The Road to Paris: A Story of AdventureStephens, Robert Neilson
History
The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure
Stephens, Robert Neilson
Adventure stories; Historical fiction; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
Mrs. Wetheral smilingly shook her head in hopeless disapproval of the
jocular deceit practised by her husband on little Dick; but the boy was
too taken up with his discovery to observe her movement, and so from
that day, to him, Tom MacAlister and Tom who was a piper's son were one
and the same Tom.
But there came a time when neither singing nor fiddling was in season,
and when reminiscences of past dangers in foreign lands gave way to
fears of imminent dangers at home. This was in the spring of 1763, when
Dick was five years old, but possessed of such strength and endurance as
would be marvellous in a boy of that age nowadays. Almost as soon as the
woods and fields were green again, and the orchards white and pink with
fruit-blossoms, came news, from every side, of Indian surprises and
alarms. The Pennsylvania tribes, such as the Delawares and Shawnees,
once friendly to the English settlers, but rendered contemptuous of them
by Braddock's defeat, had not ceased ravages against them, even after
Wolfe's victory at Quebec in 1759 had made the English masters of the
continent. It seemed now, in 1763, as if the redskins had mustered their
strength for a decisive series of revengeful blows against the
colonists. In from the west and down from the north they came, unseen,
unheard, penetrating the whole frontier in small parties, striking
without warning, often where least expected, destroying by rifle-ball,
knife, tomahawk, and fire. No one knew when a painted band, armed for
slaughter, might not suddenly appear as if by magic from the apparently
solitary wilderness around. No settler's family could go to bed at night
with the assurance that they might not be aroused before dawn by smoke
and flames or by the unearthly shrieks of savages. Most of the settlers
in the valleys south of the Juniata fled across the mountains to
Carlisle. Some from the vicinity of the Wetherals took refuge in Fort
Hunter, which consisted of a rectangular stockade, with a log blockhouse
rising from the corner, and with cabins inside to serve indifferently as
barracks for the Provincial soldiers and as temporary lodgings for the
people of both sexes and every age who took refuge there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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