The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 8, April, 1835 — John Shaqi
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 8, April, 1835Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 8, April, 1835
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
On a cold stormy evening, about the middle of the following February,
I was standing on the bank of the river, giving some directions to the
men engaged in constructing a kind of harbor or basin, to secure our
boats, on the opening of spring, from the drifting ice, when I was
startled by the quick report of a gun, and a loud shout of triumph,
which proceeded from the opposite shore, and were echoed in long
reverberations from the rocky cliffs of the Missouri. Broad flakes of
snow were falling around me, and whirling in every direction, so that
I was prevented from perceiving objects on the opposite side; but I
supposed that some war party was probably returning from a victorious
campaign. When about to return to the fort, I discovered two Indians,
a young man and woman, crossing the river on the ice; they both
approached the spot where I stood; the youth holding his hand towards
me, in a manner which denoted confidence and friendship. Though
actually shivering with cold, his countenance seemed to beam with joy
and animation, and pointing my attention to the comely girl, at his
side, he exclaimed, whilst his dark eyes sparkled with triumph, "Now
she is mine, for I have fairly won her in battle!" and at the same
moment he cast a glance at two bloody scalps, which hung suspended
from his ram-rod. I now recognised the mysterious young man, who had
visited the fort in October; but his manner and appearance were
altogether changed. His step was now buoyant and elastic, and in place
of the gloomy silence and mental agony which marked his previous
deportment, he was now gay and talkative, indulging in the light laugh
and ready jest. Being anxious to know something of his story, I
invited the lover and his young Indian maiden into the fort, an
invitation which they readily accepted. After a hearty meal, and a few
whiffs of the pipe, the warrior swain, drawing his Indian beauty
closer to his side, and assuming as much gravity of feature, as his
thrilling sensations of happiness would allow, related in a very
circumstantial manner, the following story:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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