The Path of Duty, and Other StoriesCaswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
General
The Path of Duty, and Other Stories
Caswell, Harriet S. (Harriet Sophia)
Country life -- Fiction; Family -- Fiction; Friendship -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Short stories
freely in drinking whiskey, he soon sank into a profound slumber. Long
and anxiously had we watched the man, and now our wishes were
consummated. I contrived with much exertion to draw my knife from my
pocket, and commenced sawing at the tough thong which confined my wrist.
My heart beat high with joy, and already we felt that we were free, when
the guard sneezed, opened his eyes, rolled them round the room, and
discovered that he had been asleep. I slipped the knife into my pocket
without his notice, and he discovered nothing to rouse his suspicions,
although he regarded us closely for a long time. He finally sat down,
lit his pipe and commenced smoking. After puffing away for half an hour,
which seemed to drag by with the tediousness of a week, he laid his
tomahawk (which contains the pipe) by his side, and after nodding for
some time he again stretched himself upon the rough floor, and soon his
deep snoring fell upon our ears. O! what music was that sound to us. I
again drew the knife from my pocket, and with desperation freed my
hands, and in one minute more Ralph stood like myself a free man. With
the stealthy tread of a cat we reached the door, softly slid back the
bolt, and once more we stood in the open air. The rain had ceased, the
clouds had swept by, and the full moon pale and high in the heavens
threw her light upon the tree tops, bathing them in liquid silver.
Silently but rapidly we bounded through the forest, our fears of pursuit
urging us onward; and by daylight were within twelve miles of the log
cabin whose history I am telling. At that time there dwelt in that
cabin, with his family, a trapper by the name of Daniel Roe. When we
reached there we found Roe at home, to whom we recounted our adventure.
He only laughed at our fears that the Indians might track us thus far,
and we finally listened to his laughing remarks and concluded to rest in
his cabin for several days. We heaped folly upon folly; for instead of
putting the house in a state of defence, and preserving as much silence
as possible we commenced trying our skill by shooting at a mark. We
continued this exercise through the afternoon, partook of a hearty
supper, chatted till bed-time, and then retired. Ralph soon fell sound
asleep, but I could not; I felt a presentiment of approaching danger;
still there was no visible signs of it, yet I could not shake off a
peculiar nervousness which agitated me. I lay still for some time
listening to the deep and regular breathing of Ralph, and ever and anon
as an owl screamed I would start, despite the familiarity of the cry.
Just as I turned in my bed, and was trying to compose myself for sleep,
I heard a cry very similar to the hoot of an owl; still there was
something about the sound which did not sound right. My heart commenced
beating rapidly and a sweat started from my brow. I rose softly and
looked through the chinks of the logs, but there was nothing to be seen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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