, cheerful, with a smile for every hardship, a bright word
of hope for every obstacle. In the darkness of night travel, when no
eye could see her, she might droop from weariness, clinging to her
pommel to keep in the saddle, yet it was always her voice which revived
courage, and inspired new endeavor.
The way was generally rough and puzzling, bringing before us no
familiar landmarks by which to guide our course. My map proved utterly
useless, confusing me by its wrong location of streams, and its
inaccuracy in the estimation of distances. We must have wandered far
to the north from our direct course, led astray in the dark, and by our
desire to advance swiftly. For there soon came to us warning signs
that we were indeed being pursued; and some evidence also that we were
even within Indian territory. Once we beheld from an eminence the wisp
of a camp fire far in our rear, a mere misty curl of smoke showing
against the distant blue of the sky. And once, from out the shadow of
a grove, we stared perplexed across a wide valley, to where appeared a
dim outline of bluffs, and watched a party of five horsemen creep
slowly along their summit, too far away to be recognized--mere black
dots, we could not identify as either white men, or red.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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