The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost CampaignAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost Campaign
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction
The fall of snow lasted the entire day and the following night. The
wilderness was singularly beautiful, but it was also inaccessible,
comfortable for those in the fort, but outside the snow lay nearly two
feet deep.
"I hope that vision of yours comes true," said Wilton to Robert, as
they looked at the forest. "They say the Highland Scotch can go into
trances or something of that kind, and look into the future, and I
believe the Indians claim the gift, but I've never heard that English
and Americans assumed the possession of such powers."
"I'm no seer," laughed Robert. "I merely use my imagination and
produce for myself a picture of things two or three days ahead."
"Which comes to the same thing. Well, we'll see. I take so great an
interest in the journey of your Onondaga friend that somehow I feel
myself traveling along with him."
"I know I'm going with him or I wouldn't have seen him flying ahead on
his snow shoes. But come, Will, I've promised to teach you how to sew
buckskin with tendons and sinews, and I'm going to see that you do
it."
The snow despite its great depth was premature, because on the fourth
day soft winds began to blow, and all the following night a warm rain
fell. It came down so fast that the whole earth was flooded, and the
air was all fog and mist. The creek rose far beyond its banks, and the
water stood in pools and lakes in the forest.
"Now, in very truth, our friend Tayoga has been compelled to seek a
lair," said Wilton emphatically. "His snow shoes would be the
sorriest of drags upon his feet in mud and water, and without them he
will sink to his knees. The wilderness has become impassable."
Robert laughed.
"I see no way out of it for him," said Wilton.
"But I do."
"Then what, in Heaven's name, is it?"
"I not only see the way for Tayoga, but I shut my eyes once more and I
see him using it. He has put away his snow shoes, and, going to the
thick bushes at the edge of a creek, he has taken out his hidden
canoe. He has been in it some time, and with mighty sweeps of the
paddle, that he knows so well how to use, it flies like a wild duck
over the water. Now he passes from the creek into a river flowing
eastward, and swollen by the floods to a vast width. The rain has
poured upon him, but he does not mind it. The powerful exercise with
the paddles dries his body, and sends the pleasant warmth through
every vein. His feet and ankles rest, after his long flight on the
snow shoes, and his heart swells with pleasure, because it is one of
the easiest parts of his journey. His rifle is lying by his side, and
he could seize it in a moment should an enemy appear, but the forest
on either side of the stream is deserted, and he speeds on unhindered.
There may be better canoemen in the world than Tayoga, but I doubt
it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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